Frank woke up before the rest of the Davenport household, deciding to take his mustang on the Run. His boots echoed on the kitchen floor as he passed through on his way to the door that was closest to the paddock and stables. Once outside he stretched towards the gray morning sky riddled with dark clouds. He pushed his hat on and walked towards the stable but when the silence was broken by the sound of gurgling water, he halted. He then took a step forward, changed his mind, and walked in the direction of the sound. Beyond a large oak tree, Jazira stood pumping water into a large wooden bucket. Her thick dark hair cascading over her shoulders and veiling her face. Frank stopped and smiled, then called out,

"Good morning. Come ride with me."

Her head shot up, the happy smile on her face more beautiful than any sunrise, Frank thought. She looked back at the house and Frank came nearer saying,

"No one else is up, yet." He winked at her and repeated, "Come on."

Frank held out an open hand, Jazira smiled at him again, her cheeks rosy with anticipation. She slipped her hand into his and he led the way to the stable where his mustang was kept. Jazira nervously waited outside while Frank led his horse out, but then she walked up to the mustang her hand stretched out toward the mare's nose. After the horse got her scent, she gently stroked her head. Frank cocked his head, admiring the scene. Jazira looked up at him out of the corner of her eyes and said,

"Tell me about this new horse."

Jazira walked beside Frank as he led the mustang across the yard. He began, "When I told the Chief I was leaving the reservation, he knew I had no horse of my own, and he gave her to me. It was a gift to him from Wild Bill."

"The man my father loved to read about," Jazira stated with delight. As Frank grinned at this memory of the Sheik, Jazira asked, "Does she have a name?"

"The Chief called her Storyteller."

Jazira smiled, "I like that name. Is that what you call her?"

Frank smiled sadly at her and Jazira slid her hand into his once more and they walked together in companionable silence. Frank was the first to break it asking,

"If I wanted to speak to, what is he? A lord or something, Lord Wellingham, how would I do it? Would I have to make an appointment or something?"

Jazira was perplexed and looked up at Frank. She paused before answering, hoping he would provide some explanation. But when he did not, she replied, "No, not necessarily. It is said Lord Wellingham does not have many visitors. If he is home, you may just tell the man servant who greets you at the door that you wish to speak with Lord Wellingham."

"Sounds easy enough," Frank commented looking straight ahead.

He glanced down at her, mystery dancing in his eyes but he gave nothing away. Jazira reflected a moment then added, "It is also said that Lord Wellingham does not like Lady Davenport, and that he is extremely ungracious when she calls at his home."

Frank chuckled, "Ungracious? That's one way of putting it."

Jazira almost squirmed with curiosity. Frank noticed and laughed. He stopped walking, released her hand, hoisted himself onto Storyteller's bare back and reached a hand down to Jazira to assist her up behind him. Jazira hesitated a moment. Frank's eyebrows shot up, and she blushed. He gave her a cocky, challenging smile which provoked her to accept the strong hand that pulled her easily onto the mustang's back. Jazira slid into the horse's curvature behind Frank. He felt her body stiffen and tense. Storyteller pranced adjusting to the additional weight. Frank waited then with his chin over his shoulder he said to Jazira,

"I'm gonna let her buck. What are you going to hold on to?" There was a heartbeat of silence, stillness, debate and Frank teased, "Princess."

Immediately Jazira's arms shyly slipped around Frank's waist and she said stubbornly, "I'm not a princess."

Frank laughed and felt her relax. He knocked his boots against the mustang and said, "Gid'up."

The morning sky was threatening when Frank and Jazira re-entered the yard after their ride. Jazira's voice tightened and she said,

"Stop here, please."

Frank stopped without delay and before he could ask what was wrong or lend her an arm, Jazira slid off the mustang and began to run towards the manor. She stopped once turned around and called back to Frank, "She is a wonderful mare."

Frank tipped his hat and watched her rush away. He reached down and scratched the mustang between the ears saying with approval, "Hear that? She thinks you're wonderful."

