they also contributed to the unearthly tumult of sounds which travelled
with the mob, a compound of prayers, imprecations, and senseless
screams--the medley that may be occasionally heard from a modern
mad-house.

In the height of the rush the Shaykh came up.

"How long," said the Prince--"in the Prophet's name, how long will this
endure?"

"Till night, O most excellent Hadji--if the caravans be so long in
coming."

"Is it usual?"

"It has been so from the beginning."

Thereupon the curiosity of the Prince took another turn. A band of
horsemen galloped into view--free riders, with long lances carried
upright, their caftans flying, and altogether noble looking.

"These are Arabs. I know by their horses and their bearing," said he,
with admiration; "but possibly thou canst give me the name of their
tribe."

The Shaykh answered with pride: "Their horses are gray, and by the sign,
O lover of the Prophet, they are the Beni-Yarb. Every other one of them
is a poet; in the face of an enemy, they are all warriors."

The camps on the hill, with the yellow flag giving notice of the Emir's