ervant of
the house that no one else could possibly have done it. We tied him at
the further end of the meydan.

Then I went back on to the terrace, where the notables had risen and
were looking at the youths who were to take part in the fantasia,
among them my companion of the road, the young Sheykh Abdul Hamid.
These were now on the parade-ground with their horses. My neighbour in
the group of great ones said, politely:

'Your Honour should go with them; it is only proper, since their going
is to compliment the representative of England. And you are, I see, a
very skilful cavalier. The way you quieted that horse of yours was
wonderful. We have all been talking of it. Ride with them!'

I begged to be excused. The essence of the fantasia is to show off
one's own prowess and one's horse's paces while careering madly in a
widish circle round some given object--an open carriage with some
great one in it, or a bridal pair--taking no note of obstacles,
dashing over rocks and gulleys and down breakneck slopes, loading and
firing off a gun at intervals, in full career. I had tried the feeling
of it once at a friend's wedding, and had been far from happy, though
my horse enjoyed the romp and often tried to start it afterwards when
there was no occasion. Remembering Abdul Hamid and his desire for
praise that day, I said:

'There is only one good horseman here--Abdul Hamid, the son of the
Sheykh Mustafa. All the rest of us, compared with him, are mere
pedestrians.'

I pointed out the youth in question to my neighbour, who was a man of
power in the mountains, and he praised the beauty of his form on
horseback.

'By Allah, right is with thee,' he assented. 'There is none but he.'

Away they went--Jinblats, Talhuks, and Abdul Meliks--all in clean
white turbans, with coloured cloaks a-stream upon the breeze, on
horses gorgeously caparisoned. We waited half an hour--in silence, as
it seemed; and then we heard the noise of their return, the shouts,
the firing. I swear I saw a horse and man surmount a housetop in the
village and then leap down upon the other side. At last, with yells
and reckless gunshots and a whirl of dust, the crowd of horsemen came
full tilt on the meydan. Their leader--in appearance a mad angel--was
my friend, Abdul Hamid. Suddenly he drew his rein, flinging the steed
right back upon his haunches. In so doing, looking up at me with a
triumphant smile, he somehow missed his balance and pitched clear over
h