s returning from the
city. Mile after mile is devoted to the unhappy task of trundling the
bicycle ahead, rear wheel aloft, through mud and slush varying from
ankle-deep to worse, occasionally varying the programme by fording a
stream.

Late in the afternoon we arrive at the summit of the hills overlooking
the Meshed Plain, and the hadji points out enthusiastically the golden
dome of Imam Biza's sanctuary; the yellow, glistening goal whose famed
sanctity has attracted hosts of pilgrims from all quarters of Central
Asia for ages past. The hills hereabout are of a rocky character, and
pious pilgrims have gathered into little mounds every loose piece of
rock, it being customary for each pilgrim to find a stone and add it to
one of these piles upon first viewing the bright golden dome of the holy
city from this commanding spot.

Below the rocky paths of this declivity the snow disappears in favor of
slippery mud, and the hadji's wearied charger slips and slides about, to
the imminent danger of its rider's neck; and all the time the slim
Turkoman! steed trembles visibly in terror of the old Mazanderan
dervish's whip and his awful threats. Two miles down the bed of the
stream, crossing and recrossing it a dozen times, often thigh-deep, and
we emerge upon the gently sloping area of the Meshed Plain, with the
yellow beacon-light of Meshed glowing in the mellow light of the evening
sun six miles away.

The late storm has been chiefly rain in the lower altitude of the plain,
and the day's sunshine has partially dried the surface, but leaving it
slippery and treacherous here and there. After leaving the bed of the
stream the hadji becomes anxious about reaching Meshed before dark, and
advises me to mount and put on the speed.

"Inshallah, Meshed yek saat," he says, and so I mount and bid him follow
along behind. By vocal suasion and a liberal application of his cruel,
triple-thonged, raw-hide whip, he urges his well-nigh staggering animal
into a canter, lifting his forefeet clear of the ground seemingly by the
bridle at every jump. Suspicious as to his lank and angular steed's
sure-footedness under the strain, I take the very laudable precaution of
keeping as far from him as possible, not caring to get mixed up in a
catastrophe that seems inevitable every time the horse, goaded by the
stinging stimulus of the whip and the threats, makes another jump. Not
more than a mile of the six is covered when I have ample reason for
cong