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RASHID THE FAIR 13 minute, seeming to admire. I gave it, like the innocent I am. He stuck it in his belt, and asked to see the passport which permitted me to carry weapons. Who ever heard of such a thing in this wild region? He will not give it back, though I entreated. I am your Honour’s servant, speak for me and make him give it back! It is an heirloom!’ That grey-haired man was crying like a baby.

Now, I was very young, and his implicit trust in my authority enthralled me. I valued his dependence on my manhood more than gold and precious stones. Summoning all the courage I possessed, I clapped spurs to my horse and galloped after the marauder.

‘Give back that knife!’ I roared. ‘O soldier! it is thou to whom I speak.’

The soldier turned a studiously guileless face—a handsome face, with fair moustache and a week’s beard. He had a roguish eye.

‘What knife? I do not understand,’ he said indulgently.

‘The knife thou stolest from the muleteer here present.’