CHAPTER XXII
A MAN OF SINGULAR BEARD
BRUISED and humiliated, Old Reliable was picking up his helmet and wiping the gritty sweat from his face when Said arrived. If every bone in his body were broken he wouldn't let those folks suspect that it hurt. They shouldn't grin at him; Zack did all the grinning himself. "Huh!" he remarked. "Dis here camel ridin' sho' is swif'."
Hamuda galloped up on his donkey, and jeered at Achmet, who fell to beating his beast, while a rabble gathered. Amongst that rabble appeared a man who tinkled two little brass saucers in his left hand, and carried a wondrous bottle swung across the front of him—big as a beer-keg, with spigots, thumb-screws and a yellow liquid within. Old Reliable began to smile upon this queer contraption, just as a bumped-headed baby quits crying and smiles at a rattle.
"Side, what is that thing?" Said explained that it was snow of the mountains, with lemon juice, most refreshing to the thirsty. Zack kept wiping the grit from his face and eyeing the bottle
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