As soon as he did this the ladder that was standing upright fell on the ground. The people shouted and broke away. And then the King’s Son saw the Enchanter jump across a house and make for the gate of the town. But if he could jump across a house so could the Slight Red Steed. The King’s Son turned its head, plucked at its rein, and over the same house it sprang too. The more he ran the more swift the Enchanter became. He jumped over the gate of the town, the Slight Red Steed after him. He went swiftly across the country, making high springs over ditches and hedges. No other steed but the Slight Red Steed could have kept its rider in sight of him. IV Up hill and down dale the Enchanter went, but, mounted on the Slight Red Steed, the King of Ireland’s Son was in hot pursuit. The Enchanter raced up the side of the seventh hill, and when the King’s Son came to the top of it he found no one in sight. He raced on, however, and he passed a dead man hanging from a tree. He raced on and on, but still the Enchanter was not to be seen. Then the thought came into his mind that the man who was hanging from the tree and who he thought was dead was the crafty old Enchanter. He turned the Slight Red Steed round and raced back. The man that had been hanging from the tree was there no longer. The King’s Son turned his horse amongst the trees and began to search for the Enchanter. He found no trace of him. “I have lost again,” he said. Then he threw the bridle on the neck of the horse and he said, “Go your own way now, my Slight Red Steed.” When he said that the Slight Red Steed twitched its ears and galloped towards the West. It went through woods and across streams, and when the crows were flying home and the kites were flying abroad it brought the King’s Son to a stone house standing in the middle of a bog. “It may be the Enchanter is in this house,” said the King’s Son. He jumped off the Slight Red Steed, pushed the door of the house open, and there, seated on a chair in the middle of the floor with a woman sitting beside him, was the Enchanter of the Black Back-Lands. “So,” said the Enchanter, “my Slight Red Steed has brought you to me.” “So,” said the King’s Son, “I have found you, my crafty old Enchanter.” “And now that you have found me, what do you want of me?” said the Enchanter. “Your head,” said the King’s Son, drawing the tarnished Sword of Light. “Will nothing less than my head content you?” said the Enchanter. “Nothing less--unless it be what went before, and what comes after the Unique Tale.” “The Unique Tale,” said the Enchanter. “I will tell you what I know of it.” Thereupon he began I was a Druid and the Son of a Druid, and I had learned the language of the birds. And one morning, as I walked abroad, I heard a blackbird and a robin talking, and when I heard what they said I smiled to myself.