ands near the Furrah Rood. The water is
three feet deep, and I revel in the luxury of a cooling and refreshing
bath until overtaken by the escort.

The plain, heretofore hard, now changes into loose sand and gravel, and
the trail becomes quite obliterated. In addition to these undesirable
changes, the wind commences blowing furiously from the north, making it
absolutely impossible to ride. Rounding the base of an abutting mountain,
we emerge upon the grassy lowlands of the Harood in the vicinity of
Subzowar. Subzowar is a sort of way-station between Furrah and Herat, the
only inhabited place, except tents, on the whole journey. It is on the
west side of the Harood and the broad, swift stream is full to
overflowing, a turgid torrent rushing along at a dangerous pace.

After much shouting and firing of guns, a score of villagers appear on
the opposite bank, and several of them come wading and swimming across.
They seem veritable amphibians, capable of stemming the tide that
well-nigh sweeps strong horses off their feet. The river is fordable by
following a zigzag course well known to the local watermen. One of them
carries the bicycle safely across on his head, and others lead the
sowars' horses by the bridle.

When all the Afghans but Kiftan Sahib have been assisted over, the
strongest horse of the party is brought back for my own passage. A dozen
natives are made to form a close cordon about me to rescue me in case of
misadventure, while one leads the horse by his bridle and another
steadies him by holding on to his tail. Kiftan Sahib himself brings up
the rear, and, as the rushing waters deepen around us, he abjures me to
keep a steady seat and, in a voice that almost degenerates into an
apprehensive whine, he mutters: "The receipt, Sahib, the receipt."

A ripple of excitement occurs in the middle of the river by one the men
being swept off his feet and carried down stream; and, although he swims
like a duck, the treacherous undercurrent sucks him under several times.
It looks as though he would be drowned; a number of his comrades race
down the bank and plunge in to swim to his rescue, but he finally secures
footing on a submerged sand-bank, and after resting a few minutes swims
ashore.

The remainder of the day, and the night, are passed in tents near
Subzowar, it being very evidently against Afghan social etiquette for
strangers to take shelter within the confines of the village itself.

Whether from their kno