edge of the flap of the tent in the doorway, gazing in upon us with round
yellow eyes; nor was it the least nervous.

I recollect how, the evening before, there sat outside Smeera, as so
often may be seen outside the like villages, away beyond the huts and the
zareba, where it was very quiet, upon some flat grey stones, eight or
twelve village men--Arabs. Sitting there in the sunset, wrapped in their
white hooded mantles, this conclave of wise white owls, easily to be
mistaken for grey stones, so rigid are their backs--of what do they talk
as the hours go by? There is no joke nor song nor a drop of liquor going,
as in a "public," where our labourers at home would naturally congregate.
But this charmed circle sits on, staring into the west: the tall bearded
wheat rustles in the wind close to them; the illimitable plain stretches
away to the horizon, flat as their own uneventful lives; the sun drops
behind the soft straight line of Earth; they do not move,--wondrous
picturesque figures, long white folds, peaked hoods, sitting, their knees
drawn up to their chins, for how long? What is time to an Arab?

One evening our camel never turned up, and we fully expected to have had
to sleep without beds or any other of the night's usual adjuncts. We had
started that morning at seven, had ridden till twelve, had halted for an
hour and a half, starting again at half-past one, and riding till
half-past five; and all the way, after a mile out of Sok-el-Tleta, where
we watered the mules at a pond and the trail forked, we were on the wrong
road.

Only the man with the camel knew the Mazagan line of march thoroughly
well: he had explained it beforehand to Omar. Omar made a mistake, and
the camel and attendants were behind ourselves. However, news travels
oddly fast in uncivilized countries, and the camel-driver heard after a
time that the "advance squadron" was on the wrong trail. He set out after
us, and ran and walked, and caught us at three o'clock in the afternoon.
The wretched camel followed his steps all the way, with Mulai Ombach in
charge of our baggage, three donkeys, and a boy, who were afraid of being
cut off from us, and dared not risk a night by themselves. The
camel-driver put us right, Omar and Said were well cursed, and we began a
toilsome journey across rough country, hoping to hit the right trail in
time.

We found ourselves in the wildest and dirtiest of Arab encampments now
and again, where infuriated dogs, unac