picturing the
scene of our arrival--the shade and the repose, the long, cool drinks,
the friendly hum of the bazaars--and wondering what letters I should
find awaiting me, all to the tune of 'Onward, Christian soldiers'--for
the clip-clap of a horse's hoofs invariably beats out in my brain some
tune, the most incongruous, against my will--when a sudden outcry
roused me. It came from my companion, a hired muleteer, and sounded
angry. The fellow had been riding on ahead. I now saw that he had
overtaken other travellers--two men astride of one donkey--and had
entered into conversation with them. One of the two, the hindmost, was
a Turkish soldier. Except the little group they made together, and a
vulture, a mere speck above them in the blue, no other living creature
was in sight. Something had happened, for the soldier seemed amused,
while my poor man was making gestures of despairing protest. He
repeated the loud cry which had disturbed my reverie, then turned his
mule and hurried back to meet me.

'My knife!' he bellowed 'My knife!--that grand steel blade which was
my honour!--so finely tempered and inlaid!--an heirloom in the family!
That miscreant, may Allah cut his life!--I mean the soldier--stole it.
He asked to look at it a minute, seeming to admire. I gave it, like
the innocent I am. He stuck it in his belt, and asked to see the
passport which permitted me to carry weapons. Who ever heard of such a
thing in this wild region? He will not give it back, though I
entreated. I am your Honour's servant, speak for me and make him give
it back! It is an heirloom!' That grey-haired man was crying like a
baby.

Now, I was very young, and his implicit trust in my authority
enthralled me. I valued his dependence on my manhood more than gold
and precious stones. Summoning all the courage I possessed, I clapped
spurs to my horse and galloped after the marauder.

'Give back that knife!' I roared. 'O soldier! it is thou to whom I
speak.'

The soldier turned a studiously guileless face--a handsome face, with
fair moustache and a week's beard. He had a roguish eye.

'What knife? I do not understand,' he said indulgently.

'The knife thou stolest from the muleteer here present.'

'Oh, that!' replied the soldier, with a deprecating laugh: 'That is a
thing unworthy of your Honour's notice. The rogue in question is a
well-known malefactor. He and I are old acquaintance.'

'By the beard of the Prophet, by the August Coran, I n