MY QUEST OF THE ARAB HORSE 



not walk; he crawled with politeness. After 

 a few moments taken up in patting him, we 

 went to the cook's tent and got better acquaint- 

 ed with the aid of some chicken bones. I left 

 him for the night, but heard him barking at the 

 camels as they came by about midnight. The 

 next morning he was there; his opportunity 

 had come and he had taken it. 



He had filled the only vacancy, perhaps, on 

 the great Arabian desert from Nejd to Aleppo. 

 There was probably not a tent, except mine, 

 that was not carefully watched by many dogs. 

 His tail was poised in a different way. He 

 had actually grown during the night, and he 

 had the ways of a full-fledged dog, and 

 wouldn't let others come around. He watched 

 the saddle, and lying on the saddle blankets, 

 with his big brown eyes wide open, he was 

 thinking how to manage his empire. All day 

 he went from tent to tent, from saddle to horse, 

 as if the weight of the whole caravan was on 

 his shoulders. 



He was no longer a bashful puppy. He 

 growled and barked when his father and 

 mother drove a hundred sheep too close to his 

 pre-empted home. He wouldn't even let his 

 sisters, who were as dainty as girl puppies 



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