I

Sheikh Abu Hatab and his mare were both unhappy.

A few weeks earlier the mare had foaled, giving birth to a female. On the day of the birth there had been great rejoicing in the tents of the Sheikh and his tribe, which for fifty years, ever since its arrival from the south, had been encamped among the sands lying around the Rubin stream. From all the tents the heads of the families came to congratulate the Sheikh, for his mare was famed throughout the district, being unequalled alike for speed and beauty. It was an honour to the entire tribe that such a mare had propagated in their midst. Abu Hatab had received his guests with all courtesy, regaling them with the fine coffee which he had brought from the town specially in honour of the occasion, and had exhibited to them the magnificent mare and the precious she-foal.

But joy did not dwell long in the tent of the Sheikh. When about a fortnight had passed he saw that his steed was no longer herself, that she was sad and disconsolate. The Sheikh knew what was amiss with his mare and said to himself, ‘Her time of longing is come. I must satisfy her desire,’ and he did not worry. He loved his mare, and that night when he lay down he thought out a plan. ‘The police inspector of the town has a fine stallion. I shall ride over to him to-morrow, taking him a kid of the flocks for a gift, and get relief for my mare.’

So he slept his usual sound sleep and on the morrow rose with the first flush of dawn, took a fat young kid from the pens and mounted his mare with the kid on his knees.

Abu Hatab went to town in high spirits; he returned utterly downcast. The mare had refused. It was doubly annoying to Abu Hatab. He had made himself ridiculous in the eyes of the police inspector, who had twitted him, saying, ‘Abu Hatab does not understand his mare!’ And he was worried about the mare. What ailed her? Surely her mournful eyes and bent head bore witness to her longings. Why, then, should she refuse? Would she conceal her secret from him, from Abu Hatab? He was vexed to death and to crown all he had wasted the kid, the finest of his pens.

Abu Hatab returned to his tent, thoroughly out of temper, but not a word did he say to his household, who trembled at his silence. They knew that mischief was brewing within him, so kept their distance and hid from him, since he could be very cruel when he was angry or vexed. Even when the elders and notables of the tribe came to greet him at evening as he sat over coffee, he replied to them very curtly. They did not know what to make of it. They looked at the mare, for they knew the purpose of his visit to the town; they saw that she was mournful and drooped her head; and they, too, asked wonderingly how was it possible.

Those were hard days for Abu Hatab. He and his mare hammered their feet and hooves weary, visiting every place in the district in which there was a blood stallion, and as they went so they returned, covered with shame and humiliation. The mare brought disgrace on her master. What ailed her?

All men, whether sons of the faith or unbelievers, would stand in wonder and stare at the splendid couple if they met them on the road. Abu Hatab was sixty or more. His hair and beard were growing grey, but he sat his horse like a youth, upright, supple and strong. His feet were set in his broad jack-boots, his black abaya hung from his shoulders with its ends dropping on either side of his mount. He was one of the finest riders of the district, and on festivals, at Nebi Rubin or Nebi Saliah, the young men hesitated to compete with him, while he toed to taunt them and cry, ‘Which of you youngsters will have a race with me?’

And in the whole district there had been none like Abu Hatab’s mare. He had brought her from the far south only the year before. She was tall, upright, slender, with legs like those of a gazelle, supple and fine. Her head was the head of a dove, her ears were tiny, pointed and erect. She was entirely white, with never a shadow or blotch on her from her very hooves to the tips of her ears.

‘How beautiful are the old man and his white mare,’ the wayfarers would exclaim. But those who had sharper eyes asked themselves in astonishment what ailed the old matt and his mare. Both seemed utterly despondent. Where was their glory of motion? What was wrong with them? What ill had befallen them?

II

Sheikh Abu Hatab was at his wits’ end. At last one evening he summoned the oldest Bedouin dwelling in the swamps of the Rubin stream, the negro Abu Ramadan. From that negro naught was hidden of all that befalls in Allah’s world. If there was a robbery in the district they would summon him; he would give a good look at the spot where the deed was done and smile a silent smile, for he had found the trail of the thief. Then he would begin walking with steady stride, turning neither to right nor left, following the tracks of the thief. Even on the king’s highway, where hundreds of feet had passed, he would recognize the tracks he sought and would follow them to the required spot. Sometimes he would meet a man on the road months after a theft, would glance at his trail and say, ‘Here is the thief!’ ‘A gift of God!’ said all who knew him.

