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The beautiful braids of her hair were in disorder, her garments torn and stained, but on her face was the brave look. As she approached the chief, she began to speak, but one sharp, short word from his much-prized revolver forbade her to say more.

"And while the others marveled, Metun-yior, the sister of the chief, ran to Nun-za-in-za and lifted her up, and as the eyes gave the last earth look, the lips spoke, "Tell him the anemone of spring grows not for the winter lodges, that my heart is heavy that this is so. But tell him that the herald is a wolf, waiting for the wounded buffalo, then eating its heart away slowly, for vile are the insults he has heaped upon me as he brought me hither-so vile that even as the ghosts gather round me, my cheeks yet burn as I think of it. Though low is Nun-za-in-za in the favor of the chief, yet the Wa-zhinga-sabba brooks no insult to his wife!'

She paused as Me-tun-yior gave the message to the chief. He nodded, but said no word.

"And tell Wa-sa-apa I waited, hoping the ponies would drink their fill-Wa-saapa! She tried to stand and call softly once again, 'Wa-sa-apa, loved one!'

"Then spoke the chief, "To-night the herald prepares for the long journey. He takes food in my tepee, for he starts with full belly.' And as the death chant for Nun-za-in-za rose from the women, the herald was as the pale faces, for well he knew his own wives would speak in yet hoarser voices before another sunrise because of much wailing.

"Now when the ponies of Wa-sa-apa had drunk their fill of the sweet water that ran between the softly green-fringed banks of the water courses and gently spoke of love, he returned to his lodge-no longer to him simply a lodge because of Nun-za-in-za; and when she came not out to greet him and he saw the print of small moccasins in the dust about the door and near them the print of large ones, the fear was upon him. And the signs which speak when words are dumb said, 'Follow the path which shows where a burden has been dragged across the prairie grass.'

"Seizing the rifle bought from the traders, his moccasins took up the trail. And red mist floated before him, the mist of

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hate and love, for there a few feet distant was an earring. As he placed it on the bear claw necklace which was about his throat, pausing not, for though swift his moccasins as the deer foot, the red mist that led him was as the whirlwind leading him madly on till he came to the brow of the hill, and heard the wailing of the women, heard the death chant.

"Then went the red mist from him, and the rifle fell to the earth. And he stretched his arms to the summer sky above, the look of pain upon his face was deep as the water in midstream, and he called aloud to the Wa-kon-da:

""That my ponies had died from the water hunger!

I left her alone.
Nun-za-in-za, come!
My loved one return!'

"But Nun-za-in-za was already on the path of the four days' journey to the land of ghosts and shadows. The women ceased their death-chant to listen, whimpering with sad hearts meanwhile; braves covered their heads, but the chief sat unmoved as the stone face far to the eastward where once lived the Ojibways. But yet was the look not the same, for the old men say that the stone face is kind, while the Black Bird's look was like that of the Evil Spirit when he makes bad medicine, when men and ponies die, when no wild game is near, when famine and the Sick Man come.

"And while this look should have warned him, Wa-sa-apa recked naught of it, for the madness of a great loss was upon him, and he pleaded with the chief: 'Oh, Great One, Wa-zginga-sabba, pity my little one! Alone! Who will take her hand and bring comfort when the fears come upon her, when the ghosts of evil men come near her, when the four grave fires burn low as the chill morning approaches? She never walked the bright earth alone; the little fawn will be weary; the dark forms, the gray shadows will frighten her.' His voice became low and soft like the cooing of the dove to his mate in spring time, like the love talk of the water in the brooklet. 'Only last night was she beside me, my sweetheart, my Nun-za-in-za! And now she is alone, alone, stumbling along the dark and dreary road!' He put forth his

hand and seized the rifle, offering it to the chief, imploring him to take his life. 'She was mine, O Chief! Long I fasted and dreamed dreams, and fought to kill the love within me. And the Wa-kon-da had pity. Last night he sent her to me. Wait no longer, Chief! Haste! Send me to her, that my ghost, my jibi, may join her on the pathway!'

Then a stillness of death fell over the people, hushed was even their very breathing as the chief took the rifle. He looked around at the half-moon of waiting faces as the breast of Wa-sa-apa was bared to receive the wound. And many moments went by as Wa-sa-apa waited. And the longing grew that the chief should send the ghost of Wa-sa-apa to walk the four days' journey with that of Nun-za-in-za. But taking the rifle, the chief retired to his tepee.

