and then up at the shuttered house
and then at the surrounding olive trees, in one of which they finally
espied a nest of bedding on which reclined a blue-robed man asleep. It
was the cook, Amin, who slept there for fresh air. The firing of the
night before had not disturbed him.

By dint of throwing stones they woke him up, and he descended from his
tree and stood before them, knuckling his eyes, which were still full
of sleep.

They asked: 'What means this portent of the hanging dog?'

He stared incredulously at the object of their wonder, then exclaimed:
'Some enemy has done it, to insult me, while I slept. No matter, I
will be avenged before the day is out.'

The tidings of the mystery ran through the village, and every
able-bodied person came to view it, and express opinions.

'The dog is well known. He is called Barud; he was the finest in our
village. He used to guard the dwelling of Sheykh Ali till he
transferred his pleasure to the house of Sheykh Selim. It was a sin
to kill him,' was the general verdict. And Amin confirmed it, saying:
'Aye, a filthy sin. But I will be avenged before the day is out.'

At last Rashid, awakened by the noise of talking, came out of the
stable where he always slept, and with a laugh explained the whole
occurrence. Some of the villagers were greatly shocked, and blamed us
strongly. But Rashid stood up for us, declaring that the dog belonged
in truth to no man, so that no man living had the right to blame his
murderer; whereas the valuable sporting bitch of the Casis (our host)
was all his own, and it was his duty therefore to defend her from
improper lovers. He then cut down the body of the dog, which no one up
till then had dared to do; and all the people gradually went away.

The coast was clear when we arose towards eight o'clock. Rashid, with
laughter, told the tale to us at breakfast. We had been silly, we
agreed, to leave the hanging dog; and there, as we supposed, the
matter ended.

But hardly had we finished breakfast when a knock came at the open
door, and we beheld a tall and dignified fellah depositing his staff
against the doorpost and shuffling off his slippers at the call to
enter.

He said the murdered dog was his, and dear to him as his own eyes, his
wife and children. He was the finest dog in all the village, of so
rare a breed that no one in the world had seen a dog just like him. He
had been of use to guard the house, and for all kinds of work. The
fe