On we plodded in the dark, our little mules carefully picking their way over the rough boulders and stones with which our path, now a river-bed, was strewn. The people of the surrounding tribes had taken advantage of the rebellion to throw off any form of government, and it was therefore necessary to proceed at night. Once or twice we could catch glimpses of their village-fires glowing far up on the steep mountain-sides, and now and again even catch the yelping of their dogs, whose quick ears had heard the footfall of our animals on the hard stones; but the villagers took no notice more than to shout to one another, their voices sounding far away and sepulchral in the thick darkness. The river-bed over which we were travelling commenced shortly to ascend, and the path was by no means an easy one to get along in safety. “We must wait here for the men,” said an old Arab, an acquisition from the Besaisi. What men he meant I did not know, but as he seemed to be the recognised head of our caravan I refrained from asking. We dismounted and lit a fire in a hole in the rock, round which we clustered to warm ourselves at its welcome heat: not that it was allowed to blaze, for the Arab, fearful lest its glare should attract notice, kept damping the wood sufficiently to keep the blaze low without putting it out altogether. For a time we waited, but there being no traces of “the men,” we left the burning embers as a sign that we had passed on, and continued our journey. It was a picturesque scene this little halt of ours, with the dark figures of the half-nude Arabs, each one armed with a spear, bending over the glowing fire, and one that will not easily be forgotten. It was difficult to say which sparkled the most, their polished spear-heads or their glossy locks. Every now and again a bright flame would leap into the air in spite of our precautions, showing us that the cliff above was hung in clusters of feathery creepers, while strange aloes and cacti appeared in the crevices.