MY QUEST OF THE ARAB HORSE 



were taken to a balcony of the palace to see 

 the Governor's horses. 



Right now I want to apologize. I had not 

 known what I was to see or what I was to re- 

 ceive. It did not seem at all probable that the 

 "Pride of the Desert" would amount to much 

 — but when he was brought to the court yard 

 I apologized to myself as I am doing to 

 you now. We forgot all about heat and sun 

 reflection. We could only think of the horse. 



He was of the pure INIaneghi Sbeyel strain 

 and what a stocky fellow he was! He was 

 powerful enough for any purpose, especially 

 for a long killing race where weight was to be 

 carried. There was not a white hair on him, 

 and Akmet Haffez began on his fingers to 

 count the stallion's pedigree through his dams' 

 side, each one of which had been the greatest 

 mare of her time. Other horses were shown, 

 but we remembered only the brown stallion. 



And here came the second surprise. Just as 

 we were leaving the Governor's palace, he 

 asked me to accept the brown stallion as his 

 present. I had taken the war mare from Haf- 

 fez, he said, and so I should accept this horse 

 from him. This seemed to be beyond reason. 

 The Governor was a poor man, and we had 



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