He said no more until we reached the village of Bethany, and drew abreast of Lazarus’ reputed tomb, where a pack of scavenger-dogs awoke and yelped around the wheels.  He did his best to run over one of them, but missed.  Then he could not hold his story any longer.

“Two nights ago,” he said, “they gives me orders to take a Harab to a point near Jericho.  After dark, I starts off, ’im on the back seat; engine ain’t warm yet, so we goes slow.  He leans forward after a couple o’ minutes, an says ’Yalla kawam’!” * So I thinks to myself I’ll show the blighter a thing or two, me not bein’ used to takin’ orders from no Harabs.  Soon as the engine’s ‘ot I lets rip, an’ you know now what the road’s like.  When we gets to the top o’ that ’ill above Gethsemane I lets extry special rip.  Thinks I, if you can stand what I can, my son, you’ve guts. [Hurry up.]

“Well, we ’its all the ‘igh places, and lands on a bit o’ level road just often enough to pick up more speed—­comes round that sharp bend on ’alf a wheel, syme as I told you—­kills three pye-dogs for sure, an’ maybe others, but I don’t dare look round—­ misses a camel in the dark that close that the ’air on my arms an’ legs fair crawled up an’ down me—­’it’s a lump o’ rock that comes near tippin’ us into the ditch—­an’ carries on faster an’ ever.  By the time we gets ’ere to Bethany, thinks I, it’s time to take a look an’ see if my passenger’s still in the bloomin’ car.  So I slows down.

“The minute I turns my ’ead to ’ave a peer at ’im.  ‘Kawam!’ ’e says.  ‘Quick!  Quick!’

“So it strikes me I weren’t in no such ’urry after all.  Why ‘urry for a Harab?  The car’s been rattlin’ worse ’n a tinker’s basket.  I gets down to lave a look—­lights a gasper*—­an’ takes my bloomin’ time about it.  You seen them yellow curs there by Lazarus’ tomb?  Well, they come for me, yappin’ an’ snarlin’ to beat ‘ell.  I’m pickin’ up stones to break their ’eads with—­good stones ain’t such easy findin’ in the dark, an’ every time I stoops ’alf a dozen curs makes a rush for me—­when what d’you suppose?  That bloomin’ Harab passenger o’ mine vaults over into my seat, an’ afore I could say ‘’ell’s bells’ ’e’s off.  I’d left the engine runnin’.  By the luck o’ the Lord I ‘angs on, an’ scrambles in—­back seat. [Anglice—­canteen cigarette.]

“I thought at first I’d reach over an’ get a half-nelson on ’im from behind.  But, strike me blind!  I didn’t dare!

“Look where we are now.  Can you see the ’air-pin turn at the bottom of this ’ill, with a ditch, beyond it?  Well, we takes that turn in pitch-dark shadow with all four wheels in the air, an’ you’d ‘a thought we was a blinkin’ airplane a doin’ stunts.  But ’e’s a hexpert, ‘e is, an’ we ’olds the road.  From there on we goes in one ‘oly murderin’ streak to a point about ’alf-way up the ’ill where the Inn of the Good Samaritan stands on top.  There we ‘as two blow-outs simultaneous, an’ thinks I, now, my son, I’ve got you!  I gets out.