FOUR YEARS OLD, A BAY, WHICH HE HIMSELF

I THINK SHE CAN OUTWALK ANYTHIN IN HORSE

FLESH I EVER SAW, AND I BELIEVE THAT EVEN IN A

FIELD OF EXCEPTIONALLY FAST WALKING HORSES,

SHE WOULD BE FIVE MILES AHEAD OF THE LOT IN

AN ALL-DAY WALK. SHE AND HER SISTER, WITH A

BROKEN SHOULDER, WERE THE ONLY HAMDANIEH

SIMRIEH IN THE NORTHERN DESERT. THE ANEZAH

TOLD ME THERE WERE SOME IN THE SHAMMAR, BUT

ONLY A FEW. THEY ARE THE RAREST HORSES IN THE

DESERT, AND THE BLOOD IS HELD IN HIGHER

            At ten the next morning we went with Akmet Haffez to the Governor's residence, Nazim Pasha had promised to let us see the "Pride of the Desert," the great brown stallion presented to him by the Bedouins.

            Frankly I did not expect much of the "Pride of the Desert." I really resented the waste of time involved in this call on the Governor.

            Right now I want to apologize. I had known what I was to see or what I was to receive. It did not seem at all probable that the "Pride of the Desert" would amount to much -- but when he was brought to the court yard I apologized to myself as I am doing to you now. We forgot all about heat and sun reflection. We could only think of the horse.

            He was of the pure Maneghi Sbeyel strain and what a stocky fellow he was! He was powerful enough for any purpose, especially for a long killing race where weight was to be carried. Akmet Haffez began on his fingers to count the stallion's pedigree through his dam's side, each one of which had been the greatest mare of her time. Other horses were shown, but we remembered only the brown stallion.

            And here came the second surprise. Just as we were leaving the Governor's palace, he asked me to accept the brown stallion as his present. I had taken the war mare from Haffez, he said, and so I should accept this horse from him. This seemed to be beyond reason. The Governor was a poor man, and we had heard of the failure of the Italian Government to secure the horse, although a large price had been offered for him. But the Governor was firm.

            So I did, but later in the day I sent to Hickmut Bey, the Governor's son, as a present, a check for one hundred French pounds. Honors were therefore easy, but nevertheless I had had presented to me on the eve of my start for the desert, a mare and a stallion which I could not have purchased with all my letters of credit.

            The rest of the day was taken up in preparing for the journey to the desert with Haffez. At five o'clock we had left Aleppo. I rode Wadduda; Haffez was on a bay, four years old, a Hamdani Simri; Thompson contented himself with his grey, and Moore straddled an Abeyeh Sherrakieh mare. One of Haffez's sons rode the "Pride of the Desert."

            Still one thing bothered me. I had not yet made friends with my mare. she fretted and was nervous. We rode on for miles over dirt and rock and Wadduda still seemed fretful. She wanted something; that was evident, but what it was I could not quite make out. Then suddenly I was enlightened.

            Just as the big red sun was setting we came to the desert. Wadduda stopped as if she were paying some tribute to the closing day. The faint roadway now seemed to disappear and before us was a vast barren plain. The sky was of a soft blue, tinted to gold by the sun, which had just set. I turned in my Oregon-made saddle, as easily as I could, that I might see where the rest of the caravan was. The mare did not notice my turning. With a quick and graceful toss of the head, she began to play. I sat deep down in my saddle and let her frolic uninterrupted. She finely stopped short, and snorted twice.

            Turning sightly to the left she started galoping with a delightful spring. It was the return home, the call of the wild life with its thrills of wars and races; with its beautiful open air, as compared with the musty stuffed corral she had been picketed in. She was getting away from civilization and back to the open. Once in a while she stopped short, apparently to scent the rapidly cooing atmosphere. Now and then she pranced, picking her way between came thistles. Her ears were alert; her eyes were blazing with an expression of intense satisfaction. All this time, I found by my wet cheeks, that I had been crying without knowing it. I was wrought up to a state of much excitement. I was again a boy and felt the presence of my parents, and recalled the stories of the Arab horses they used to tell me when I was a chid. I remembered the drawings I had made of them as a boy. It was hard to realize that I was I, and that I was astride the most distinguished mare of the desert. I seemed then to realize what she was and what she meant to me. My face was dripping again and I felt glad I was alone.

            Wadduda had stopped short again and was scanning the horizon. I touched the mare with my heels, but she did not move. She was thinking. Of what, who knows? Perhaps of her wars; or of combats on the desert, or of the keen edge of the Bedouin lance given when she had seen both horse and rider fall from the thrust of the spear of the Great Sheikh who had ridden her.

            So for a long time we waited together -- the mare and I, in the gathering dusk, and as we waited I almost wished that we could always be alone. The call of the desert came strong to both of us then.

