. "Sowari pool f pool koob; rupee-rupee Jcoob?"
"O, O, pool koob; rupee koob; sowari neis, sowari khylie koob adam." In
this brief interchange of disconnected Persian the khan has asked me
whether the sowars have stolen money from me, and I have answered that
they have not, but that, on the contrary, they are most excellent men,
both "trustie and true." May the recording angel enter my answer down
with a recommendation for mercy! During this examination the little
busby-wearer stands and closely scrutinizes the changeful countenances of
the accused. He thoroughly understands that I am mercifully shielding
them from what he considers their just deserts, and he chips in a word
occasionally to Aminulah Khan, aside, like a sharp lawyer watching the
progress of a cross-examination. The chief himself, though ostensibly
accepting my statement, has his own suspicions to the same purpose, and
before dismissing them he shakes his finger menacingly at the sowars and
significantly touches the hilt of his sword. The three culprits look
guilty enough to satisfy the most merciful of judges, but, relying on my
operation to shield them, they stoutly maintain their innocence.

Some little delay occurs about starting for Furrah, my next objective
point on the road to India; the khan explains that all of his sowars have
been sent off to help garrison Herat; that the best he can provide in the
form of a mounted escort is an elderly little man whom he points out,
with an evident doubt as to my probable appreciation.

The man looks more like a Persian than an Afghan, which he probably is,
as the population of these borderland districts is much mixed. Nothing
would have pleased me better than to have had Aminulah Khan bid me go
ahead without any escort whatever, but next to nobody at all, the most
satisfactory arrangement is the harmless-looking old fellow in the
Persian lamb's-wool hat. Telling him that he has done well in sending his
sowars to Herat, and that the old fellow will answer very well as guide,
I prepare to take my departure. My guide disappears, and shortly returns
mounted on a powerful and spirited gray. Aminulah Khan gives him a
letter, and after mutual salaams, and "good ahfis," the old sowar leads
the way at a pace which shows him to be filled with exaggerated ideas
about my speediness.

Irrigating ditches and fields characterize the way for some few miles,
after which we emerge upon a level desert whose hard gravel surface