ds the ground and feel for the hide. Some have
fallen off and are in danger of being tramped upon, while others are
hanging half under their horses.

Still worse becomes the tumult when a couple of men on yaks push
themselves into the scrimmage. The yaks prod the horses' loins with
their horns. The horses are irritated and kick, and the yaks defend
themselves; then there is a perfect bullfight in full swing.

A strong fellow has now succeeded in getting a firm hold of the goat.
His horse knows what to do, and backs with his rider out of the
scrimmage and flies swiftly as the wind in a wide course round the
plain. The others pursue him, and as they turn back they look as if they
mean to ride over us with irresistible force. At the last moment,
however, the horses stop as if turned to stone; and then the struggle
begins again. Many have their faces covered with blood, others have
their clothes torn, caps and whips lie scattered over the arena, and one
or two horses are lamed.

"It is very well for us who are old that we are not in the crush," I
said to Khoat Bek.

"Ah, it is nearly a hundred years ago since I was as old as you are
now," the old man answered with a smile.

FOOTNOTES:

[8] A team of three horses abreast.

[9] The word "darya" means "river."

VI

FROM PERSIA TO INDIA (1906)

TEBBES TO SEISTAN

Now we can return to Tebbes and continue our journey to India.

The camels are laden, we mount, the bells ring again, and our caravan
travels through the desert for days and weeks towards the south-east. At
length we come to the shore of a large lake called the Hamun, which lies
on the frontier between Persia and Afghanistan. The Amu-darya forms the
boundary between Bukhara and Afghanistan, the northern half of which is
occupied by the Hindu-kush mountains. The name means "slaughterer of
Hindus," because Hindus who venture up among the mountains after the
heat of India have every prospect of being frozen to death in the
eternal snow. Large quantities of winter snow are melted in spring, and
then rivers and streams pour through the valleys to collect on the
plains of southern Afghanistan into a large river called the Hilmend,
which flows into the Hamun. As there are no proper boats or ferries on
the lake, we had here to take farewell of the camels who had served us
so faithfully and had carried us and our belongings through such long
stretches of desert. We were sorry to part with them, but there