Indeed there were no secrets hidden from Ramadan the black. If a man was hated by his wife, he would send for the negro and offer him a gift, and would receive in return a drink from the juice of the bitter roots of the swamp; this the man would give his wife, and her love would return to him. If a woman was barren, Allah having closed her womb, she would send for the negro of the Rubin swamps and offer him a gift, and he would also give her to drink of the juice of the bitter roots of the swamp, and Allah would open her womb. There was naught he could not do.

Abu Ramadan was head and shoulders taller than ordinary men. His eyes were like two flaming torches, sunk deep in their sockets. Neither beard, moustache, nor any sign whatever of hair was to be seen on his face. Allah had deprived him of hair. It was hard to guess his age. He seemed still youthful, but he was really the oldest man in the district. Despite his age he still retained his strength and could make a seven days’ journey on foot without growing weary. On horse or ass he would never ride, nor had he ridden them from his birth. But none knew better than he the heart of the horse, the ass, and every other animal after its kind; and he had a cure for each sickness and every mischance. To be sure, the negro’s eye was ‘evil’, and it boded no good if he gazed at a cow during milking or a mare in foaling. Some whispered that he held converse with the demon who dwelt in the swamp, and from him derived his strength and his charms. And truly, who could tell whether his powers were of Allah or of Satan? Therefore, he would be called in only at the very last moment, when the noose was already around the neck, so to speak.

Toward evening the negro came to the Sheikh in answer to his summons. He neither spoke to him nor greeted him, but stood awaiting his words. Such was the black man’s custom, never greeting a man, maybe because his ear had caught some of the whispering that went on about him. The Sheikh invited him to sit by him on the mat spread on the ground at the side of the tent. He then leaned over to him and told him in a whisper the evil that had befallen him. Abu Ramadan listened with great attention; obviously the Sheikh’s words were deeply interesting him. When Abu Hatab had finished the black man rose and without a word approached the mare, which stood tethered to a peg in the ground near the tent, and turned his piercing gaze upon her.

The Sheikh’s heart throbbed within him. Who could say what kind of moment it was in which the negro had turned his gaze upon the mare? Perhaps it was a moment of evil?

For a long while the black man stared at the mare, which was greatly frightened at him, starting back and breathing heavily through her distended nostrils. Then he returned to his place and sat down silently without uttering a word. The Sheikh gazed at him anxiously, without shifting his eyes from him.

‘What did you see, what are you looking at so closely?’ he asked at last.

‘Your mare is of the mares of the tribe of Tigla?’

‘Ay, I brought her thence,’ answered the Sheikh in a nervous tone.

‘You went a long way.’

‘What does that matter?’

‘The eyes of the mares of the Tigla are turned to the south. From the north they will not be satisfied.’

The Sheikh grew pale. The black man rose to go. Abu Hatab leapt up and blocked his path, fearing that he would vanish, and his last hope with him.

‘There is no counsel or remedy?’

‘None.’

‘It is too much even for you?’

The Sheikh was hinting to the other that for the sake of his mare he would join hands even with a demon from Hell.

‘Even for me.’

The negro stood still, seemed to consider a moment, then said at length in a voice of admonition:

‘The matter depends on you. Should you repent of your evil custom and return to the customs of the Holy Bedouins, your ancestors and forefathers, you can deliver your soul and the soul of your mare. But if you refuse and persist in your frowardness—ere the year is out your mare will perish of sorrow and grief.’

The negro vanished, leaving Sheikh Abu Hatab standing mournful and with downcast eyes.

III

Now this was the matter of the evil custom in which the Sheikh persisted.

