Had it cut me in two, however, I would have borne it, if only to punish this boorish ruffian for his insolence of yesterday.
Malak's chief failing was evidently vanity, and he was very reluctant, even for an hour, to cede the place of honour to a European.
The road for the first ten miles or so lay along the dry bed of a river, which, I ascertained with difficulty from my one-eyed companion, is named the Mashki.

Large holes, from eight to ten feet deep, had been dug for some distance by the Dhaira natives, forming natural cisterns or tanks.

These were, even now, after a long spell of dry weather, more than half full, and the water, with which we filled barrels and flasks, clear, cold, and delicious.
The Shirengaz Pass, which crosses a chain of hills about five hundred feet high, separates the Dhaira Valley from the equally fertile district of Gwarjak.

The ascent and descent are gradual and easy, and by ten o'clock we were in sight of Gwarjak, before midday had encamped within half a mile of the town, if a collection of straggling tumble-down huts can so be called.

The news of our arrival had preceded us, and before tents were pitched the population had turned out _en masse_, and a mob of quite two hundred men, women, and children were squatted around our camp, watching, at a respectful distance, the proceedings of my men with considerable interest.