e, appears to interfere with
the continuation of my journey in the morning, most of the forenoon being
spent in a discussion of the subject between Abdurraheim Khan and the
mirza. About noon a messenger arrives from Ali-abad, bringing a letter
from the Ameer, which seems to clear up the mystery at once. The letter
probably contains certain instructions about providing me an escort that
were overlooked in the letter brought by the mirza.

When about starting, the khan presents me with a bowl of sweet stuff
--a heavy preparation of sugar, grease, and peppermint. A very small
portion of this lead-like concoction suffices to drive out all other
considerations in favor of a determination never to touch it again. An
attempt to distribute it among the people about us is interpreted by the
well-meaning khan as an impulse of pure generosity on my own part; the
result being that he ties the stuff up nicely in a clean handkerchief
that an unlucky bystander happens to display at that moment and bids me
carry it with me.

An ancient retainer, without any teeth to speak of, and an annoying habit
of shouting "h-o-i!" at a person, regardless of the fact that one is
within hearing of the merest whisper, is detailed to guide me to a few
hovels perched among the mountains, four farsakhs to the southeast, from
which point the journey across the Dasht-i-na-oomid is to begin, with an
escort of three sowars, who are to join us there later in the evening.

A couple of miles over fairly level ground, and then commences again the
everlasting hills, up, up, down, up, down, clear to our destination for
the day. While trundling along over the rough foot-hills, I am approached
by some nomads who are tending goats near by. Seeing them gather about
me, my aged but valiant protector comes galloping briskly up and
imperatively waves them away. A grandfatherly party, with a hacking
cough, a rusty cimeter, and a flint-lock musket of "ye olden tyme," I
fancied "The Aged" merely a guide to show me the road. As I worry along
over the rough, unridable mountains, the irritation of being shouted
"hoi!" at for no apparent reason, except for the luxury of hearing the
music of his own voice, is so annoying that I have about resolved to
abandon him to a well-deserved fate, in case of attack.

But now, instead of leaning on me for protection, he blossoms forth at
once as not only the protector of his own person, but of mine as well! As
he comes galloping bravely