dish song.
Behind one of the tents, on a primitive weaving-machine, some of them were
making tent-roofing and matting. Others still were walking about with a
ball of wool in one hand and a distaff in the other, spinning yarn. The
flocks stood round about, bleating and lowing, or chewing their cud in
quiet contentment. All seemed very domestic and peaceful except the
Kurdish dogs, which set upon us with loud, fierce growls and gnashing
teeth.

Not so was it with the Kurdish chief, who by this time had finished
reading the mutessarif's message, and who now advanced from his tent with
salaams of welcome. As he stood before us in the glowing sunset, he was a
rather tall, but well-proportioned man, with black eyes and dark mustache,
contrasting well with his brown-tanned complexion. Upon his face was the
stamp of a rather wild and retiring character, although treachery and
deceit were by no means wanting. He wore a headgear that was something
between a hat and a turban, and over his baggy Turkish trousers hung a
long Persian coat of bright-colored, large-figured cloth, bound at the
waist by a belt of cartridges. Across the shoulders was slung a
breech-loading Martini rifle, and from his neck dangled a heavy gold
chain, which was probably the spoil of some predatory expedition. A quiet
dignity sat on Ismail Deverish's stalwart form.

[Illustration: THE KURDISH ENCAMPMENT.]

It was with no little pleasure that we accepted his invitation to a cup of
tea. After our walk of nineteen miles, in which we had ascended from 3000
to 7000 feet, we were in fit condition to appreciate a rest. That Kurdish
tent, as far as we were concerned, was a veritable palace, although we
were almost blinded by the smoke from the green pine-branches on the
smoldering fire. We said that the chief invited us to a cup of tea: so he
did--but we provided the tea; and that, too, not only for our own party,
but for half a dozen of the chief's personal friends. There being only two
glasses in the camp, we of course had to wait until our Kurdish
acquaintances had quenched their burning thirst. In thoughtful mood we
gazed around through the evening twilight. Far away on the western slope
we could see some Kurdish women plodding along under heavy burdens of
pine-branches like those that were now fumigating our eyes and nostrils.
Across the hills the Kurdish shepherds were driving home their herds and
flocks to the tinkling of bells. All this, to us, was deepl