It is an ancient custom of the sons of Araby that when a man purchases a mare, she does not become altogether his, but her first master from whom she was bought retains a share in her. This is the case with pedigree and blood mares; ordinary mares for labour are sold for good; no one is particular regarding them. The same rule does not apply even to all riding mares. There are pure-bred and pure-bred. Those whose pedigrees do not ascend to the mares of the Holy Fathers are sold practically entirely; only one or two of the first offspring of the mare belong to the former master. But it was not so with mares of famous lineage ; such were sold only as far as ‘half the womb’ ; meaning that one foal would belong to the former master and the second to the present master, and so on till the end of her breeding days. Now this custom was holy even in ancient times, and not a single one of the notables of the sons of Araby ever transgressed it.

In the beginning Abu Hatab had also followed the custom of his forefathers. When he inherited the seat of his father and became the head Sheikh of his tribe, he purchased a mare of finest lineage and half the womb was his and half belonged to the former owner. On this mare he had ridden for many a year, and she won victories for him on many festive occasions. But she did not establish a breed as unluckily she bore only he-foals. The only she-foal that fell to his lot did not live long. Now when this mare grew old the Sheikh decided to purchase a fresh young one in her place. It was then that the evil spirit took possession of him; he wanted a mare that should be all his and in which no stranger should have any share.

Whence came this evil spirit? His friends whispered that it was from the Yahud. He was on friendly terms with the Jews who lived in the Colonies. From the time they had begun to establish their Colonies Abu Hatab had been drawn to them, he being then but a youth. He visited their Colonies, observed their manner of living and watched their work. Everything he saw attracted him. Since he had become Sheikh of the tribe he had entered into still closer relations with the men of the Colonies, doing business with them and acting as a go-between for them and their neighbours. From these dealings with the men of the Colonies he had become wealthy, and now there was none among the Bedouins of the district as rich as he.

Abu Hatab remained steadfast in his determination to purchase a mare which should be all his; and this proved his undoing. His friends and acquaintances shook their heads over him, and some of them said to themselves, ‘This is the fruit of his friendship with the unbelievers, accurst of the Prophet.’

For a long time Abu Hatab sought to purchase a mare entirely for himself, but without success. Which Bedouin with a pure-blooded steed would consent to sell her without retaining his share? It would have meant making himself a laughing-stock. But Abu Hatab remained obdurate, and at length decided to buy a fleet Kadisha. So he went to the north of the country, purchased a fleet Kadisha mare and brought her to his tent. The tribesmen saw the mare and hung their heads, heartbroken for shame and disgust. To be sure she was a fast runner, but her legs were thick and her ears were long–a Kadisha! When Abu Hatab rode on his speedy new mare all those who met him on the way jeered at him. Some laughed and said:

‘Hast done well, Sheikh Abu Hatab. Half the day she will serve thee for riding and half the day for ploughing!’

Others said mockingly:

‘Look at the Sheikh’s mare, with the body of a horse and the head of a mule.’

Abu Hatab would grow crimson for anger and vexation. In vain did he spur his steed and make her fly like an eagle. Even her wonderful gallop did not hide her ugly legs, her head and ears. The long ears seemed to declare that she was a pure Kadisha of Kadisha stock.

At the turn of the year Abu Hatab took his mare to market and sold her to a fellah for half of what she had cost him. She returned to the plough for which nature had meant her.

For a long time Abu Hatab was torn between conflicting impulses; finally he resolved to purchase a blood stallion. It is no great honour for a Sheikh to ride a stallion, even of pure breed, but at any rate the disgrace of the Kadisha was removed from the tribe. If his new mount was not a mare, at least it was a thoroughbred. Its dam had been the mare of the Mufti from Gaza. The blood stallion was very handsome, sorrel from hooves to ears except for a white star on the forehead. It was long and slender, with fine feet, a tiny head and sharp little upright cars, a real thoroughbred. But it could not compare in speed with the swift mares, and Abu Hatab ceased competing with the youths for fear of disgracing himself. The youths perceived this and revenged themselves for his previous taunts by challenging him to race them.

Abu Hatab tried to deceive himself by saying that he was getting old and his racing days were over. The youths, however, saw through the deception and waited their opportunity.

