THE SHIPMENT OF HORSES 



The poisonous mosquitoes were dipping under 

 your hat-brim like bees. On the dock you were 

 conscious that there was a spy, who was there 

 smihng at you and to you and anxious to hold 

 his umbrella over your head. You allowed 

 him to do this, but at the same time you knew 

 that he was watching to see if he could not find 

 some way to stop you legally. You also knew 

 that in the little town, possibly between the 

 wharf and the place where your horses were 

 tied by the legs, were men who would like to 

 steal some of the .choicest ones, especially the 

 Seglawieh Jedranieh mare, or the Maneghi 

 Sbeyel stallion. If those men once got on the 

 back of any of these horses nothing could catch 

 them. It would be a short run of an hour into 

 the mountains and then — the desert, where 

 everything is lost. A fortune you knew was 

 waiting for the man who could get away with 

 the brown stallion. 



These trifling details had never been in my 

 mind when I was at home rocking in the shade, 

 desert-dreaming, but they were forced on me 

 now with other little things. Nevertheless the 

 shady porch in Morris Plains at the other end 

 of the journey was on my mind as well as the 

 thought that I was determined to win out. 



[ 199 J 



