Tonight the Kjerwan-Bashi told me a characteristic story of an Arab which I had heard before in Orfa.

A Turkish general of cavalry, Dano-Pasha at Mardin, had been negotiating for some time with an Arab tribe concerning the purchase of a full-blooded mare of the Meneghi breed.  Finally a price of sixty bags or almost fifteen hundred dollars was agreed upon.  At the appointed hour the sheikh of the tribe arrives with his mare in the courtyard of the pasha.  The latter is still trying to bargain, when the sheikh proudly replies that he will not take one para less.  The Turk sulkily throws him the money saying that thirty thousand piasters are an unheard of price for a horse.  The Arab looks at him in silence, and ties the money very complacently in his cloak.  Then he descends to the courtyard to take leave of his mare.  He mutters some Arabic words in her ear, strokes her eyes and forehead, examines her hoofs, and walks all around her, carefully studying the attentive horse.  Suddenly he jumps on her bare back, and, in the same instant, off she shoots like a dart out of the courtyard.

In this country the horses generally stand ready with their palans or felt saddles on, day and night.  Every distinguished man has at least one or two horses in his stable ready to be mounted as soon as they have been bridled.  The Arabs, however, ride without bridles.  The halter serves to check the horse, and a gentle tap with the open hand on the neck makes it go to the right or the left.  Not more than a few seconds, therefore, elapsed before the agas of the pasha were mounted and in hot pursuit of the fugitive.

The unshod hoofs of the Arabian mare had never yet trodden cobble stones, and very carefully she picked her way while she hastened down the steep, uneven road leading from the castle.  The Turks, on the other hand, galloped over the steep descent with its loose pebbles just as we often gallop up a sandy slope.  Thin, circular shoes, forged cold, kept all harm from the feet of their horses, which were accustomed to such trips and made no false steps.

Where the village ends the agas have almost caught up with the sheikh, but now they are in the plain, the Arabian mare is in her element, off she darts, straight ahead, for here there are neither ditches nor fences, neither rivers nor mountains to delay her course.  Like a clever jockey who leads a race, the Arab wishes to ride as slowly and not as quickly as possible.  Constantly looking back at his pursuers, he keeps out of gunshot.  When they approach he pushes on; when they fall behind, he slows the pace of his horse; when they stop, he walks his mare.  Thus the chase continues till the fiery orb of the sun verges toward the horizon.  Then for the first time the Arab demands of his horse every ounce of her strength.  Crouching over her neck he drives his heels into her flanks, and with a loud “Jellah!” is gone.  The sod resounds under powerful hoof-beats, and soon only a cloud of dust indicates to his pursuers the course he has taken.