ittle stone dyke that cut the meadow from the arable
land a negro ploughed with an ox and an ass, in flat defiance of Biblical
injunction. The beasts were weary or lazy, or both, and the slave cursed
them with an energy that was wonderful for the time of day. Even the birds
had ceased to sing, the cicadas were silent in the tree tops, and when one
of the mules rolled on the ground and scattered its pack upon all sides,
the Maalem was too exhausted to do more than call it the "son of a
Christian and a Jew."

[Illustration: THE MID-DAY HALT]

Down the track we had followed came a fair man, of slight build, riding a
good mule. He dismounted by the tree to adjust his saddle, tighten a
stirrup thong, and say a brief prayer. Then, indifferent to the heat, he
hurried on, and Salam, who had held short converse with him, announced
that he was an emissary of Bu Hamara the Pretender, speeding southward to
preach the rising to the Atlas tribes. He carried his life in his hands
through the indifferently loyal southern country, but the burden was not
heavy enough to trouble him. Bu Hamara, the man no bullets could injure,
the divinely directed one, who could call the dead from their pavilion in
Paradise to encourage the living, had bade him go rouse the sleeping
southerners, and so he went, riding fearlessly into the strong glare that
wrapt and hid him. His work was for faith or for love: it was not for
gain. If he succeeded he would not be rewarded, if he failed he would be
forgotten.

Very often, at morning, noon, and sunset, we would meet the r'kass or
native letter-carrier, a wiry man from the Sus country, more often than
not, with naked legs and arms. In his hand he would carry the long pole
that served as an aid to his tired limbs when he passed it behind his
shoulders, and at other times helped him to ford rivers or defend himself
against thieves. An eager, hurrying fellow was the r'kass, with rarely
enough breath to respond to a salutation as he passed along, his letters
tied in a parcel on his back, a lamp at his girdle to guide him through
the night, and in his wallet a little bread or parched flour, a tiny pipe,
and some kief. Only if travelling in our direction would he talk, repaying
himself for the expenditure of breath by holding the stirrup of mule or
horse. Resting for three to five hours in the twenty-four, sustaining
himself more with kief than with bread, hardened to a point of endurance
we cannot realise, the r