He untwisted another cartridge, and again, with water from a runnel, made some dark dye in a leaf, and carefully rubbing therewith his face, neck, and ears, betook himself to the mountain ridges that overhung Bahar; the latter is only twelve miles from Gundamuck, but so rugged was the way he had to pursue, and so many the detours he had to make to find fords on the streams he had to cross, that evening was drawing on by the time he had passed on the right flank of the village. He continued his way a few miles beyond it, and then, feeling overcome by profound weariness and prostration after the events and toil of the past day, he lay down among some thick, soft grass a little way apart from the road, and, oblivious of snakes, wild animals, and dew, dropped into a deep and dreamless sleep. How long he lay thus he knew not, but he was roused by voices and other sounds. Starting up he found a moon of wonderful brilliance shining clearly as if a second day had dawned, and close by him a group of men with laden camels--a group that had halted on finding him prostrate there, in doubt whether he was alive or dead. On seeing the turbans and dark faces, Wodrow thought all was over with him, and his hand went at once to the hilt of his sword, and he longed for the ring of Gyges, or anything that would render him invisible. But the men among whom he found himself evidently took him for an Afghan, and evinced no sign of hostility, though they were all well armed. They proved to be five merchants from Ghuznee, having camels laden with those dried fruits which constitute the principal article of trade between Afghanistan and India, and these, together with oranges, citrons, tobacco, and jars of red and yellow Derehnur wine, they were now conveying to the banks of the Indus to exchange for British goods, or sell, if possible, at the first British fort. Like themselves, their _syces_ and _bheesties_ (grass-cutters and water-carriers) were all well armed, but were Hindoos, and with the whole party Robert Wodrow had no occasion for much fear, as his residence in the house of the Hakim, together with his knowledge of the natives, picked up elsewhere, stood him in good stead now. 'What are you?' asked one of the merchants. 'A tchopper of Cabul,' replied Wodrow. 'Then where is your horse?' 'He fell under me on the way,' replied Wodrow, seeing at once his mistake, for in Afghanistan, as in Persia, State despatches are carried by mounted messengers called _tchoppers_, or mounted couriers, and private letters by cossids, or foot-messengers, who will sometimes travel seventy leagues in four consecutive days. 'Then you are the bearer of a royal despatch?' 'From the Ameer, whom God long preserve, to the officer commanding the outpost at the Lundi-Khana Kotal. In the name of the Prophet, give me some food; I am starving.' The unsuspecting merchants hastened to supply his wants, and one said,