A chance encounter wall, after glancing at us with affected unconcern. He offered a cigarette, just rolled and licked, saying, “Your presence is from Syria?” I parried politely, suggesting that he was from Mecca, to which he likewise made no direct reply. We spoke a little of the war and of the leanness of the Masruh she-camels.
Meanwhile the other rider stood by, vacantly holding the halters, waiting perhaps for the Harb to finish watering their herd before taking his turn. The young lord cried “What is it, Mustafa? Water them at once.” The servant came up to say dismally, “They will not let me.” “God’s mercy!” shouted his master furiously, as he scrambled to his feet and hit the unfortunate Mustafa three or four sharp blows about the head and shoulders with his riding-stick. “Go and ask them.” Mustafa looked hurt, astonished, and angry as though he would hit back, but thought better of it, and ran to the well.
The Harb, shocked, in pity made a place for him, and let his two camels drink from their water-trough. They whispered, “Who is he?” and Mustapha said, “Our Lord’s cousin from Mecca.” At once they ran and untied a bundle from one of their saddles, and spread from it before the two riding camels fodder of the green leaves and buds of the thorn trees. They were used to gather this by striking the low bushes with a heavy staff, till the broken tips of the branches rained down on a cloth stretched over the ground beneath.
The young Sherif watched them contentedly. When his camel had fed, he climbed slowly and without apparent effort up its neck into the saddle, where he settled himself leisurely, and took an unctuous farewell of us, asking God to requite the Arabs bountifully. They wished him a good journey; and he started southward, while Abdulla brought our camels, and we went off northward. Ten minutes later I heard a chuckle from old Tafas, and saw wrinkles of delight between his grizzled beard and moustache.
“What is upon you, Tafas?” said I.
“My Lord, you saw those two riders at the well?”
“The Sherif and his servant?”
“Yes; but they were Sherif Ali ibn el Hussein of Modhig, and his cousin, Sherif Mohsin, lords of the Harith, who are blood enemies of the Masruh. They feared they would be delayed or driven off the water if the Arabs knew them. So they pretended to be master and