For a number of years Abu Hatab rode his stallion, and his tribesmen became reconciled to the fact that their Sheikh used a stallion and not a mare. After the sorrel, Abu Hatab purchased a grey that was still more beautiful, and gradually he grew so accustomed to it that he forgot it was only a stallion he rode. And once, during Nebi Saliah, when the young men ran races on their swift mares and became full of excitement, their eyes fell on Abu Hatab and they began to taunt him, saying, ‘Harajah! Aren’t you game any more to race us?’ Then the heart of Abu Hatab grew hot, a flame leapt up in his blood and he spurred his grey toward the youths. To begin with fortune favoured him. His grey took the lead and got ahead of the mares; but it soon wearied. It was not as light on its feet as the mares which are specially bred, and it began to slow down. Abu Hatab felt the mares drawing near and spurred on his steed, trembling with rage lest he might become a derision in the eyes of the youths. The grey sprang forward in a final effort, and at that very moment it stumbled over a stone, fell and broke its leg, bringing the Sheikh within an inch of his life.

For a long time Abu Hatab went about like a mourner. He could not be consoled for the reproach that had befallen his white hairs. In vain did his friends comfort him, beseeching him morning and evening to repent of his evil thought and purchase himself a thoroughbred mare after the fashion of the country; to wit, half the womb for himself and half for the former master. The Sheikh refused. Either he would acquire a mare in the fashion he desired or else he would cease riding and remain in his tent like the old folk.

IV

The fame of the mares of the Tigla tribe is known throughout the world. Where is the Bedouin who cannot descant on their beauty, their mettle and the purity of their stock? Their pedigree goes all the way back to the mare of the Prophet, on which he rode and did battle against the various unbelievers whom he subdued with his holy sword. None of the Sheikhs of the Bedouins of the district possessed a mare from that tribe; they could not afford it. Only Sheikh Abu Hatab could have afforded to purchase one, even the finest of them. His dealings with the Jews had increased his wealth from year to year. But one thing prevented his aspiring to a Tigla mare; they were never sold completely. Nevertheless, from the time he despaired of the local mares and horses he had begun to play with a daring thought; perhaps fortune would favour him. The sons of Tigla are poor, they live mostly on dates; perhaps he would see what he could do with them. Nothing can resist gold, and the gold was his. Allah had prospered his way.

So after much hesitation and doubt he decided to try his fortune. He placed within two girdles a sum of gold which he thought would suffice to dull the conscience of the Sheikhs of Tigla; he set the girdles round his loins, hired one of the mares of the district and set out. Through all the villages of the south he passed, and on the morrow he came to the borders of the Bedouin. From thence onward there was neither hamlet nor town, nothing but open country and sky and the Bedouins. It was a district which he had known and loved from his childhood. The Bedouins of those parts were all his acquaintances who visited him when they crossed the Rubin stream on their way to the markets of the north. Wherever he came he was received with honour and affection, and when the purpose of his journey became known the esteem in which he was held rose still higher. His friends accompanied him to Beersheba. From Beersheba he hired a desert Bedouin who belonged to a tribe that had had a covenant with his father and his father’s father, to accompany him on his distant way.

The men of Tigla did not know Abu Hatab, and had not heard of his tribe. They had no dealings with the north, their traffic being with Egypt. True, however, to their ancestral custom they received their guest and his companion with all honour. When they learned his errand their welcome became most effusive, they slew the best of their flocks and prepared a right royal feast. After regaling themselves on the meat and the delicacies the head Sheikh of the Tigla and his guest went out to view and examine the famous mares. Beside a little pool hidden away like some treasure in a lost corner among the sands the mares of the tribe were at grass amid a cluster of tall date palms. Rooted to the spot, Abu Hatab stared with wide-open eyes at a sight such as he had never beheld even in dream. The full glory of the south was revealed to him. Nearly a hundred of the finest mares imaginable stood and lay and promenaded in little groups. His eyes sparkled with excitement. He was particularly captivated by a certain white mare which walked like a queen among her comrades. When the Sheikh of the Tigla and his guest and their companions returned to the tent, the Sheikh began to sing the praises of the mares and their ancestry in highly coloured language and with many a tale of their prowess. Abu Hatab drank in his words like nectar. In the course of his remarks, as though casually, the Sheikh fixed the price of each mare. His prices were exorbitant, yet to Abu Hatab this did not matter. The white mare was worth the half of life! When the Sheikh of the Tigla had finished speaking Abu Hatab asked him to dismiss everyone from the tent, and he and his guest remained alone. Then Abu Hatab whispered his desire and besought him to sell the white mare completely and absolutely. The Sheikh of the Tigla was astonished at his words, and began to tremble. Had such a thing even been heard of? Could it be believed were it to be told? Would a Tigla man sell his mare without retaining for himself a share in her? It could not be! From the days of Muhammad until that day such a thing had never been done!

