Oriental Encounters | Page 4

then turned his mule and hurried back to meet me.

'My knife!' he bellowed 'My knife!--that grand steel blade which was my honour!--so
finely tempered and inlaid!--an heirloom in the family! That miscreant, may Allah cut his
life!--I mean the soldier--stole it. He asked to look at it a 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.'
'Oh, that!' replied the soldier, with a deprecating laugh: 'That is a thing unworthy of your
Honour's notice. The rogue in question is a well-known malefactor. He and I are old
acquaintance.'
'By the beard of the Prophet, by the August Coran, I never saw his devil's face until this
minute!' bawled the muleteer, who had come up behind me.
'Give back the knife,' I ordered for the second time.
'By Allah, never!' was the cool reply.
'Give it back, I say!'
'No, it cannot be--not even to oblige your Honour, for whose pleasure, Allah knows, I
would do almost anything,' murmured the soldier, with a charming smile. 'Demand it not.
Be pleased to understand that if it were your Honour's knife I would return it instantly.
But that man, as I tell thee, is a wretch. It grieves me to behold a person of consideration
in such an unbecoming temper upon his account--a dog, no more.'
'If he is a dog, he is my dog for the present; so give back the knife!'
'Alas, beloved, that is quite impossible.'
With a wave of the hand dismissing the whole subject the soldier turned away. He
plucked a cigarette out of his girdle and prepared to light it. His companion on the
donkey had not turned his head nor shown the slightest interest in the discussion. This
had lasted long enough. I knew that in another minute I should have to laugh. If anything

remained for me to do it must be done immediately. Whipping my revolver from the
holster, I held it close against the rascal's head, yelling: 'Give back the knife this minute,
or I kill thee!'
The man went limp. The knife came back as quick as lightning. I gave it to the muleteer,
who blubbered praise to Allah and made off with it. Equally relieved, I was about to
follow when the utterly forlorn appearance of the soldier moved me to open the revolver,
showing that it was not loaded. Then my adversary was transfigured. His back
straightened, his mouth closed, his eyes regained their old intelligence. He stared at me a
moment, half incredulous, and then he laughed. Ah, how that soldier laughed! The owner
of the donkey turned and shared his glee. They literally hugged each other, roaring with
delight, while the donkey underneath them both jogged dutifully on.
Before a caravanserai in a small valley green with fruit-trees, beside a slender stream
whose banks were fringed with oleander, I was sitting waiting for some luncheon when
the donkey and its riders came again in sight. The soldier tumbled off on spying me and
ran into the inn like one possessed. A minute later he brought out the food which I had
ordered and set the table for me in the shade of trees.
'I would not let another serve thee,' he informed me, 'for the love of that vile joke that
thou didst put upon me. It was not loaded. After all my fright!... It is a nice revolver. Let
me look at it.'
'Aye, look thy fill, thou shalt not touch it,' was my answer; at which he laughed anew,
pronouncing me the merriest of Adam's race.
'But tell me, what wouldst thou have done had I refused? It was not loaded. What wouldst
thou have done?'
His hand was resting at that moment on a stool. I rapped his knuckles gently with the butt
of the revolver to let him know