n hand a rare piece of information for his friends, explains that a
Ferenghi eats soup with a spoon. The chief and his men smile incredibly,
but the khan emphasizes his position by appealing to the mirza and the
mudbake for confirmation. "Eat soup with a spoon?" queries the chief in
Persian; and he casts about him a look of unutterable astonishment.

Recovering somewhat from his incredulity, however, he orders an attendant
to fetch one, which shortly results in the triumphant production of a
rude wooden ladle. These uncivilized children of the desert watch me
drink broth from the ladle with most intense curiosity. In their own
case, an attendant tears several of the sheets of bread into pieces and
puts them in the broth; each person then helps himself to the
broth-soaked bread with his fingers. What broth remains at the bottom of
the bowl is drunk by them from the vessel itself in turns. After
consuming several generous chunks of "gusht" bread and mast and broth,
and supplementing this with a bowl of doke, I stretch myself out again
and at once become wrapped in sound, refreshing slumbers that last till
morning.

It is a glorious morning as, after breakfasting off the cold remains of
the meat left over from the evening meal, we bid farewell to the
hospitable Eimuek camp and resume our journey. As we leave, I offer to
shake hands with the chief to see if he understands our mode of greeting;
he seizes my hand between his two palms and kisses it. For the first few
miles the country is gravelly and undulating, after which it changes to a
sort of basin, partially covered by dense patches of tall, rank weeds. On
either side are rocky hills, almost rising to the dignity of mountains;
the rain and melting snow evidently convert this basin into a swamp at
certain periods, but it is now dry. A mile or so off to the right we
catch a glimpse, of some wild animal chasing a small herd of antelope.
From its size and motion, I judge it to be a leopard or cheetah; the
sowars regard it, bounding along after the fleet-footed antelope, with
lively interest; they call it a "baab" (tiger), and say there are many in
the reeds. It looks quite a likely spot for tigers, and it is not at all
unlikely that it may have been one, for, while not plentiful hereabout,
Tigris Asiaticus occasionally makes his presence known in the patches of
reed and jungle in Southern Afghanistan and Seistan.

All three of the sowars are frisky as kittens this morning,