MY QUEST OF THE ARAB HORSE 



toward the west, a little nearer Broadway, he 

 would feel better. And we tried. We got 

 him on his horse somehow and started on again. 



One of the horses, a golden bay from the 

 private stables of Hassan Pasha, was sick, too, 

 but that was nothing. A local veterinary in- 

 deed offered to cure both Moore and the horse 

 with one prescription, which he declared was in- 

 fallible. He said that if the sick man should 

 lead the sick horse past the graveyard both 

 would immediately recover. He guaranteed 

 the cure before Allah. We declined with 

 thanks. Besides, there wasn't any graveyard. 



It was now the third night out from Aleppo 

 and there was no news from the mare. Sud- 

 denly about nine in the evening there was a 

 cry of "Faiot," and the son of Akmet Haffez 

 came galloping up on "The Pride of the Eu- 

 phrates." She was the same beautiful ani- 

 mal despite her journey. Her eyes had 

 the same sparkle and she looked better than 

 when we first saw her. Some of the grooms 

 were watering the horses at a nearby 

 stream, and her colts were away from the camp 

 ground at the creek. But while she was still 

 resenting our approach, the chestnut orphan 

 colt came in on the run. He was all excite- 



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