Storyteller's ears twitched and Frank looked up at the sky. It was going to be a stormy day. He led the mustang to a trough near the stable. As he carried water to fill it, the raindrops started to fall. Frank trudged back and forth from the pump until the mare's thirst slackened. Then he led her back into the stable, dried her off and brushed her saying, "I'm going to need to buy some time here. So it looks like you're going to have to pay Al-Hattal a visit."

Storyteller whinnied and Frank grinned, "I thought you'd like that."

When he was through, he stood up, patted the her on the rump and said, "Well, I guess I go in now and play matchmaker."

There was a low rumble of thunder and the sound of rain beating against the roof. The other horses in the stable whinnied, but Storyteller remained quiet. Frank who had gone to look out the stable door, looked back at the steady mustang with a smile of regard and he nodded at her before exiting and walking through the heavy rain back to the house.

Frank entered the kitchen door and when he stepped inside, the cook gasped and two maids giggled. The cook's eyes were full of condemnation as she looked at Frank standing in the doorway dripping all over her clean floor.

She said in a reprimanding tone, "Mr. Hopkins!"

Frank looked down at the large pools his wet clothes were making. Taking off his hat created another pond. He said plainly, "Sorry m'am, I couldn't just stand outside though."

The cook mumbled something and rolled her eyes snapping, "Angela! Bring Mr. Hopkins a towel, a large towel." She pointed at him saying, "You're not going to go dripping all over my floor."

Frank said humbly, "No m'am."

Angela returned with the towel and took it over to the cook who said with exasperation, "It's not for me silly girl, it's for Mr. Hopkins."

Angela giggled again and handed the towel to the soaked cowboy. Frank dried his face and patted at his clothes half heartedly the cook ranted,

"I hope you know, that through that door is the dining room, where Lady Davenport sits at this very moment eating her breakfast. Heaven knows what she will say."

Frank looked pleased and tossed the towel back to the unsuspecting Angela who was barely able to catch it saying as he did so, "Oh, is she there? Good, I need to talk with her."

The cook put her hands on her hips and said, "For heavens sake!"

Frank crossed the kitchen with several long strides, pushed on the door which swung open and stood across the room from Lady Davenport who froze with her coffee cup in mid air when she saw him. A momentary glance was all it took and a look of disgust clouded her eyes and pulled up one corner of her mouth into a sardonic depreciating grin.

With effort she said, "Good morning, Mr. Hopkins."

"Good morning, Lady Davenport," he returned.

She said in a small controlled voice, "Won't you have some breakfast, perhaps after you have had a chance to clean up."

She looked off to the side with the slightest shake of her head. Frank pretended not to notice and said, "I will do just that. However, I wanted to tell you, I have decided to cross Al-Hattal with my mustang after all."

The coffee cup came down with a clink on it's saucer as Lady Davenport said, "I see. That will be an interesting combination will it not?" Forethought pulled the deteriorating conversation onto higher ground, to something more suited to her purpose and Lady Anne said, "Well, it's entirely up to you. After all, you do have bloodline rights. I wanted you to be able to claim it if that was what you desired, which is why I advertised in all the major American newspapers, even hiring Mr. Teague, who went even further to find you."

Frank felt his nerves come alive. This was it, he felt he was about to hear the real motive, the real reason behind the ads, certain they had not been placed out of generosity and unselfishness.

Lady Davenport continued, "And you, Mr. Hopkins, Frank, you came such a long way, such a very great distance to claim your rights."

Frank tried not to sound impatient as he encouraged, "Yes m'am, I have."

Lady Anne dipped her head in sympathy and related, "The bloodline will be of little benefit however, if one does not have the Al-Khamsa manuscripts."

Lady Davenport paused to let this fact sink in. Frank remembered the scene in the Sheik's tent when he said in a panic, 'My family's breeding book is missing.' But Frank decided to feign ignorance and ask,

"What kind of manuscripts?"

Lady Davenport clasped her hands together decisively and explained, "The Al-Khamsa, you could say it is the title that proves the stallion is who we know him to be, it is his heritage, his superior lineage. The book is verification of his worth. Without it, your colt will be worthless, and this trip a waste."

Frank's eyes hardened, and his face grim as he asked roughly, "What are you saying, you don't have the book?"

Lady Davenport looked up at him and said darkly, "I don't have it, yet, Mr. Hopkins."