The Beila men brought up the rear of the procession some distance from the Afghans, who, to my anxiety, never ceased scoffing and jeering at them the whole way.

Every moment I expected to hear the crack of a pistol-shot, followed by a general _melee_.

Arrived at the Mastung Gate, we dismounted, and, leaving our horses in charge of the guard, slowly proceeded up the steep narrow streets to the citadel.
The entrance to Kelat is not imposing.

There had been a good deal of rain, and the streets of the lower part of the town were perfect quagmires of mud nearly knee-deep.

It was more like crawling into a dark passage than entering a city.