as we stand on the boundary line, their bronzed and
bared throats are again subjected to this highly expressive treatment;
and transfixing me with a penetrating stare, as though eager to read in
my face some responsive sign of fear or apprehension, the khan repeats
with emphasis: "Bur-raa-ther, Afghanistan." Seeing me still inclined to
make light of the matter, he turns to his comrades for confirmation. "O,
bur-raa-ther, Afghanistan," assents the mirza; and the mudbake chimes in
with the same words. "Well, yes, I understand; Afghanistan--what of
it?" I inquire, amused at this theatrical display of their childish
knavery.

For answer they start to loading up their guns and pistols, which up to
now they have neglected to do; and they examine, with a ludicrous show of
importance, the edges of their swords and the points of their daggers,
staring the while at me to see what kind of an impression all this is
making. Their scrutiny of my countenance brings them small satisfaction,
methinks, for so ludicrous seems the scene, and so transparent the
motives of this warlike movement, that no room is there for aught but a
genuine expression of amusement.

Having loaded up their imposing array of firearms, the khan gives the
word to advance, with as much show of solemnity as though leading a
forlorn hope on some desperate undertaking, and he impresses upon me the
importance of keeping as close to then as possible, instead of riding
ahead. All around us is the unto-habited plain; not a living thing or
sign of human being anywhere; but when I point this out, and picking up a
stone, ask the khan if it is these that are dangerous, he replies, as
before: "Bur-raa-ther, Afghanistan," and significantly taps his weapons.
As we advance the level plain becomes covered with a growth of wild thyme
and camel-thorn, the former permeating the desert air with its agreeable
perfume. The evening air is soft and balmy I as we halt in the dusk of
the evening to camp alongside the trail; each sowar has a large leathern
water-bottle swinging from his stirrup-strap filled at the little freshet
above mentioned, and for food we have bread and the remains of the cold
kid. The horses are fastened to stout shrubs, and a fire is kindled with
dried camel-thorn collected by the mudbake. Not a sound breaks the
stillness of the evening as we squat around the fire and eat our frugal
supper--all about us is the oppressive silence and solitude of the
desert Away off