Abu Hatab plied the Sheikh with every kind of persuasion and cajolery. Finally he opened one girdle and emptied all the gold in it on the carpet before the Sheikh, whose eyes grew dark in their sockets, blinded by the gleam of the precious metal. The Sheikh was wise and cunning like a serpent, and when he saw the gold and looked at the face of Abu Hatab, he knew that his heart had gone out to the white mare; and he thought to himself, ‘The eyes of our mares turn to the south and in the north they will not let themselves be satisfied. So at the turn of the year after she has foaled, the foolish Sheikh will return to us. And then both his money and the half womb will be mine.’ Abu Hatab saw hesitation in the eyes of his host and his heart trembled for joy.

‘Give me thy hand!’

‘Nay! Such a thing is not done in our place!’

Then Abu Hatab emptied the gold that was in his second girdle. The Sheikh grew pale.

‘Fix me the price of thy white mare.’

‘Between me and thee, my dear guest, what is the price of the white mare? Take her if thy soul doth so desire!’

And as he spoke the Sheikh grabbed the two heaps of gold and gathered them into his pouch.

On the morrow the Sheikh of the Tigla handed to the Sheikh his guest the reins of the white mare.

‘Mabruk!’

‘May Allah bless you.’

Abu Hatab rode off on his new mare, his face radiant with happiness.

But his happiness did not long endure. An evil which he had little anticipated had now befallen him.

V

The negro’s words sank deep into Abu Hatab’s heart. If it was as he had said he was in the hands of the Tigla once again for good or evil. And if they refused him this thing? He suddenly remembered the face of the Sheikh of the Tigla and his cunning smile. He fancied that even then they had dug a pit for his feet. Abu Hatab clenched his fists in anger and grief. If the Sheikh of the Tigla had appeared before him on the way he would have slain him. Were these as ancient times, the days of his forefathers, when there was no fear of the Government, he would have summoned the warriors of his tribe and set forth to do battle with the Tigla for life or death.

For some days he went about with a scowl on his face. Nothing interested him, neither household nor tribal affairs. He could not speak calmly. All day long he raged and stormed and quarrelled without cause. His household crept about like shadows, hiding from him, while the men of his tribe were astonished and perplexed.

One summer morning while it was still dark he saddled his mare, roused his household and bade them look after the foal; and ere the sun rose he was on his way.

This time he did not follow the highway, but kept to the field-paths. In his bitterness of spirit he shrank from meeting his acquaintances; for his very expression announced that Sheikh Abu Hatab was going to sue for mercy. He took no thought either for his own comfort or that of his mare. He rode day and night, resting only for brief intervals. He was impatient to learn his fate. What would it be? Would Heaven show mercy on him or not? Even south of Beersheba he sought no guide this time, depending on his memory to recognize the windings of the paths and tracks. His memory served him well, while in the most difficult places the mare was his guide; he would drop the reins and give her her head; she would sniff a few times with her nostrils and then continue on her way with perfect assurance. She knew the goal of her owner, which was likewise her own haven of desire. Child of the desert, she knew the desert and did not hesitate. Her heaviness forsook her. The whole way her head was held erect and her tiny ears were pricked slightly forward as though she strove to catch some sound; a strong and powerful instinct was drawing her forward and southward.

