I could not, however, and I replied, “I’m going back to the robbers,” and sat down. This was too much, and one of them dismounted and gave me his horse, running by my side. I now saw that we were rapidly moving off, pursued by the robbers; vague shooting out of all range was going on in every direction; and also as far as the eye could reach, isolated _footmen_ with guns and sticks could be seen making the best of their way to the fight. Fortunately, we were mounted, for I could see two hundred men at least—they were _Bakhtiaris_. Discretion was decidedly the better part of valour. After some three hours’ cantering, we reached Yezdikhast at noon, and I was carried from my horse into a house; my feet, full of thorns, I was unable to put to the ground; my head, used to the protection of a sola topi, was covered only by a small pot hat of nammad, to the edge of which, when he gave it me, finding it did not fit, a friendly highwayman had given a gash with his knife, which enabled me to get it on. As he handed it to me, he made a significant gesture with his knife across his throat—a cheerful joke these men were prone to. I felt really ill after the excitement and exposure; for, though the nights were cold, the sun in the morning was very strong, and my feet were very painful and swollen; I could not walk. Two old women now busied themselves in extracting the thorns from my feet, and they had three hours’ work. My feet were not right for a couple of months, and many thorns remained in. There were no horses in the post-house. I had no clothes and no money, and I was anxious to get on. A nice position! And now came a curious episode of want of hospitality on the part of the khedkhoda (head-man of the village). Although he had led the horsemen who rescued me, and might naturally expect a handsome present, he would not lend or sell me a rag, nor would he give me any refreshment, though he knew me perfectly well, and was quite aware of my solvency. Neither could I get any food from him. So there was nothing for it but to have myself carried to the chupperkhana, and get what I could from the postmaster, a poor villager. I did get some clothes from him, but they were not over-clean, and I then persuaded him to give me credit for a dinner and my horse hire, and succeeded, after some wrangle, in a promise of both. At a couple of hours after sunset, the khedkhoda sent me by a boy the leg of a fowl and a little rice; this I sent away, saying that he knew that was not the way to send me a dinner, and that I should report his conduct. I got some fried eggs and bread from the postmaster, and a few moments after a handsome Persian dinner was sent by the khedkhoda, who had become alarmed. He arrived himself, and smilingly motioned me to set to. I was so enraged at his treatment, that I emptied the dinner—rice, fowls, roast lamb, and melted grease—into his face, and threw the big copper tray after him, and he retreated humbled.