The _naivete_ that paraded a stolen horse through the desert at
the risk of meeting its former owner made her smile in spite of her
annoyance, but it was not a pleasant smile, as her thoughts turned from
the horse to its present owner. The sum of Mustafa Ali's delinquencies
was mounting up fast. But it was his affair, not hers. In the meantime
she had paid for the horse to ride through the desert, not to be
waylaid by Arab bandits. Her temper was going fast.

She urged the horse on with all her power, but perceptibly he was
slowing up. She flashed another backward look. The Arab was close
behind her--closer than she had been aware. She had a momentary glimpse
of a big white figure, dark piercing eyes, and white gleaming teeth,
and passionate rage filled her. With no thought of what the
consequences or retaliation might be, with no thought at all beyond a
wild desire to rid herself of her pursuer, driven by a sudden madness
which seemed to rise up in her and which she could not control, she
clutched her revolver and fired twice, full in the face of the man who
was following her. He did not even flinch and a low laugh of amusement
came from him. And at the sound of his laugh Diana's mouth parched
suddenly, and a cold shiver rippled across her spine. A strange feeling
that she had never experienced before went through her. She had missed
again as she had missed this morning. How, she did not know; it was
inexplicable, but it was a fact, and a fact that left her with a
feeling of powerlessness. She dropped the useless revolver, trying
vainly to force her horse's pace, but inch by inch the fiery chestnut
that the Arab was riding crept up nearer alongside. She would not turn
to look again, but glancing sideways she could see its small,
wicked-looking head, with flat laid ears and vicious, bloodshot eyes,
level with her elbow. For a moment or two it remained there, then with
a sudden spurt the chestnut forged ahead, and as it shot past it