The desert enveloped Sheikh Abu Hatab on every side; dunes on dunes of sand stretching without end or limit, each one resembling all the rest, one mother having borne them all. From time to time the wind would burst in among the dunes and twirl and whirl about as though bewitched, and become a mighty pillar with feet on the ground and head in the sky. Then suddenly it would shoot forward like lightning, catching up in its wings whatever it might meet, mounting with it to the skies and casting it down again in fury. Then with another whirl it would disappear leaving the entire face of the desert changed—the valley exalted, the hill made low and the twisted straight, as though a besom of fury had passed and swept and upset, levelled and raised till it changed the whole surface. Everything seemed to be born anew. Only the sharp eye of the Sheikh, son of the sons of the Desert, and the scent of the mare could save them from losing their way in this world of sand. Seven days after the Sheikh had forsaken his tent by the Rubin stream the mare suddenly whinnied and from a distance from behind the sand dunes answered the trumpeting of it stallion. Sheikh Abu Hatab and his mare had reached their destination.

The mare carried him forward as though on wings, as though there was no sand beneath her feet. The Sheikh was filled with perplexity. Far off could be seen the shadows of a mountain range. What did this portend for him? Before him were sand dunes. The trumpeting of the stallion showed that there were habitations of men behind them. What fortune awaited him there? A pro-longed sigh broke from his lips.

VI

It was a burning hot morning. The air had already begun to grow dry and choking at midnight, and when the crimson ball of the sun rose above the earth, Allah’s world became a furnace.

Sheikh Abu Hatab riding on his mare emerged from amid the dunes which hid the tents of the Tigla. It was hard to recognize him. He had completely aged overnight. Front that day forth shame overhung him and his tribe. The sons of Tigla had humiliated him. He, the guest, had gone forth from them empty and in disgrace. They had abused him. Half the womb had they demanded from him for the satisfaction of his mare. As though he had not given them a pile of gold! But he, Abu Hatab, had paid them in their own coin. In the middle of the night he had left the tent of the Sheikh of the Tigla, harnessed his mare, and stayed among the dunes until the morning. Insult for insult. From that day forth there would be deadly enmity throughout all generations, between his tribe and the sons of the Tigla. Blood alone could atone for the shame. Blood alone might wash away the reproach.

The Sheikh fumed and raged, and his mare was sorrowful. Her belly seemed to have shrunk, her head dropped and her legs might have been chained together. The Sheikh spurred his mare. He was impatient. Away from the borders of the men who had brought shame upon him!

But the mare, as though of set purpose, dawdled.

The Sheikh grew angry. He had already chid his steed time and again. Once, twice, three times he had pressed his jackboots against her sides till it hurt her. Yet she took no notice. What possessed her? Was she, too, a partner to the deceit? Had she ceased obeying him? His rage consumed him like fire. For the first time in his life he lifted his hand against a horse and beat her as the fellah thrashes his Kadisha.

The mare stopped and quivered. Never before in her life had she been beaten. And it was her master, whom she loved, who had brought this shame upon her head. The mare leapt weirdly like a Kadisha when whipped and began to toss her rider. And she continued thus on her way, jumping and jerking all the while.

The strange movements of the horse were the final drop in the bitter cup which the Sheikh had had to drain these last few days. His very mare was mocking him! He ground his teeth and pulled the bridle violently once and again till it hurt her. He wished to compel her to stop her strange caperings and return to her easy canter. Could she not fly like a bird when she wanted?

The mare, however, remained obstinate. The tugging at the bridle had insulted her even more than the beating. Did her master think her an ass that he tugged at her bridle? She did not alter her gait, and her tossing became even worse than before.

‘Wouldst make me a mockery and a laughing-stock in the eyes of the sun?’ shouted the Sheikh in fury. He could no longer control himself and he began to rain furious blows upon his mare’s back.

The sun flared like a fire. It unsheathed the full force of its heat and flung it at the Sheikh and his mare. The sand was like furnace-ashes and the air was soaked and drenched in flame. Horse and rider were frenzied with the heat, with anger and with resentment. They forgot the past. They forgot their old affection, their faithfulness to each other. Each of them remembered only one thing, the shame. And the shame and the insult took them both out of themselves. The rider beat the mare and the mare shook the rider. They had only one end in view; to pour as much insult on each other as possible.

