atra, could scarcely
display less intelligence concerning human handicraft than he; he bubbles
over with laughter at seeing anything upset or broken, growls sullenly at
receiving uncongenial orders, calls on Allah, and roars threateningly at
the stallion, all in the same breath. No wonder I ride ahead, feeling
somewhat apprehensive; and yet the wheel looks snug and safe enough on
top of the big pile of soft nummuds.

The day's march is long and dreary, through a country of desert wastes
and stony hills. The only human habitation seen is a small cluster of
tents near some wells of water. The people seem overjoyed at the sight of
travellers, and come running to the road with their kammerbunds full of
little hard balls of sun-dried mast. We fill our pockets with these and
nibble and chew them as we ride along. They are pleasantly sour,
containing great thirst-quemhing properties, as well as being very
nourishing.

The sun goes down and dusk settles over our trail, and still the chief of
the sowars and Kiftan Sahib lead the way. Many of the horses are pretty
badly fagged, they have had nothing to eat all day and next to nothing to
drink, and the party are straggling along the trail for a couple of miles
back. At length lights are observed twinkling in the darkness ahead. Half
an hour later we dismount in a nomad camp, and one after another the
remainder of the party come straggling in, some of them leading their
horses. Both men and animals are well-nigh overcome with fatigue.

The shrill neighing of the ferocious and spirited black stallion is heard
as he approaches and realizes that he is coming into camp; he is a
glorious specimen of a horse, neither hunger nor thirst can curb his
spirit. He is carrying far the heaviest load of the party, yet he comes
into camp at ten o'clock, after hustling along over stones and sand since
before daylight, without food or water; neighing loudly and ready to
fight all the horses within reach. The chief of the sowars goes out to
superintend the unloading of the black stallion; and soon I hear him
addressing the negro in angry tones, supplementing his reproachful words
with several resounding blows of his riding-whip. The wild darkey's
disapproval of these proceedings finds expression in a roar of pain and
fear that would do justice to a yearling bull being dragged into the
shambles.

The cause of this turmoil shortly turns up in the shape of my wheel, with
no less than eleven spokes b