rarely met a more obstinate dog. He died at last, however, and, breathless and with bloody fangs, I faced the Stambul pack.

The lane was dark; their bodies were massed in blackness, but a circle of gleaming eyes showed me their whereabouts.

"Who are you?" crashed from some one in the crowd.

It was an authoritative bark, sharp and clear. I knew it for the bark of one Kassim Pasha, a hulking grey brute, for long the leader of the pack. The danger of my position dawned upon If I replied, my accent Galata would at once betray me. Slowly I backed, till my tail touched the wall.

me.

Every moment was a gain, for I was out of breath.

"Answer!" snarled the voice hoarsely. And, as if in corroboration, an ominous growl rolled round the circle.

That made me angry. As I glared at the row of eyes that gleamed and shifted in the darkness, I just longed to get at them. I remember my feelings quite plainly. I often dream them over again now, as I lie asleep in the sun. Again I lick the blood from my fangs-again the hair on my shoulders bristles and my tail stiffens with rage-again I feel my eyes pricking with heat and redness. As I said before, I couldn't see my foes very well, but I was glad there were so many.

ઃઃ

Dogs of Stambul!" I cried.

The first bark I uttered was the signal for a burst of ferocity such as I have rarely heard. The whole pack seemed to have gone stark, staring mad. They all yelled at once, leaping up and down in their excitement.

"Kill him!" "Death!"

"Spy!"

"Galata! Galata!" were a few of their cries. The voice of the grey leader, however, lashed them into silence. But even in the lull that followed, the savage yelp of some of the younger dogs, impatient of restraint, ripped through the night air. Eager to take advantage of the silence, I continued: "Let me speak before I die.”

'Speak! No!" "Yes! Kill him!" "Blood! Blood!" clashed the pack.

Again the leader silenced them.

"You wonder why I came here?" I went on, forcing myself to bark civilly. "I will inform you. I came to tell of Zuleika."

I paused and glanced round the gleaming circle of eyes. My words astonished them. You might have heard a tail wag.

"Who is Zuleika ?" snarled the leader.

"Who is Zuleika! Don't tell me you haven't heard of Zuleika! Listen, you dogs of Stambul. You also have wives and daughters."

True, true; are we not here?" came in a feminine chorus from the rear of the pack. I continued:

Then judge of Zuleika, when I declare that not one among them is fit to lick the ground over which she walks; that not her meanest hair

Talk of tigers! I've never seen one; but no tigers' den thwarted of meat could have equalled that Stambul pack. What with the ladies yelling for my blood, and the raucous cries of the younger dogs, and the toothless but frenzied yelps of the aged, I was fairly deafened. Why they didn't tear me to pieces at once Allah alone knows! And yet the outburst intoxicated me. It got into my blood and awoke savage delight. A mischievous desire to foment their fury urged me to insult.

"And as for you, Kassim Pasha," I yelled, "son of a tailless cat! white-livered coward of a Christian! I defy you-you and all your mangy crowd!"

Before these barks had left my jaws I was away. Heading for where I judged the pack to be thinnest, I cleared them in one desperate leap. The movement was unexpected; I was many lengths distant before they had recovered from their surprise. Then began such a hunt as I had never before pictured, even in my wildest dreams.

The night was still dark, although the moon was not far distant. Above the black clefts of houses the stars shone. A cool wind met me in the face. I was in splendid condition, and with plenty of speed to spare, I laid myself well down to my work. Oh the glorious excitement of that hunt!-the wild, illimitable delight of that rush through unknown lanes, with hell let loose behind me! It is strange how well I remember it. Every sense seemed unnaturally acute. Little smells come back to me now that it seems incredible I should have noticed at the time: the whiff from a coffee machine, the aroma of garbage, the reek of roses. But more especially was my attention within my ears. If you've never run for your life before a Stambul pack, you'll find it difficult to summon up the hoarse, continuous yells of wild

animals that have smelt blood. It's the most exhilarating sound I know. The night rang with it. It was taken up in lonely lanes and over far boundaries, until the whole city seemed awake, snuffing the tainted air and baying for blood.

The practised ear distinguished differences. There was the bark interrogative, the yelp of excitement, the howl of doom. But loud above all, dominating even the note of savage impatience, came a deep refrain, ominous and suggestive, the cry of the pack that reiterates death. It swelled and waned as the lanes flashed past, and the great domes swam overhead like dreams on the sky of midnight—but it never ceased. I knew it well. In my time I too had swelled the grim chorus. It meant flesh torn from frantic limbs, fangs clashing for a mouthful, a whirlpool of yellow hides surging around something-something that disappeared piecemeal, even as you looked. I had no intention of being that something. Yet, I own, I was anxious. Every lane, every turning, was strange to me. At any moment I might run into a passage that terminated in a blind wall. At any moment a fresh contingent of the enemy, summoned by the grim hunting-cry, might appear ahead and cut off my line of retreat. Both dangers were very real. Each turning became a possible trap. With all my might I sought to pierce the gloom ahead.

