“The fire of more than one war has been kindled by a single word.”—Arabic Proverb.
The firelight shone on Al-Asad as he stood in the centre of an admiring circle. His bronzed skin glistened and his perfect teeth flashed and the blood upon his chest showed dark as he moved lightly upon his feet in describing the fight with the lion.
He had got the men interested and pleased and curious, and it would require but a very slight effort to get them angry.
Their splendid teeth flashed as they laughed and shouted encouragement, and their shadows danced as they answered the Nubian’s every movement. They stretched out their hands and brought them slowly together, and bent this way and that way as they breathed heavily, in unconscious imitation of the half-caste, as is the way of the Oriental when deeply interested in a story.
“Wah! Wah!” they yelled. “What then? What then?”
They shouted with laughter, gleefully, joyously, and exchanged remarks which were better left unprinted, when a youth ran forward and touched Al-Asad’s arm.
“Now, O brother, tell us the tale of the tiger-cat. The lion is dead; didst thou perchance also draw the tiger-cat’s teeth and claws, after they had mauled thy flesh?”
The youth wrapped his great cloak tight about himself and, copying Zarah’s walk, strolled back to his place, where he stood looking over his shoulder at the Nubian from half-closed eyes. The men roared with laughter and yelled encouragement and suggestion until the mountains echoed and re-echoed to the sound.
Al-Asad took advantage of the opening.