advantage of wind and cover, patient in pursuit
and deadly in aim. Our points of view were different. I shot for sport,
and he, and all Moors, for the bag. In this I felt he was my superior.
But, barring storks, all creatures were game that came within Salam's
range.

No Moor will harm a stork. Even Moorish children, whose taste for
destruction and slaughter is as highly developed as any European's, will
pick up a young stork that has fallen from its nest and return it to the
mother bird if they can. Storks sit at peace among the women of the hareem
who come for their afternoon airing to the flat roof-tops of Moorish
houses. Moorish lovers in the streets below tell the story of their hopes
and fears to the favoured bird, who, when he is chattering with his
mandibles, is doing what he can to convey the message. Every True Believer
knows that the stork was once a Sultan, or a Grand Wazeer at least, who,
being vain and irreligious, laughed in the beards of the old men of his
city on a sacred day when they came to pay their respects to him. By so
doing he roused the wrath of Allah, who changed him suddenly to his
present form. But in spite of misdeeds, the Moors love the stately bird,
and there are hospitals for storks in Fez and Marrakesh, where men whose
sanctity surpasses their ignorance are paid to minister to the wants of
the sick or injured among them. Many a time Salam, in pursuit of birds,
has passed within a few-yards of the father of the red legs or his
children, but it has never occurred to him to do them harm. Strange fact,
but undeniable, that in great cities of the East, where Muslims and
Christians dwell, the storks will go to the quarter occupied by True
Believers, and leave the other districts severely alone. I have been
assured by Moors that the first of these birds having been a Muslim, the
storks recognise the True Faith, and wish to testify to their preference
for it. It is hard to persuade a Moor to catch a stork or take an egg from
the nest, though in pursuit of other birds and beasts he is a stranger to
compunction in any form.

One of the trackers gave me his horse, and Pepe Ratto led the way down the
stream for a short distance and then into thick scrub that seemed to be
part of wild life's natural sanctuary, so quiet it lay, so dense and
undisturbed. After the first five minutes I was conscious of the forest in
an aspect hitherto unknown to me; I was aware that only a man who knew the
place intim