Also I have been pilgrim to Holy Mecca and demons--if there be any--like not pilgrims' flesh." So, muttering prayers and holding his drawn sword in his teeth, since both hands were needed for the parlous descent, he commenced his task while the others watched him eagerly.
About half way down he paused, looked up and called back; but they could not hear what he said.
"Take thy sword out of thy mouth, man," shrieked Head-nurse almost beside herself with grief and rage; "it isn't manners to speak with the mouth full." True enough, but Old Faithful had some difficulty in obeying orders.
However, he managed to steady himself for a moment on his two feet; so sword in hand he bawled back.
"'Tis true! There _is_ a demon.

It growls.

I hear it plainly.

Farewell! I go on, secure in my sword and Holy----" Here a foot slipped and he went sliding, slithering, slipping down to the bottom where, happily only bruised, he sat half-stunned staring in front of him.
And then there echoed up to the listeners the most terrible barking, and yelping, and growling, and spitting, that ever was heard! "The demon! The demon!" yelled the shepherds in terror, and ran for their lives.
But Roy, ear over the cliff, listened for a second, and the next had followed Old Faithful.

Foster-father was not long behind him, and Meroo was close on his heels.