            But we were not to be left alone for long. The mare and I had ridden far in advance of the caravan, but now the people were galloping along in an effort to catch up. They soon reached us and Akhmet Haffez, who would not let me go astray in the desert, took his place on my left, and so we rode and talked on and on into the beautiful night. We were going to stop about midnight at the camp of a cousin of Akmet Haffez. We were to have a midnight dinner and start before sun up toward the Anezeh.

            But it was after midnight when we came to the singing and joyous Bedouins, who were shouting "Akmet Haffez!" Akmet Haffez!" as we dismounted rather stiffly.

            Then we were taken into the cone-shaped mud house and there was a feast, long to be remembered.

            It was spread on low tables about a foot from the ground, with short-legged little wicker stools for us to sit on. On the tables was spread bread about an eighth of an inch thick and this served as a table cloth. The bread, baked on rocks in the sun, was made of barley and wheat rolled, and now and then in eating it you came to a full stop; a period as it were, consisting of a small gravel. In the center of the table was a large mound of finely-cooked rice and on top of this mound was a roasted head of sheep. The carcass, nicely roasted, was strewn around the mound of rice at intervals. There were red, yellow and green melons; egg plant, chicken cut up fine, and clabber milk of the goat, sheep, camels and cows. There were grape leaves rolled with rice in the center and there were fine light green grapes and fresh figs. To drink there was a mixture of sour milk and water.

            When we sat down, I saw Akmet Haffez rolling up his sleeves. I saw no plates, knives or forks, or even spoons, but I took the hint quicker than Jack or Arthur. Possibly I had always lived closer to the ground than they. Akmet Haffez had no sooner plunged into the rice than I did the same. His motions were easy to imitate, still the bedouins laughed heartily at the quick way I mastered their simple art of eating. We ripped and tore at the table cloth and at the other dishes for more than an hour, and then having washed our hands out of a peculiar brass pitcher, we returned to our sleeping rooms. This program was to lie down and sleep till about three o'clock, when we were to start again and ride, reaching the Anezeh, we hoped, before it got very hot.

            A couple of hours after sun-up, we began to realize that we were really in the desert. Two Arabs on mares, a grey and bay, came galloping toward us. They were carrying spears that looked fifty feet long. As they approached Haffez, they stopped and said, "Salam Alakum"-- "Peace be with you"... and with the couriers with the long spears we went on.

            It was about eleven o'clock when we reached the top of a small knoll. I was sore and tired for I had not ridden for so long in years and the heat must have been telling somehow on my expression, for Akmet Haffez yelled to me to cheer up and pointing on ahead shouted: "Anezeh!" I looked, but could see nothing. After a while, through the haze I noticed that the plain was covered with blackish tents and camels. And then the whole plain seemed to be covered with camels. In the distance they looked like row after row of teakettles. Wadduda was prancing. She had seen her tribe first. Tired as I was, it was a thrilling sight. It was the realization at last, of a wish that I had cherished since a small boy, and my emotions got the best of me. We could see horseman racing here and there. They were preparing to greet us and were getting into holiday garb.

            Frankly, it was too much for me. I tried to tell Akmet Haffez though the interpreter what I felt and to thank him for what he had done, but I am afraid I made a mess of it. That kindly old man saw my emotion and replied with all the native courtesy of the desert combined with the manner of the true gentleman. It was an honor to him, he said, that we had allowed him to introduce us to his Anezeh.

            Ameene felt that it was up to me to say something. Too tired to stand, almost too weak to talk from the heat, hunger and thirst, still I leaned toward the interpreter, and asked him to tell Akmet Haffez and the Anezeh, that while I had been born in the far western part of what he called "Americ," I had realized, ever since a small boy, that I was just as much of an Arab as any in the desert and that now that I had seen the Anezeh tribe, I felt I had been one of its members all my life. I thanked Akmet Haffez for bringing me to such a people, for it was the supreme moment of my life.

            Without hesitation, this old man reached across the camel's saddle and with a voice full of emotion said:

            "No, the day is ours, not yours; ever since the Anezeh became a tribe we have known that one of us was missing. Now you have come and the number is complete. To-day we celebrate the gathering of the entire tribe."

            And thus I was received by the Anazeh.

            This interchange of formalities broke the ice and we instantly felt that we were at home in the Bedouin camp. Our hosts brought us a delicious drink of water mixed with curdled milk of the sheep, goat and camel, and we did not in the least mind that the water was muddy or that the mixture was stirred in a dirty pail with a dagger. We liked it all the more. Presently the slave who makes the coffee began to beat time on a large wooden bowl with ornamental sides. The stick he used was heavy, and in the noise there was a ring of ragtime that was fascinating. No tune ever impressed itself on me more than that weird coffee beating, the muffled sound of which could be heard a quarter of a mile.

