As evening came on we kept passing the flocks and herds, lowing as they came in from pasture, driven by, or more often following, some child, who, with wide-open eyes, would stand still and cease the music of its cane pipe to watch our little cavalcade go by. Not a breath of wind was stirring, and the smoke from the evening fires of the little stone houses curled up and up, all mauve and purple, into the cloudless sky. In groups the men sat about, under the shade of the trees, idly listening to the hum of the insects and the song of many a tiny stream. The whole scene was one of perfect peace. The track then entered a narrow gorge between high precipices of rock, from which echoed and re-echoed the cries of the apes and monkeys. We were entering the country known as Beled Ashari, under the rule of the Amir of Dhala,—quiet, peaceable folk, shepherds and tenders of flocks. As we proceeded, the gorge narrowed until the scenery in the dusky evening light became almost oppressive. Just before darkness set in we arrived at our halting-place, at Khoreiba, below the village of the Amir of Bishi, where, under the shelter of a great _b’dam_ tree, we settled in for the night. The village is built of stone, and situated on the left bank of the river, the collection of stone houses being overlooked by a strange pile of natural rock crowned with a still stranger tower, a position that completely commands the valley. The altitude of this spot I made to be four thousand feet above the sea-level. The spot was a charming one, with the green valley below us, and above the perpendicular precipices, too steep almost for any scrub to hang to. Here and there along the river-bed were shade-giving trees, which stood out black against the fields of young corn, as yet only a few inches in height. [Illustration: KHOREIBA.] The success of my journey depended on the next day or two. We were fast nearing the Turkish frontier. Should I be allowed to pass? To have to turn back would mean the most bitter disappointment. Each day’s march was interesting me more and more in the country I was passing through, and very keen I was to carry my journey to a successful issue, and to reach Sanaa, the capital; especially keen, perhaps, as, with but one exception, every one at Aden had prophesied failure, and told me I was insane to venture into the Yemen at the time of the rebellion, when even in days of peace it was rash and unsafe. CHAPTER IV. ACROSS THE TURKISH FRONTIER.