their fantastic turbans and with their colored jackets adorned in gold and silver embroidery.
Soon I discovered him in the person of their chief, who sat his white thoroughbred, with its brilliant red saddle and bridle, there on a mound just opposite me. The Arab beast, statuesquely beautiful, stood motionless with its flaming eyes staring far out on the desert plain it loved to course and its nostrils spread as though they searched for the air of the open spaces. As the rider sat his motionless mount, his picturesquely draped bournous did not hide his fine, stalwart form. From under the cowl that covered his turban, well-deep, dark eyes told of the spirit and expectancy within, while his black beard, spreading over his bournous, seemed to add the last bit of evidence of repose and strength.
At a slight signal from his hand the line of riders shouted, started their horses forward, threw their rifles into the air, catching them again while still in motion, and managed somehow to keep the dress of the line, though the horses, once in action, lunged and showed great nervousness. When the line reached the middle of the square, the riders raised their rifles above their heads and gave forth a tremendous shout Then suddenly, as though madness had seized them, they let their reins fall from their hands and gave another wild, sharp and guttural yell, following which the horses sprang into a gallop at such speed that their bodies seemed raised above the ground in flight and coursed round the place like a group of falcons chasing a flock of finches. Another shout, and the men sent a volley into the air from their long rifles, leaving little cloudlets of white smoke and the
