Almost as suddenly as the gale had come on it died down again, and during the afternoon we were able once more to push on upon our journey. Reaching El-Amat, a fort of the Sultan of the Houshabi tribe, I delivered the letter of recommendation I bore from the Political Resident at Aden, and, refusing the Sheikh’s kind invitation to alight, pushed on. This fort, like that of the Sultan of Lahej which we had passed shortly before, is a large, square, mud building, two storeys in height. Useful as it may be in times of war as a defence against Arabs armed only with matchlock-guns and spears, it would not stand a couple of shot from any field-gun, unless the structure is so soft that the ball would go right through it, as is not improbable. Near this spot we came across a herd of gazelle, but they were gone and out of sight long before we came within range. The tribe in whose country we now were is the Houshabi. They have always been on the best of terms with the British, and on the murder of Captain Milne in 1851, elsewhere referred to, they refused to harbour the assassin, a fanatical Shereef. By their position they have an advantage over the Abdali tribe, of which Lahej is the capital, as the river of the latter is supplied with water from the ravines and mountains of the interior of the Houshabi territory, and they have on several occasions in times of war been known to divert its course. However, happily, the relations of the two tribes are for the most part friendly, so that it is not often that they have recourse to such extreme measures. On again over the desert, which, as we approached the rocky hills, showed more signs of vegetation and life. Here and there were Arabs tending flocks and herds and cattle, though what there was for them to graze upon beyond the thorny bushes it was difficult to say. At length we left the sandy plain and entered a deep narrow gorge at the foot of Jibel Menif, a high barren mountain. Here the scene entirely changed. Instead of over the open expanse of desert, our way now led us between walls of rock, the path often a mere track in the river-bed, in which at places water was running, and at others had sunk for a time below the surface. Afternoon was well on, and the change from the sunlight outside to the cool depths of the gorge was a pleasant one, but the scene looked sepulchral and gloomy. The rocks with which the river-bed was strewn and the cliffs on either hand were of a curious black colour; nor did the scanty vegetation, consisting principally of what the Arabs call _athl_, a thorny mimosa, do much by their verdure to enliven the scene, for in spite of their proximity to a stream which made some pretence at running water, they looked parched and withered and dry.