The ravine narrowed, curved to the right, and opened out into a valley. The river roared round the corner, figure =S= shape, in some places cutting away the path completely. Our horses had to plunge, and stumble, and splash through that river three times in twenty yards, before we could get out into the valley. It is at times like this that the beautiful song “One More River to Cross” becomes full of meaning. A mile or two more of hill and vale, and soon after dark we reached “Tash Kurghán,” or “Khulum,” the place where Lady Sale and her companions in captivity were to have been taken. We put up at the citadel or fort, which is built on a rocky hill in the middle of the town. We rested here all day Monday, and I enjoyed the luxury of a hot bath. The Armenian waxed philosophical. He said, “It is good to rest a little. Tired is go away, and hungry is go away.” Also he suggested that a shave might commend itself to my judgment. “But who is to shave me?” I said. [Sidenote: The Wounded Soldiers in Tash Kurghán.] “There is bolber in the town.” He called it barber afterwards. They fetched the barber, and I wondered if it were dangerous for him to shave me, for I had heard that Afghans were treacherous fanatics. He did not destroy me. He merely rubbed some oil on my chin and then scraped the skin off with a knife--a painful process. When the operation was completed, I was conducted to the hospital. No, not on account of my chin, but to examine the patients. The hospital was an ordinary but rather large dwelling-house, and there were many wounded soldiers lying there. It was exceedingly unclean and smelt badly. The patients--I never before in my life saw such a condition of things. The ghastly state to which battle wounds can come from neglect and improper treatment, is too awful for words. I wanted to move the men from the house, and to amputate at once some half-dozen arms and legs that were _worse_ than useless to their owners. I could not, for I had neither knives nor chloroform, and I had to leave the men--to leave them as I found them--with their wistful eyes on me. After that Jan Mahomed took me out to dine at a local magnate’s house. My cook accompanied me, bearing knife, fork, spoon, and plate. In the absence of table and chair I had to kneel to use my knife and fork. It was not a comfortable dinner. I could not understand what the conversation was about; and there were those men at the hospital ever before me. Beyond Tash Kurghán we turned west, and the scenery completely changed. For some miles there was undulating plain covered with coarse grass. As we rode on we started a herd of antelope, and had a gallop after them: the change of motion from the everlasting walk was a great rest to the muscles.