Neither was there time to lose.
She sent for the head groom of the stables.
“Lulah the Black, mistress?” The man raised a face of consternation as Zarah finished speaking. “Mistress, she is not fit; she is as wild as a bird on the wing; she is possessed of the devil. One of thy slaves even now lies sick of the meeting of her teeth in his shoulder.”
Zarah put an end to his protestations by the simple method of smiting him across the mouth.
“And I will saddle her with my own hands upon the day of sport to-morrow, O my son, and thou shalt hold her near me until I give the signal. Likewise shalt thou and others make a pretence of mounting her, a pretence only. And see that thou makest no mistake, lest thou beareth the burden of my litter for a space.”
The morrow came, bringing a horseman who carried the news of the disappearance of the white man and his servant in the locust storm.
In her rage against Fate Zarah decided to countermand the sports; then, fearful of angering her men and aching to find an object upon which to vent her fury and the agony of as big a love as she was capable, once more changed her mind and decided to carry out the programme.
“Beaten—but to-day beater.”—Arabic Proverb.