the result,
it is surmised, of the generous hospitality of the Eimuek chief
--gusht galore and rich broth cause their animal spirits to run
riot. Like overfed horses they "feel their oats" as they sniff the fresh
and invigorating morning air, and they point toward the shadowy form of
the racing baab a mile away, and pretend to take aim at it with their
guns. They sing and shout and swoop down on one another about the basin,
flourishing their swords and aiming with their guns, and they whip their
poor, long-suffering yahoos into wild, sweeping gallops as they swoop
down on some imaginary enemy. This wild hilarity and mimic warfare of the
desert is kept up until the ragged edge of their exuberance is worn away,
and their horses are well-nigh fagged out; we then halt for an hour to
allow the horses to recuperate by nibbling at a patch of reeds.

About ten miles from the Eimuek camp, the country develops into a
wilderness of deep, loose sand and bowlders. Across this sandy region
stretches a range of dark volcanic hills; the bases of the hills
terminate in billows of whitish-yellow sand; the higher waves of the
sandy sea stretch well up the sides like giant ocean breakers driven by
the gale up the side of the rocky cliffs. It is a tough piece of country
even for the sowars' horses, and dragging a bicycle through the mingled
sand and bowlders is abominable in the extreme. The heat becomes
oppressive as we penetrate deeper into the belt of sand-hills, and after
five miles of desperate tugging I become tired and distressed. The sowars
lolling lazily in their saddles, well-nigh sleeping, while I am struggling
and perspiring, form another chapter of experience entirely novel in the
field of European travel in Asia. Usually it is the natives who have to
sweat and toil and administer to the comfort of the traveller.

Revolving these things over in my mind, and becoming really wearied, I
suggest to the khan that he change places for a brief spell and give me a
chance to rest. The idea of himself trundling the asp-i-awhan appeals to
the khan as decidedly novel, and he bites at the bait quite readily.
Mounting his vacated saddle, I join the mirza and the mudbake in watching
him struggle along through the sand with it for some two hundred yards.
Along that brief course he topples over with it not less than half a
dozen times. The novel spectacle of the khan trundling the asp-i-awhan
arouses his two comrades from the warmth-inspired s