But
soon they string out, and we notice our two orthodox men well in
rear. This time the race is even more exciting, and as the post is
neared the yells of defiance, the flowing robes, the waving arms
and the bump, bump, bump of the riders brings pictures to the mind
of the fiery followers of Saladin, or an attack by the Arabs in the
'Tragedy of the Korosko'.
"HOME AGAIN!
"Well, it's over at last, and our 'choice' and the other smartly
dressed jockey are miles behind. But that doesn't matter as I hear
the winner is only paying out 5 pt. Oh! that 'Tote'! Six races are
the usual number run; and then the sun sinks behind the Taurus
Mountains, the shadows fall long and blue, and the high-up Citadel,
flanked by mosques and minarets, becomes bathed in the orange light
of the setting rays. As the last horse is led in, the crowd flows
back towards the town, and then the arabiyehs crack their whips,
the camels grunt, the staff start up their motor cars, and the
combatant officers with light hearts and lighter pockets mount
their chargers, and wend their way back to camp.
"Such is an Aleppo Race Meeting, and so do we attempt to pass the
monotony of an enforced exile in a barren and a dreamy land.
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