standing,
with its head forced into the most unpleasant angle downwards, and the
stoical expression of a true Mussulman underneath its bonnet.

On the opposite side of the stream some sheep, suggestive of the lean,
tough mutton we fed upon, were searching round for anything in the shape
of pasture: flocks of small cows and calves were on the same quest
between the palmetto-bushes: somewhere a boy in charge was no doubt
asleep.

By this time Mohammed was impatient to be off: the bits were put back
into the mules' mouths, we got into our saddles again, and pushed on. In
wet weather the track must be a bad one to follow: innumerable
streamlets, which have eaten out deep gullies in the clay, have to be
crossed, making the going hard upon heavily laden beasts, and after heavy
rains impossible. We slipped about a little. Mohammed and his man had
their hands full with the two baggage-mules, which they had long ago
given up trying to ride. The slopes became more bleak: far away in the
distance Cadour pointed out our destination, a white speck on the top of
a range of hills, to be seen for a moment and lost sight of the next, as
we dipped down on to lower ground. Another hour brought it very little
nearer: fresh irregularities between opened up continually, meaning
_detours_ to the right or left. A few plover wailed over some marsh: in
such places partridge, hares, golden grouse, and quail ought to be found;
but since every male possesses a gun of sorts, from the peasant hoeing
beans upwards, and is not troubled with game laws or ideas upon
preserving, they become rarer.

We passed clump after clump of white narcissus in full bloom, and
marigolds in yellow patches; but as we neared the hills the country grew
wilder, and short scrub, palmetto, and cistus took the place of coarse
grass.

At last we were at the foot of the pass, and the end of our march was all
uphill, steep in places, the scrub turning into respectable bushes, with
almost a "jungly" aspect. The baggage-mules were pushed and urged ahead.
At last, about five o'clock, the sun setting, we reached our
camping-ground, up in the teeth of a rising wind.

Standing by itself, the caravanserai--called a _fondak_ in Morocco--was a
white-walled enclosure, with a great open space in the middle and
colonnades all round the insides of the four walls, where men and mules
huddled and slept unconcernedly. There is also one room to be had; but
filthy, of course, such quarters