"Then a great sob went up from the women, and even strong men moaned, for it is the law among our people to split the soles of the feet of one who takes his own life even to follow after a loved onethat his ghost may not come back to earth to haunt them, and his spirit treads not the path that the other spirits tread on the way to the happy hunting lands. So the strong heart, the brave heart, sobbed over his dead even as women sob, and yet men said no word of scorn. And he said words calling her back to life. back to health and to strength. But when the winter snows have come and the blasts howl through the naked trees, no flowers smile. So answered not the cold lips of Nun-za-in-za.

"Then Wa-sa-apa sat in the earth house. and fasted, nor saw the sun for four days, coming out but once each night to put wood on the sacred fire that burned on the grave of his loved one to light her on her dismal journey. And dreams came to him, and he spoke to the Wa-kon-da, begging that the ghost of the herald might not overtake her. So it was promised, for he repented much and gained much medicine, so that for many days after great strips of flesh dragged the earth as Wa-sa-apa walked! For it is good that a strong man forget not the feeling of pain.

"Though for many years there was the

grief look on the faces of my father and my mother. yet lighter were their hearts. for there was no longer a secret between them. And they loved me, and many children came to be my brothers and sisters. We played the children's games, and were happy, but often we saw the lone man. the Silent One, as Wa-sa-apa was now called, going to the medicine lodge, and we whispered, 'My heart is the dead heart. Hush! He goes to the mud lodge to gain mystery!' He lived but half a life, always apart from the others, never joining in the games, mingling with the tribe on the hunt only. Even when Cold Man came shrieking from the North, blowing the icy needles from his mouth, yet the Silent One wore no moccasins, and when the buffalo hunt led them through cactuscovered plains, mile after mile, bloody footprints showed the Wa-kon-da the sorrow and repentance Wa-sa-apa felt for the wrong he had done;-for many of the earth house then said Wa-sa-apa had not heard the Wa-kon-da aright about Nun-zain-za because of a bad heart, that to them who had fasted long in the mud lodge and gained clean hearts, he had said, 'It is not good to take the wife of another. The Wakon-da did not send her.'

"Many were the tribal songs which told of the bravery of Wa-sa-apa, for he was always at the front when the tribe was on the war trail, both to be brave and to gain the death wound. He wooed the arrows with whisperings of passion, but they turned from his breast, till at last in a bloody battle with the Sioux, the Wa-konda heard the soul cry. That night the ghost of Wa-sa-apa started on the long trail to the happy hunting ground and Nun-za-in-za. And the promise of the Wa-kon-da was fulfilled."

Again we sat in silence for many moments. I dare not speak to the woman beside me, for she seemed to be in another world. world. Presently, however, she roused herself and with a smile spoke: "And now, my little friend, you see what the love of a man and a woman can do even with a savage. Settle your question in your own way, but my medicine tells me you will choose your Wa-sa-apa."




HE ARABIAN horse has been famed in literature and in art since time immemorial. The mighty bards of the Old Testament sang of him, again and again do we find mention of him in their pages; the artist of to-day goes to the desert when in search of equine perfection, for only there can he find what he desires. Yet scarcely one person in twenty has ever seen an animal of pure Arabian descent. It is possible to export him only by express permission of the Sultan of Turkey, which is not easy to obtain; the expense of his purchase from his Bedouin master is very great, the latter being well aware of the value of his steed; and the journey from Arabia to the Western world is long and hazardous, with much risk of injury. There are less than a hundred Arabians in all America at the present time. Because of his rarity outside the confines of his native land, one is inclined to believe that he is largely a creature of fiction, and that if he at any time existed as portrayed by his enthusiastic admirers, it was in some far-off period of the past. On the contrary, he lives to-day in his ancient habitation in all the glory of his beauty and his strength even as in the days of Job and of Solomon; and occasionally we of the West are so fortunate as to make the acquaintance of this aristocrat of the East.

On the long and level highways of the Santa Clara Valley, or in the leafy roads leading back into the Santa Cruz mountains, you may meet, perchance, a slim girl mounted upon a horse at which you will look again and yet again; well you may, since he is of the illustrious desert breeding, and his worth would ransom a king. The slim girl rider is Mrs. Richard Walton Tully, better known. to her readers as Eleanor Gates. Having been always keenly interested in horses, and an expert horsewoman, she has taken up the raising

About five

of the Arabian in California. miles back in the mountains from Los Gatos, a little town on the edge of the Santa Clara Valley, Mr. and Mrs. Tully have a large ranch, El Rancho de las Rosas, which being interpreted is, The Ranch of the Roses, and here may be seen. those marvelous creatures which have no peer among their kind.

