Stumbling over a stony and dangerous roadway, we at last reach a tent on the side of the mountains, which has been prepared for us by the reserve officers. We must sit on the cheik’s trunks and prayer-carpets, for the ground is damp and mists enfold us. My chivalrous friend insists on wrapping about me his shawl, his scarf, finally his long coat. “I do not feel the cold as you do,” he declares as I try to protest; but the touch of his hand contradicts the kind words. In the distance we could see a few hill-fires and the torches of night-wanderers as we enjoyed our evening meal. But no sooner had I begun to wonder how many hours must pass before our experience became history, than, behold, a gust of wind tore up the prop of our tent and buried us in confused _débris_. There was nothing for it but to extract ourselves and sit _upon_ instead of _beneath_ the shelter that had been found for us. The cheik bravely proceeded to delight me with all the wisdom of his religious philosophy while the officer went in search of help. I have done strange things in strange lands, but I wonder what would British “authority” say to this? An unarmed, but fearless, Englishwoman in the damp, cold mists, waiting through the dark night for her “discomfort to become history,” amidst an army of supposed savage fanatics, and debating the greatness of God! Truly, the Unknown bears strange offspring. Little darts of light, no bigger than glowworms, are now everywhere moving up and down the steep paths through the black mist. It is not easy for the swiftest of native messengers to track the “hidden” official of the mountains. Yet they seem to slip over the dark ways like birds, carrying their message and returning while you are wondering if they have yet started upon the road. Men have been despatched, like carrier-pigeons, in all directions, and we soon hear that the commandant, two hours away, has set out to find us, and we are to walk as far as we can to meet him. Once more the long procession, carrying its shawls and cushions, bags and water-pots, is marching in hope of a night’s repose. In a little, however, from somewhere, “orders” come in to “halt, and prepare the lady a bed.” Behold, it is done. Two boxes are found to support a wooden plank, _beneath_ which the cheik will find some measure of rest for his weary limbs, though he has given me his prayer-mat for mattress, his attaché-case for a pillow and, against my express command, nearly all the wraps in his possession. Under such conditions one does not “undress” for the night; but rather contrives every possible addition to the number of thick woollen garments normally required in these climes. The officer has not even a rug to protect him from the damp earth, and I find words strong enough to resist the loan of his coat.