            Coffee galore was served. Never have I seen such a gathering as was seated under the big flat-topped tent; Bedouin after Bedouin, as handsome warriors as one could imagined, all with beards, except the young men and boys and all so black that their highlights were really blue.

            About two o'clock four men came, carrying an immense pan with more than two washtubs full of boiled rice on it, and on top of that a roast sheep. About four sheikhs ate with us at the first table. And never was there such rice and mutton! We must have consumed a third of it before it was given over to the rank and file, who put the crimp on the rest of it in short order. By this time our tent was up, and full of Bedouins looking at things. They were driven away by Sheikh Ali, and we were invited to sleep, which we did without being rocked. There was a quiet air to the place which seemed more restful, and in the morning I was up at daylight looking over the horses picketed here and there. Finally, picturesquely dressed Bedouins began to appear.

            Not one of them was hurried. Everybody walked slowly and with a dignified sway. There was no rushing for the 8:17 train; there was no hurrying for the ferryboat; there was no worry over the market; there was no excitement over politics. Until I learned better that you cannot "hustle the East" this repose (you cannot call it laziness) seemed very strange. Later I began to like it. These big handsome men with well-kept beards and sparkling sharp eyes, seemed to have nothing to do, but when you had watched them for a while you could see how alert they were. They were anxious to see our firearms and knives and jewelry. They commented, with astonishment, on my knowledge of the technical points of their own horses. My pronunciation of words was often bad, but they knew that I had a fair knowledge of the different breeds and they brought up stranger and stranger that they might enjoy the astonishment of the latter when I went over the families of the Khamseh, or five great families of the Arab horse. When the sketch books were opened, and I began to draw pictures of horses and men, their joy was almost childlike.

            Our saddles were strange to them, especially mine, an Oregon make with the latest cowboy seat. I drew them a picture, showing what the horn was for, and After that, whenever we went the first thing they wanted me to do was to draw the picture of the cowboy throwing the steer.

            Soon after meeting Akmet Haffez I had told him that I was not a government buyer and, indeed was not a rich man. I made it clear to him that while I was prepared to pay good honest prices, still I did not intend to be cheated. Government agents do not have to be particular about prices, and consequently the Anezeh have been spoiled. The money values they set on their horses are sometimes astonishing, considering what labor in the desert is worth.

            My old friend put his arm around my shoulders and told me that he would tell everybody we met and everybody whose horses we cared to see, that, unless they thought enough of him and his friendship to sell on reasonable terms, we would buy no horses at all.

            "I have presented to this man," cried the chief eloquently, "the great war mare which came to me from your great Sheikh, Hashem Bey. You know, as all Bedouins know, that no European could have purchased that mare at any price (and here all his auditors grunted their assent), but I have given to him the mare Wadduda, whose name means love and affection, that she may be a living witness of the affection for him, not only of myself but of the whole Anezeh tribe. And in Aleppo the governor gave to him the Maneghi Sbeyel stallion, the 'Pride of the Desert.' So now treat the man as you would one of your own tribe. Those of you who have for sale horses that are 'Chubby' he will talk with, but other horses need not be shown. Let it be a matter of your personal pride that he takes from the desert only such horses and mares as the Anezeh themselves would want to have -- not meaning only such animals as the European government would use."

            Notwithstanding the friendship that had been shown to us by everybody, there was considerable disappointment among the Bedouins at Akmet Haffez's strict order. As Arthur and Jack remarked, it bound their hands so that they could do no "gouging."

            When horses were brought for us to inspect, Akmet Haffez told me not to seem over pleased, no matter how beautiful the animal was. If, after I had looked a horse over and decided that I wanted him, I was to wink at him and then, if the horse could be bought under our conditions and no others, he would get him.

            When the Bedouins were showing a horse, or mare, it was quite a relief to see an animal, where the defects, if any, were never concealed. They just brought the horse and squatted down by him. No attempt was made to straighten his mane. If he had a blemish, they were more than likely to back him up to you so the blemish was the first thing you saw...

            She was a picture, though she had no jibbah, or bulging forehead. On the contrary her forehead was as flat as a board, but her eyes were far apart and set in the peculiar Japanese slant. They were turned up at the outer corners like those of a chorus girl with a 1907 makeup. There was the same stately dignity about her that Wadduda had; she looked like a fine lady of quality in the presence of a lot of cooks at an employment agency.

            ...When a price was finely agreed upon, Haffez always called me and the Bedouin to him. Taking the right hand of each of us, he would join them; then laying one of his hands over ours and pointing up, he would ask the Bedouin if he would swear before God that everything he said was true, and if he would be willing, with God as a witness, to ask the Sheikh of the tribe to put his seal on the bargain. Then if the Bedouin said yes, Haffez would toss the hands up and the deal was closed.

Part I

Part II

Part III

Part IV

Part V

Part VI

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