Suddenly a thing occurred the like of which has not happened since Allah created His world. The mare raised her head and tried to pull the bridle by force out of her rider’s hand. Abu Hatab, whether from anger, from weariness or from the heat, could not withstand the new attack of the mare and let the bridle go. The mare felt it and openly revolted against her master. She made a violent dash forward, galloped as though in a race and flew along. Abu Hatab was not prepared for this and for a moment swerved to one side, all but tumbling from her back. But he recovered at once, pulled himself together, regained his balance with a rapid and expert movement and once more sat firm on her. He did not succeed in recovering the bridle, for the mare had tossed it over her head and it had fallen to the ground. The reason was that in the morning in his anger and vexation he had not fixed it properly—something that had never happened to him before in his life. But the mare would not upset him again! That he knew. He had found himself and was again in control of the situation. Though, indeed, who knew what might happen yet? The dire anger of heaven was poured out upon him that day. How had he sinned against heaven?

The mare knew that her trick had not succeeded, but she did not yet give up or submit tamely to her fate. She cast about for fresh devices. While careering at full speed, she suddenly darted to one side. Had her rider been any other than Abu Hatab, she would certainly have flung him to the ground. But it was Abu Hatab who rode her. He was accustomed to such tricks, for it was he who had taught them to her, and he only smiled inwardly at her simplicity. What did she suppose him to be—a tyro?

The mare continued to twirl around. She bucked and raged. She would race forward at full speed and then suddenly swerve and turn. Abu Hatab sat as though nailed to her body, as though they were one flesh. His keffiyeh had fallen from his head, his abaya had slipped down around his legs. The white lock of hair in the centre of his head, his beard and moustache, all were flying in the wind. His face was scarlet with heat and anger. His eyes gleamed like fire. Then the mare decided on a strange and dreadful act. She turned about and with all her might began to race back along her traces toward the tents of the Tigla.

The Sheikh’s heart dropped within him. The evil which now faced him was greater than all that had preceded. The mare would bring him to his foes. She would shame him before them, so that they would say that Abu Hatab could not master his steed. The Sheikh knew he had no way of saving himself from shame. He could not stop the mare nor turn her aside. Better to fall from her and perish than return to the tents of the Tigla. But what could he do? Could he throw himself from the mare? Nay, for she would think that she had thrown him, that she had vanquished him. It could not be. Would that a miracle might happen, that a pit might open before her feet so that both she and her rider might fall into it and perish together!

See! A dreadful sight. A few hundred paces from them the sharp eyes of the Sheikh saw a snake lying across the path.

Behold the miracle. Here was the death for which he had prayed. Here was salvation. Yet how dire a thing it was! The mare had not perceived the snake. In another moment she would reach it. One of two things would happen; either she would notice it at the last moment and would be terrified and leap aside, when both she and her rider would fall from sheer weariness and the sudden bound ; or else she would ride the snake down and he would bite her. . . The mare continued her gallop without noticing the peril. Her weariness, her fury and the secret power which drew her back to the Tigla robbed her of her faculties and senses.

The snake lay full length across the path without moving. Had it not noticed the mare? Or had the heat of the day stupefied it?

Abu Hatab stared straight ahead. The snake perceived the danger and bestirred itself ; it did not crawl aside but rose to half its height in the middle of the track, facing the mare which had just come up to it, and opened its fangs.

The mare started back in terror, rising on her hind legs as though she wished to leap back. The snake fell on her. The Sheikh fell backward his full length.

VII

A fortnight later two Tigla Bedouins brought Sheikh Abu Hatab on a camel to his tent beside the Rubin stream. The Sheikh did not feel any pain and had not been injured by his fall, neither in his arms or in his legs. But there was no peace within his body. His breathing was hard and heavy and when he coughed and spat, drops of blood fell from his mouth.

The far-famed mare of Sheikh Abu Hatab was found dead on the spot where he had fallen. They were both dead, she and the snake, which was coiled about her belly. And her belly was very swollen indeed.

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