As for the trickster Hadifah, in the evening he summoned one of his slaves named Dames, a rascal, if ever there was one.  “O Dames,” he said, “you frequently boast of your cunning, but hitherto I have had no opportunity of putting it to the proof.”  “My Lord,” answered the slave, “tell me in what way I can be useful to you.”  “I desire,” said Hadifah, “that you go and post yourself in the great pass.  Remain in this place, and go and hide yourself there in the morning.  Watch the horses well, and see if Dahir is in advance.  If he is, show yourself suddenly, strike him on the head, and cause him to stop, so that Ghabra may outstrip him, and we may not incur the disgrace of defeat.  For I confess that since I have seen Dahir, his excellent points have made me doubt the superiority of Ghabra, and I fear my mare will be beaten, and we shall become the laughing stock of all the Arabs.”  “But, sir, how shall I distinguish Dahir from Ghabra when they advance, both of them wrapped in a cloud of dust?” Hadifah replied, “I am going to give you a sign, and to explain how the matter may be free from difficulty.”  As he spoke he picked up some stones from the ground and said:  “Take these stones with you at sunrise, begin to count them, and throw them to the earth, four at a time.  You must repeat the operation five times, and the last time Ghabra will arrive.  That is the calculation I have made, so that if a cloud of dust presents itself to you, and some of the stones, a third or a half of them, still remain in your hand, you may be sure that Dahir has gained first place, and is before your eyes.  You must then hurl a stone at his head, as I said, and stop his running, so that my mare may gain the lead.”  The slave agreed to do so.  He provided himself with stones and went to hide himself at the great pass, and Hadifah felt confident of gaining the wager.

At the dawn of day, the Arabs, coming from all quarters, were assembled on the race ground.  The judges gave the signal for the start, and the two riders uttered loud shouts.  The racers started like flashes of lightning which dazzle the sight and seemed like the wind when, as it blows, it increases in fury.  Ghabra passed ahead of Dahir and distanced him.  “Now you are lost, my brother of the tribe of Abs,” cried the Fazarean groom to the Absian, “try and console yourself for this defeat.”  “You lie,” retorted the Absian, “and in a few moments you will see how completely you are mistaken.  Wait till we have passed this uneven ground.  Mares always travel faster on rough roads than on smooth country.”  And so it happened, for when they arrived in the plain, Dahir shot forward like a giant, leaving a trail of dust behind him.  It seemed as if he went on wings, not legs; in the twinkling of an eye he had outstripped Ghabra.  “Here,” cried the Absian to the Fazarean groom, “send a messenger from me to the family of Beder, and you yourself drink the bitter cup of patience behind me.”  Meanwhile Shidoub, swift as the north wind, kept ahead of Dahir, bounding like a fawn and running like an ostrich, until he reached the defile where Dames was hidden.  The slave had only thrown down less than a third of his pebbles, when he looked up and saw Dahir approaching.