to their horses' infinite disgust, panting and straining mightily
in the effort to unseat each other. It was natural that Will should
have the best of it, he being about fifteen years younger as well
as unweakened by malaria. The men of Zeitoon behind us checked to
watch Fred rolled out of his saddle, and roared with the delight
of fighting men the wide world over to see the older campaigner suddenly
recover his balance and turn the tables on the younger by a trick.

And at that very second, as Will landed feet first on the gravel
panting for breath, Maga Jhaere arrived full gallop from the rear,
managing her ugly gray stallion with consummate ease. Her black
hair streamed out in the wind, and what with the dew on it and the
slanting sun-rays she seemed to be wearing all the gorgeous jewels
out of Ali Baba's cave. She was the loveliest thing to look at
--unaffected, unexpected, and as untamed as the dawn, with parted
lips as red as the branch of budding leaves with which she beat
her horse.

But the smile turned to a frown of sudden passion as she saw Will
land on the ground and Fred get ready for reprisals. She screamed
defiance--burst through the ranks of the nearest Zeitoonli--set her
stallion straight at us--burst between Fred and me--beat Fred savagely
across the face with her sap-softened branch--and wheeled on her
beast's haunches to make much of Will. He laughed at her, and tried
to take the whip away. Seeing he was neither hurt nor indignant,
she laughed at Fred, spat at him, and whipped her stallion forward
in pursuit of Kagig, breaking between him and Monty to pour news
in his ear.

"A curse on Rustum Khan!" laughed Fred, spitting out red buds. "He