wledge of the unsuitableness of the country ahead,
or from a new spasm of apprehension concerning their responsibility, does
not appear; but in the morning Kiftan Sahib and the chief of the sowars
insist upon me mounting a horse and handing the bicycle over to the
tender mercies of the person in charge of the nummud pack-horse. They
point in the direction of Herat, and deliver themselves of a marvellous
quantity of deprecatory pantomime. My own impression is that, having
recrossed the Harood, the only great obstacle in the path of a wheelman
between Furrah and Herat, their abnormally suspicious minds imagine that
there is now nothing to prevent me taking wings and outdistancing them to
the latter place.

Finding them determined, and, moreover, nothing loath to try a horse for
a change, on the back-stretch, I take the wheel apart and distribute
fork, backbone, and large wheel among the sowars. The only fit place for
the latter is on the top of the nummuds and blankets on the spare
pack-horse, and, before starting, I see to fastening it securely on top
of the load. This pack-horse is a powerful black stallion that puts in a
good share of his time trying to attack the other horses. Owing to this
uncontrollable pugnacity, he is habitually led along at some considerable
distance from the party, generally to the rear.

The person in charge of him is a young negro as black, and
proportionately powerful, as himself. Wild and ferocious as is the
stallion, he is a civilized and mild-mannered animal compared with his
manager. In the matter of facial expression and intellectual development
this uncivilized descendant of Ham is first cousin to a wild gorilla, and
it is not without certain misgivings that I leave the web-like
bicycle-wheel in his charge. He has been a very interesting study of
uncivilization all along, and his bump of destructiveness is as large as
an orange. The military Afghans, one and all, impress me as being
especially created to destroy the fruits of other people's industry and
thrift, whether it be in wearing out clothes and shoes made in England,
or devouring the substance of the peaceful villagers of their own
territory; and this untamed darkey fairly bristles with the evidence of
his capacity as a destroyer.

Everything about him is in a dilapidated condition; the leathern scabbard
of his sword is split half way up, revealing a badly notched and rusted
blade. An orang-outang, fresh from the jungles of Sum