AN OREGON ARAB 



with open ears and loose change, listening for 

 the best tips. One day I went to the stalls in 

 the Bedouin camp and made a sketch of a gray 

 stallion they called Obeyran. I finished the 

 picture in pen and ink, and showed it to the 

 Lakelands. They thought I ought to get one 

 of the smaller horses in exchange for it, while 

 I had made up my mind to be content if they 

 would give me a saddle and bridle that had ac- 

 tually been on one of the horses, as I had 

 learned that all the animals had to be returned 

 to the desert near Damascus, whence they 

 had come by special permission of the Sultan 

 of Turkey. 



The Lakelands went with me to present the 

 picture. I had stupidly drawn it while the 

 horse was in his stall, with the tail hanging as 

 an ordinary horse's tail would hang. The 

 Bedouins recognized the picture, and most of 

 them exclaimed "Obeyran!" but in a moment 

 there was a rumpus raised because the tail was 

 carried low. One of them struck the picture 

 with a sword and cut it in two, and another 

 ripped at it, and finally it was knocked out of 

 my hands and torn in pieces. The Lakelands 

 and myself were thrown bodily out of the en- 



[5] ^ 



