the horse in a steel grip. He gazed down contemplatively, with a half
serious look, master of himself and of the horse as well. Then presently
he turned him up the road and went off at a gallop, with the brute under
perfect control. I do not know what art he used; all I can say is that
in a half hour he brought Satan back in a canter.

This was my first acquaintance with Gordon Orme, that strange
personality with whom I was later to have much to do. This was my first
witnessing of that half uncanny power by which he seemed to win all
things to his purposes. I admired him, yet did not like him, when he
swung carelessly down and handed me the reins.

"He's a grand one," he said easily, "but not so difficult to ride as old
Klingwalla. Not that I would discount your own skill in riding him, sir,
for I doubt not you have taken a lot out of him before now."

At least this was generous, and as I later learned, it was like him to
give full credit to the performance of any able adversary.




CHAPTER III

THE ART OF THE ORIENT


"Come," said Orme to me, "let us go into the shade, for I find your
Virginia morning warm."