but
there is the additional obstacle of the spring floods of the Helmund and
the Seistan Lake.

The Ameer's description of the Lut Desert and Beloochistan is but a
confirmation of my own already-arrived-at conclusions concerning the
utter impracticability of crossing either in the summer and with a
bicycle; but the wish gives birth to the thought that perhaps he may not
unlikely be indulging in the Persian weakness for exaggeration in his
graphic portrayal of the difficulties presented by the Harood.

The region between Beerjand and the Harood is on my map a dismal-looking,
blankety-blank stretch of country, marked with the ominous title
"Dasht-i" which, being interpreted into English, means Desert of Despair.
A gleam of hope that things may not be quite so hopeless as pictured is
born of the fact that, in dwelling on the difficulties of the situation,
the Ameer makes less capital out of this same Desert of Despair than of
the Harood, which has to be crossed on its eastern border.

As regards interference from the Legation of Teheran, thank goodness I am
now three hundred miles from the nearest telegraph-pole, and shall enter
Afghanistan at a point so much nearer to Quetta than to the Boundary
Commission Camp that the chances seem all in favor of reaching the former
place if I only succeed in reaching the Dasht-i-na-oomid and the Harood.

The result of the foregoing deliberations is a qualified (qualified by
the absence of any alternative save turning back) determination to point
my nose eastward, and follow its leadership toward the British outpost at
Quetta.

"Khylie koob" (very well), replies the Ameer, as he listens to my
determination; "khylie koob;" and he takes a few vigorous whiffs at his
kalian as though, conscious of the uselessness of arguing the matter any
further with a Ferenghi, he were dismissing the ghost of his own opinions
in a cloud of smoke.

Shortly after sunrise on the following morning a couple of well-mounted
horsemen appear at the door of my tent, armed and equipped for the road.
Their equipment consists of long guns with resting-fork attachment, the
prongs of which project above the muzzle like a two-pronged pitchfork;
swords, pistols, and the brave but antique display of warlike
paraphernalia characteristic of the East. One of them, I am pleased to
observe, is the genial young mirza whose snuff-colored roundabout is held
in place by the "dieu et mon droit" belt of yesterday; his companio