ressed in the letters of the Grand
Vizir. On emerging from the door of an inn we frequently found this
unexpected guard waiting with a Winchester rifle swung over his shoulder,
and a fleet steed standing by his side. Immediately on our appearance he
would swing into the saddle and charge through the assembled rabble. Away
we would go at a rapid pace down the streets of the town or village, to
the utter amazement of the natives and the great satisfaction of our
vainglorious zaptieh. As long as his horse was fresh, or until we were out
of sight of the village, he would urge us on with cries of "Gellcha-buk"
("Come on, ride fast"). When a bad piece of road or a steep ascent forced
us to dismount he would bring his horse to a walk, roll a cigarette, and
draw invidious comparisons between our steeds. His tone, however, changed
when we reached a decline or long stretch of reasonably good road. Then he
would cut across country to head us off, or shout after us at the top of
his voice, "Yavash-yavash" ("Slowly, slowly"). On the whole we found them
good-natured and companionable fellows, notwithstanding their interest in
_baksheesh_ which we were compelled at last, in self-defense, to fix at
one piaster an hour. We frequently shared with them our frugal, and even
scanty meals; and in turn they assisted us in our purchases and
arrangements for lodgings, for their word, we found, was with the common
people an almost unwritten law. Then, too, they were of great assistance
in crossing streams where the depth would have necessitated the stripping
of garments; although their fiery little steeds sometimes objected to
having an extra rider astride their haunches, and a bicycle across their
shoulders. They seized every opportunity to impress us with the necessity
of being accompanied by a government representative. In some lonely
portion of the road, or in the suggestive stillness of an evening
twilight, our Turkish Don Quixote would sometimes cast mysterious glances
around him, take his Winchester from his shoulder, and throwing it across
the pommel of his saddle, charge ahead to meet the imaginary enemy. But we
were more harmful than harmed, for, despite our most vigilant care, the
bicycles were sometimes the occasion of a stampede or runaway among the
caravans and teams along the highway, and we frequently assisted in
replacing the loads thus upset. On such occasions our pretentious cavalier
would remain on his horse, smoking his cigaret