"The kaffir rides with them. But who are you, reverend saint?" wondered the Shareef; for there was something strangely familiar about this madman.
"I am as much a saint as Zantut is a darvish. It is you who are stark mad, and not I," declared the beggar.
"Even so," agreed the Shareef. "But what do you mean?"
"Wait until we are well without the city walls, and in the desert which has seen all things. Wait until we have seen what we are to see——"
Kasim entered and bowed to the Shareef.
"In readiness, saidi," he announced.
The beggar followed the Shareef to the main entrance, where a groom with two mares, saddled and richly caparisoned, awaited them.
"Wallah!" ejaculated the beggar, "but my lord wagers heavily against one cracked head. Each a Saklawiyah-Jidraniyah——"
He bowed low as he pronounced the race and strain of the matchless beasts; and then, "To horse, saidi!"
"You are strangely familiar with noble horses," observed the Shareef.