On and on I galloped. My heart was going like a steamengine; my dripping tongue dangled from my mouth; my sides were strained to bursting; yet I was far from being done. Still, in so great a pack there might well be some better breathed than I. There was no time to look behind me. My ears, however, gave me sufficient information. The pack were gaining steadily. From a dozen lengths they had reduced the distance to a bare six. The noise of their baying had swelled to a dull roar. It was savage, too, and I could tell that they meant to have me. My one hope lay in the nearing boundary. Once beyond it, none of this pack dared follow me further. True, their place might, and probably would, be taken by the dogs of the next beat. But it would be something, at all events, to have shaken off this objectionable crowd. I believe they realised something of what was passing in my mind, for they made a spurt. I heard the grey leader yelp the order, and the pack crash out assent as I raced across a small open square. I too put on the pace-but it was

a last effort. My eyes were glazing, and now and then I felt myself stagger. A breathless yell of triumph from behind told me that they had noted my distress. They were nearing me fast. All my efforts could not gain me another length-could not even stop them from devouring, paw by paw, the little distance that still lay between us. In three minutes-two-one-they would catch me up, and then▬▬

I firmly believe now I could never have reached that boundary. I would have died then and there had it not been for the very thing I had previously dreaded. At that very moment when I had become a desperate thing, with staring eyes and bursting blood-vessels, a dozen dogs appeared ahead, and absolutely cut off my retreat. I remember the scene so well. A great white thing looked over the dark roofs and showed me the nearing danger. It was the moon, but to me it looked like a bewildering face with eyes of white flame. My new foes were fresh. They came leaping forward, barking savagely.

I funked them. I confess it. It's an awful sensation, bitter and humiliating, dust and ashes in the mouth of recollection. The pack behind me were within three lengths, the dogs in front within four, when, with my heart in my jaws, I turned tail. A gate at the side offered unexpected refuge. I bolted within. It was dark. I stumbled over the body of a man-stumbled on down some steps, and collapsed on the stones of a courtyard.

66

PART VII

Oh the agony of that moment! I thought my heart would throttle me. This, then, is death," came into my mind; for around me on every side I heard strange sounds. It seemed as if I listened to the beating of innumerable wings. They fanned me in the darkness-they brushed my panting body-they whirred overhead, filling the night with a mighty rush of sound that awoke dread, and yet soothed me. Then through the darkness came a human voice:

"Back!" it shouted. "Back, you brutes!" And above the baffled cries of the pack I heard the sound of blows. For the moment I was safe.

How long I lay there I know not. With eyes shut I remained without movement, save for the panting of my sides. Every limb and muscle ached. The whir of wings died away. The voice of the man was heard no more. Yet, soft on the silence. came a subdued sound. I had never heard anything like it before. At first, too exhausted to wonder, I listened to it apathetically, but as I recovered breath curiosity awoke, and, opening my eyes, I gazed around.

The first thing I noticed was the moon, half hidden by the dome of a temple. On either hand a slender minaret soared into the night. Beneath me the pavement felt cool and clean. I was in a courtyard open to the sky, yet surrounded by covered galleries. The latter were partially concealed by tattered awnings supported on stakes. In the centre stood a domed well and one dark fir-tree. The moonlight divided the space into nearly two equal parts. On the pavement, under the arches, on every available resting-place there perched innumerable birds. The sound of their voices and the soft rustle of their wings was as the sound of the Bosphorus when the city lies asleep. I listened to them with pleasure. That they were excited was evident. Not that I was conversant with their dialect, but I made out enough to understand that this was the Mosque of the Holy Pigeons, and that they were seriously annoyed at my intrusion.

At length I staggered to my feet. I was so stiff I could hardly move, and my paws gave me a lot of pain. All was quiet. Across the entrance lay the body of the guardian. He was asleep. Creeping behind him, I peered out into the lane. It was partly lighted by moonlight. In its clearly-lit spaces I could see dozens of dogs; some lying down, others standing up-but all waiting. Noiselessly I turned and limped towards the far side of the courtyard. I had almost reached it when, close to me, I heard the sound of a voice.

"Mahmud!" it whispered.

By Allah! it brought me up as dead as if I had been shot. My heart jumped to my throat. Incapable of movement, I stared in the direction from which the voice had come. At first I saw nothing; then, in the shadow of a pillar, under one of the awnings, something moved. As I watched breathlessly it crept