ring they refill their water-skins and let
the dromedaries drink. Then they go up into the neighbouring hills and
wait till the hot hours of the day are over. They never encamp at the
springs, for there they are likely to meet with other people.

At dusk they are in the saddle again. They ride harder than during the
first night and travel till they come to a salt spring. The third night
the dromedaries begin to breathe more heavily, and when the sun rises
flecks of white froth hang from their trembling lips. They are not tired
but only a little winded, and they press on through clouds of dust
without their riders having to urge them.

Now the party leaves behind it the last desert path, which is only once
in a while used by a caravan, and beyond it is a perfect wilderness of
hardened salt-impregnated mud. Nothing living can be seen, not even a
stray raven or vulture which might warn the people in Bam of their
danger. Without rest the robber band pushes on all day, as silent as the
desert, the only sounds being the long-drawn breathing of the
dromedaries and the rasping sound of their foot-pads on the ground. When
the reflection of the evening sky lies in purple shades over the desert,
they have only ten or twelve miles more to go.

Shah Sevar pulls up his dromedary and orders a halt in muffled tones,
as though he feared that his voice might be heard in Bam. With a hissing
noise the riders make their animals kneel and lie down, and then they
spring out of the saddle, and tie the end of the cord round the
dromedaries' forelegs to prevent the animals from getting up and making
a noise and thus spoiling the plan. All are tired out and stretch
themselves on the ground. Some sleep, others are kept awake by
excitement, while four riders go scouting in different directions. Bam
itself cannot be seen, but the hill is visible at the foot of which the
town stands. The men long for night and the cover of darkness.

The day has been calm and hot, but now the evening is cool and the
shadows dense. A faint breeze comes from the north, and Shah Sevar
smiles. If the wind were from the east, he would be obliged to make a
detour in order not to rouse the dogs of the town. It is now nine
o'clock and in an hour the people of Bam will be asleep. The men have
finished their meal, and have wrapped up the remainder of the dates,
cheese, and bread in their bundles and tied them upon the dromedaries.

"Shall we empty the waterskins so as to m