is
ridable in any direction without regard to beaten trails. Numerous
lizards of a peculiar spotted variety are observed scuttling about on
this gravelly plain as we ride along. The sun grows hot, but the way is
level and smooth, and about ten o'clock we arrive at the oasis of
Mahmoudabad, five farsakhs from Ghalakua. Mahmoudabad consists of a few
mud dwellings surrounded by a strong wall, and a number of tents. Water
is brought in a ditch from some distant source, and my faculty of
astonishment is once again assailed by the sight of flourishing little
patches of "Windsor beans." This is the first growth of these particular
legumes that have come beneath my notice in Asia; dropping on them in the
little oasis of Mahmoudabad is something of a surprise, to say the least.

The men of Mahmoudabad wear bracelets and ankle-ornaments of thick copper
wire, and necklaces of beads. Nothing whatever is seen of the women; so
far as ocular evidence is concerned, Mahmoudabad might be a community of
men and boys exclusively. The plain continues level and gravelly, and
pretty soon it becomes thinly covered with green young camel-thorn. The
widely scattered shrubs fail to cover up much of the desert's nakedness
at close quarters, but a wider view gives a pleasant green plain, out of
which the dark, massive mountains rise abrupt with striking effect.

Late in the afternoon the hard surface of the desert gives place to the
loose adobe soil of the Furi-ah Eooi bottom-lands. For some distance this
is so loose and soft that one sinks in shoe-top deep at every step, and
the path becomes a mere trail through dense thickets of reeds that wave
high above one's head. Beyond this is a narrow area of cultivation and
several walled villages, most of which are distinguished by one or two
palms. Arriving at one of these villages, an hour before sunset, the old
guide advocates remaining for the night. In obedience to his orders the
headman brings out a carpet and spreads it beneath the shadow of the
wall, and pointing to it, says, "Sahib, bismillah!" Taking the proffered
seat, I inquire of him the distance to Furrah. Ho says it is across the
Furrah Rood, and distant one farsakh. "Kishtee ass?" "O, Idshtee" Turning
to the guide, I suggest: "Bismillah Furrah." The old fellow looks
disappointed at the idea of going on, but he replies, "Bismillah." The
carpet is taken away again, and the village headman sends a younger man
to guide us through the fields an