e dry bed of
a river, which, I ascertained with difficulty from my one-eyed
companion, is named the Mashki. Large holes, from eight to ten feet
deep, had been dug for some distance by the Dhaira natives, forming
natural cisterns or tanks. These were, even now, after a long spell of
dry weather, more than half full, and the water, with which we filled
barrels and flasks, clear, cold, and delicious.

The Shirengaz Pass, which crosses a chain of hills about five hundred
feet high, separates the Dhaira Valley from the equally fertile
district of Gwarjak. The ascent and descent are gradual and easy, and
by ten o'clock we were in sight of Gwarjak, before midday had encamped
within half a mile of the town, if a collection of straggling
tumble-down huts can so be called. The news of our arrival had preceded
us, and before tents were pitched the population had turned out _en
masse_, and a mob of quite two hundred men, women, and children were
squatted around our camp, watching, at a respectful distance, the
proceedings of my men with considerable interest. Malak had meanwhile
disappeared, ostensibly to warn the Wazir of our arrival.

Gwarjak is situated on the left bank of the Mashki river, and consists
of some thirty huts, shapeless and dilapidated, built of dried palm
leaves. About two hundred yards north of the village rises a steep
almost perpendicular rock about a hundred feet high, on the summit of
which is perched a small mud fort. The latter is crenelated, loopholed
for musketry, and mounts six cannon of a very primitive kind. It was
at once apparent that we were anything but welcome. The very sight of
my armed escort seemed to annoy and exasperate the male population,
while the women and children gathered together some distance off,
flying in a body whenever one of our party approached them. I looked
forward, with some impatience, to Malak's return, for Kamoo's request
for the loan of a knife from one of the bystanders was met with
an indignant refusal, accompanied by murmuring and unmistakable
expressions of hostility. We were well armed certainly, but were only
ten men against over a hundred.

Our camping-place was wild and picturesque, and, had it not been for
the uncomfortable sensation of not quite knowing what would happen
next, our stay at Gwarjak would have been pleasant enough. Even Gerome
was depressed and anxious, and the Beila men and escort ill at ease. I
was sorely tempted more than once to accede to Ka