Of all the outlaws of the desert, none could compare with Abdullah, the Great Chief. From Gishon to the River Oualeh his light-fingered men plied their trade, pillaging men of all races, so that none of the ways were safe. When Suleiman, the King, commanded that the wrong-doing should cease, Abdullah laughed scornfully. Nay Moye, capturing a certain rich caravan leader, robbed him and sent him to Suleiman with a scornful message of defiance. Now Suleiman, the King, was on in years, when the caravan leader stood before him and spoke the haughty words of the bandit, the great King laid his hand on his heart, bowed his head and died. For the great soul of the King could not endure the mockery. But the King's daughter swore by her father's dying breath that Abdullah should die for the wrong he had done. In the month of roses, as the King's daughter, now queen of the land, sat in the garden, that she heard a man's voice singing in the night. And when she answered his song, the man climbed ...
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