e
Russian than Persian, and when the proper time arrives will drop into the
bear's capacious maw like a ripe plum.

At daybreak on the morning of departure the charvadars wake us up by
pounding on the outer gate and shouting "hadji" to Abdul Abdul lets them
in, and the next hour passes in violent and wordy disputation among them
as they load up their horses.

All three have purchased new Asterabad hats, big black busbies much
prized by Persians from beyond the mountains. The acquisition of these
imposing head-dresses has had the effect of increasing their self-esteem
wonderfully. They regard each other with considerable hauteur, and
quarrel almost continually for the first few miles. E puts up with their
angry shouting and quarrelling for awhile, and then chases them around a
little with the long hunting whip he carries. This brings them to their
senses again, and secures a degree of peace; but the inflating effect of
the new hats crops out at intervals all day.

Our road from Asterabad leads through jungle nearly the whole distance to
Bunder Guz. In the woods are clearings consisting of rice-fields,
orchards, and villages. The villages are picturesque clusters of wattle
houses with peaked thatch roofs that descend to within a few feet of the
ground. Groves of English walnut-trees abound, and plenty of these trees
are also scattered through the jungle.

During the day we encounter a gang of professional native hunters hunting
wild boars, of which these woods contain plenty, as well as tigers and
panthers. They are a wild-looking crowd, with long hair, and sleeves
rolled up to their elbows. Big knives are bristling in their kammerbunds,
besides which they are armed with spears and flint-lock muskets. They
make a great deal of noise, shouting and hallooing one to another; one
can tell when they are on a hot trail by the amount of noise they make,
just as you can with a pack of hounds.

We reach our destination by the middle of the afternoon, and find the
place a wretched village, right on the shore of the Caspian. We repair to
the caravanserai, but find the rooms so evil-smelling that we decide upon
camping out and risking the fever rather than court acquaintance with
possible cholera, providing no better place can be found elsewhere. This
serai is a curious place, anyway. All sorts of people, some of them so
peculiarly dressed that none of our party are able to make out their
character or nationality. A dervish is e