We spread our couches of cowhide in the midst of a green mass of tamarisk under a tall Kud tree, a bright-leaved thorn, with balls of golden gum clinging to its boughs, dry berries scattered in its shade, and armies of ants marching to and from its trunk. All slept upon the soft white sand, with arms under their hands, for our spoor across the desert was now unmistakeable. At midday rice was boiled for us by the indefatigable women, and at 3 P.M. we resumed our march towards the hills, which had exchanged their shadowy blue for a coat of pronounced brown. Journeying onwards, we reached the Barragid fiumara, and presently exchanged the plain for rolling ground covered with the remains of an extinct race, and probably alluded to by El Makrizi when he records that the Moslems of Adel had erected, throughout the country, a vast number of mosques and oratories for Friday and festival prayers. Places of worship appeared in the shape of parallelograms, unhewed stones piled upon the ground, with a semicircular niche in the direction of Meccah. The tombs, different from the heaped form now in fashion, closely resembled the older erections in the island of Saad El Din, near Zayla--oblong slabs planted deep in the soil. We also observed frequent hollow rings of rough blocks, circles measuring about a cubit in diameter: I had not time to excavate them, and the End of Time could only inform me that they belonged to the "Awwalin," or olden inhabitants. At 7 P.M., as evening was closing in, we came upon the fresh trail of a large Habr Awal cavalcade. The celebrated footprint seen by Robinson Crusoe affected him not more powerfully than did this "daaseh" my companions. The voice of song suddenly became mute. The women drove the camels hurriedly, and all huddled together, except Raghe, who kept well to the front ready for a run. Whistling with anger, I asked my attendants what had slain them: the End of Time, in a hollow voice, replied, "Verily, 0 pilgrim, whoso seeth the track, seeth the foe!" and he quoted in tones of terror those dreary lines-- "Man is but a handful of dust, And life is a violent storm." We certainly were a small party to contend against 200 horsemen,--nine men and two women: moreover all except the Hammal and Long Guled would infallibly have fled at the first charge.