MY QUEST OF THE ARAB HORSE 



old and had been the favorite war mare of 

 Hashem Bey for four years. She didn't like 

 the town, she wanted to go — and those who told 

 me pointed to the desert. 



Two fine looking young men came up. 

 Thev were introduced as sons of Akmet Haf- 

 fez, who proudly referred to them as horse- 

 men. The crowd was dense by this time, and 

 the excitement ran high when the Bedouins 

 were told that I had called on Akmet Haffez 

 before I had called on Nazim Pasha, the Gov- 

 ernor. Many of the rank and file kissed the 

 old Sheikh's hand in joy. Others came close 

 and touched their cheeks to his. 



In the meantime, the older son Ali, who had 

 galloped down a stony street on the war mare, 

 cried out and was turning to come back. In 

 a moment, she came tearing down toward us 

 all afire, and the bounding tassels around her 

 knees, looked like silk skirts. Such action 

 over such rolling rocks! Her tail was high 

 and her eyes fairly sparkled ! 



The son then rode the bay, a smaller Abeyeh 

 Sherrakieh, with the greatest jibbah or fore- 

 head, I ever saw. This small mare had even 

 more fire than the other and we were afraid 

 for a moment that some child would be hurt 



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