her for the steam and vapour arising
from the poor brutes, whose neighs of terror, as they blundered into a
deeper drift than usual, were pitiful to hear. More than once Gerome's
pony fell utterly exhausted and helpless, and it took our united
efforts to get him on his legs again; while the Shagird and I left our
ponies prone on their sides, only too glad of a temporary respite from
their labours. If there is anything in the Mohammedan religion, the
Shagird was undoubtedly useful. He never ceased calling upon "Allah!"
for help for more than ten consecutive seconds the whole way across.
At four o'clock we rode into the post-house at Bideshk, thoroughly
done up, and wet through with snow and perspiration, but safe,
and determined, if horses were procurable, to push on at once to
Murchakhar, from whence two easy stages of six and three farsakhs
would land us next day at Ispahan.

It was dusk, and we had just secured the only horses available, when
two Armenians, bound for Teheran, rode into the yard. When told they
were just too late for a relay, the rage of one of them--a short,
apoplectic-looking little man--was awful to behold. As I mounted, his
companion came up and politely advised us not to attempt to ride to
Murchakhar by night. "The road swarms with footpads," he said, in a
mysterious undertone; "you run a very great risk of being robbed and
murdered if you go on to-night." "You would have run a far greater
of being frozen to death, if we had not saved you by taking these
horses," cried Gerome, as we rode coolly out of the gateway.

Bideshk is noted for a great battle fought in its vicinity between
the army of Nadir Shah and Ashraf the Afghan. Its post-house is also
noted, as I can vouch for, for the largest and most venomous bugs
between Teheran and Ispahan. We only remained there three hours, and
felt the effects for days afterwards.

All trace of ice and snow disappeared a few farsakhs from here, and we
galloped gaily across a hard and level plain to our destination for
the night. The post-house was a blaze of light. A couple of armed
sentries stood in front of the doorway, and a motley crowd of
soldiers, Shagird-chapars, and peasants outside.

"You cannot come in," said the postmaster, full of importance. "The
Zil-i-Sultan is here on a hunting expedition. He will start away
early in the morning, and then you can have the guest-room, but not
before." Too tired to mind much--indeed, half asleep already--we
g