"Five, Effendi," said Mohammed; "I shall sell mine too. When we reach Batoum the Effendi will go to Stamboul; but I must join my battalion. That is, unless the Effendi will take me with him."
"Impossible, Mohammed," I replied. "I shall only remain for twenty-four hours in Constantinople, and from there go to my own country. You would be taken up as a deserter after I had gone, and perhaps shot. What would your wife say?"
"I could get a fresh wife at Stamboul."
"Go and sell the horses!"
A tear fell down Mohammed's cheek. He sighed deeply and left the room.
Presently Radford came to me,—
"Bless my heart, sir, if that 'ere Mohammed ain't a crying; he keeps on saying Stamboul, and wants to go there. He says, 'et à la Franga, meat cooked in the European style, is nice; and that he loves my cookery!' the fact is, sir, he don't want to go to his regiment."
A sound in the courtyard attracted my attention, I went to the window. Mohammed was outside with the five horses; several Turks and Circassians were looking at them. The animals had very little flesh on their bones; but they were in much better condition for work than on the day we left Constantinople. Mohammed's horse was in a wretched state, he was nearly blind, from the effects of the snow. In addition to this he walked lame.
"He is a brute," observed an old Turk; "take him away, Mohammed; kill him for his skin, make leather of it."
"His grandfather was a magnificent animal," replied Mohammed indignantly. "His sire was the admiration of the people in Tohat. He himself is thin, he will soon get fat again. Any how," continued my servant, "my lord's horses are for sale; unless you first buy mine you shall not purchase his animals."