"He is strong in them in whom the faith is weak, Néphtali;--yet, if I
mistake not, the hinder horseman has hair flowing from under his cap."

"May I be pounded to dust, but it is so! It is either a Russian, or, what
is worse, a Tartar Shageed.[37] Stop a moment, my friend; I will comb
your zilflárs for you! In half-an-hour I will return, Suleiman, either
with them,--or one of us three shall feed the mountain berkoots
(eagles.)"

[37] The mountaineers are bad Mussulmans, the Sooni sect is
predominant; but the Daghestánetzes are in general Shageeds, as
the Persians. The sects hate each other with all their heart.

Néphtali rushed down the stairs, threw the gun on his shoulders, leapt
into his saddle and dashed down the hill, caring neither for furrow nor
stone. Only the dust arose, and the pebbles streamed down after the bold
horseman."

"Alla akbér!" gravely exclaimed Suleiman, and lit his pipe.

Néphtali soon came up with the strangers. Their horses were covered with
foam, and the sweat-drops rained from them on the narrow path by which
they were climbing the mountain. The first was clothed in a shirt of
mail, the other in the Circassian dress: except that he wore a Persian
sabre instead of a sháshka,[38] suspended by a laced girdle. His left
arm was covered with blood, bound up with a handkerchief, and supported
by the sword-knot. The faces of both were concealed. For some time he
rode behind them along the slippery path, which overhung a precipice;
but at the first open space he galloped by them, and turned his horse