They do not like you." Four hours after we were _en route_.

The Zigri was still going on as we rode out of the village.

Malak and his guard still sat motionless, the weird dancers and crowd of onlookers were still there, the huge bonfire blazing as brightly as ever, though the Eastern sky was lightening.

As we passed within a hundred yards, I waved my hand, but the compliment was not returned.

Some of the crowd looked up at the caravan; all must have seen it, but averted their faces till we had passed.