While there is but one general breed, there are five different subdivisions or families, and in order to be considered shubbi, or, in our language, thoroughbred, an Arabian. horse must belong to one or more of these primary branches. They are called collectively the Khamseh; individually they are the Kehilan, the Seglawi, the Hamdani, the Abeyan, and the Habdan; of these there are of course many minor strains, but the five great families are the parent stocks. The Bedouins say that they are descended from the five mares of Salaman, a sheik who lived in the year 1635 B. C. After a long and arduous battle, the warriors were resting, and their steeds were drinking at a river. Suddenly the trumpet call sounded to return to battle, but only five mares responded. From them have sprung the Kamseh. Oddly enough, in the desert a colt always takes the name of its mother, instead of its sire, although the latter must, of course, be shubbi.

Each of the horses at the California ranch belongs to one or more of these principal strains, four horses and eight mares comprising the stud. Each of them has all the identification marks of the pure desert animal. They are not large-the average is about fourteen and a half hands in stature, sometimes a little under. They are perfectly proportioned in every respect.. The ears are so finely formed as to make them appear smaller than they really are; the head is broad between the eyes and extremely well developed; indeed, the

forehead cannot be too prominent, and. this gives to the profile a dished contour much esteemed among the Arabs. The eyes are thoughtful and intelligent, save in action, when they flash and sparkle with fire. The length between the eyes and the tapering muzzle is short, the nostrils are large and capable of great expansion. The throat is full and well developed, and the jaws have unusual width, to admit the great windpipe. The arch of the beautiful neck is one of the most distinguishing features of the steed of the Bedouins, and it at once attracts the attention of a stranger.

and the nose. The perfect Arabian is thus seen. to be a compact and serviceable animal, differing both in appearance and endurance from our perfect thoroughbreds. The latter have become long and weedy, and of diminished chest capacity; they are also shorter-lived, the racers rarely accomplishing anything after their twelfth year. The Arabian is in his prime all through his twenties.

There is a prevalent idea that they are either black or spotted, and many such are exhibited in circuses as being from the desert. but as a matter of fact there are

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The chest is full and the shoulder very deep. The length of the back is short, a quality very desirable in a saddle horse; the shoulder and the back, not including the quarters, must measure exactly the same according to the Arabs, if a horse be without blemish; I could scarcely credit this until I saw it proved to my own satisfaction. The limbs are slender and well set on. The tail is carried high; a horse whose tail is flat is not inspired of Allah, and cannot be shubbi, say the Arabs. The skin is blue, where it shows about the eyes

Photo by J. R. Hodson.

no spotted Arabians, and black ones are very rare, and not especially prized. The predominating colors are bay, brown and chestnut; white is not quite so common, although two at El Rancho de las Rosas are white.

All of them have names signifying their desert origin, names which bring to the mind visions of the tales of Scherezade and all things Eastern. One of Mrs. Tully's favorites is Nedjran, a chestnut, so called because he came from the desert of Nedj. He was imported from Arabia

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by Captain Gainsford of the English army and is a Seglawie Jadran. The officer was riding through the streets of Damascus one day when he saw a Bedouin mounted upon, one of the finest animals he had seen, and he knew something of the desert horse, too. But the price that the Bedouin asked was more than the Englishman cared to pay, since he already had several fine Arabians in his string. The Bedouin was evidently hard pressed for money; all the way from Damascus to Beirout he rode before the officer, showing off the paces of his mount as only an Arab can, and when Beirout was reached, Captain Gainsford succumbed to the charms of Nedjran and bought him. Small wonder is it that the officer could not resist the temptation to possess him; he embodies all that has been pictured and sculptured of his kind, and he has been done in marble and in bronze. He is perfectly aware of his beauty and his proud descent, and he shows it in every turn of his head. There is a spirit of impish mischief lurking in his big, dark eyes; he loves to curvet and prance and pirouette, making great pretense of being over-mettlesome and coaxing his companions to race with

him, while all the time he is as gentle as a kitten. He has the light and elastic tread peculiar to the breed, and he seems incapable of feeling fatigue, no matter what the distance he may traverse; he gallops with equal ease whether ridden by Mrs. Tully with her light English saddle, or a man of two hundred pounds weight in addition to a heavy Mexican saddle. None of these horses are shod for ordinary purposes; their hoofs are like iron, and they are capable of going from twenty to thirty miles daily with no effect whatever on themselves or their feet. Noticing the perfect condition of Nedjran's hoofs, I asked how far he had been ridden the previous week, and learned that it was about one hundred and thirty miles, over all sorts and conditions of roads.

The pride of El Rancho de las Rosas is Mahruss, whose peer is not to be found outside of Arabia. He is a superb chestnut, with four white feet and a blazed face, and in the sun he has the iridescent gleam of polished copper. Lady Anne Blunt, an Englishwoman who has an extensive knowledge of Arabian horses, and owns a large number which she has herself imported, said of Mahruss that it was

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