MY QUEST OF THE ARAB HORSE 



of the Syrian desert, near Aleppo, where they 

 spend the summer months among the pastoral 

 tribes. 



As fall comes they start across the upper 

 end of the desert, brushing over past Palmyra, 

 and on down in the direction of Riad. This 

 schedule has been in force ever since the his- 

 tory of the desert has been recorded. 



All Bedouin Sheikhs hold their position by 

 inheritance, and among the great sheikhs of 

 the desert there have been some notable men. 

 Paris, the late head of the Shammar tribe, was 

 a man whose memory has already become a 

 tradition. Though constantly their enemy, the 

 greater men of the Anezeh tribe told me of his 

 goodness and his courage. He was honesty 

 itself. Once when his tribes had robbed some 

 of the agricultural Bedouins of their sheep, the 

 losers went to the great sheikh himself, and 

 told him how his tribe had ravished their 

 flocks. Instantly Paris told them to go and 

 count out the same number of sheep from his 

 own personal flocks and take them home. He 

 was made the brother of Wilfred Blunt, Esq., 

 twenty-nine or thirty years ago. At his death 

 the whole desert mourned, feeling that one of 

 the greatest of their kindred had passed away. 



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