After we had been hustled back to our jail a party who owned the only wooden-wheeled wagon in that world came to bargain with me to take us to Karbilla. Two women, they said, were wanting to go with us, and we had better go through in the night, to which I objected, but after much wrangling we fixed on one o'clock in the morning for the start. Again I appeared before the Sheik, for permission to visit the Mohammedan cemeteries. He was reluctant, but finally consented, with whispered instructions to the guard, who took us outside the gate to a little hill, where we could see the graveyard about a mile distant, and then hustled us right back to our pen. At one o'clock, after we had swallowed our camel steak and coffee, we were taken to the carry-all, where we found two masked women just arriving, whom I knew were quite young by their movements. A soft rug was stretched across to separate us from the women, who seemed to be housekeeping in the rear flat of the wagon, and we in the front. As our start was delayed, I snuggled back against the rug which partitioned us from the females, and soon realized that someone on the other side was snuggling up against me. When I aroused to inquire about our departure she would speak to the other woman, then we would resume our comfortable position, until her head dropped on my shoulder and nature's sweet repose drove all our cares away--of course both of us were asleep. Thus we waited until after light, all grumbling except us who were asleep. About sunrise the driver, with six Arabian steeds, in true Bedouin style, circled the open space on a wild run, then dashing out through the gates struck out for the north, which took us between the two cemeteries to which we had been refused admittance the previous evening. They ran the down grade at high speed, apparently so we could not see the tombs; but, when just at the point of curiosity, one wheel ran off and we were dumped in the sand, where the women lost their masks. One of them looked slyly at me with her soul brim full of laughter, as she placed her hands on my shoulders and shook me playfully; I did not understand her affection, although under those circumstances I appreciated it and wished we could each tell our story to the other. REAL BEDOUINS AFTER US I concluded that this ruse was being given to intimidate me, but later we experienced something more serious. The road between Nazzip and Karbilla is supposed to be more safe than the Koofa route, as it is guarded by squads of Turkish cavalry. At noon we changed horses and ate barley cakes for dinner, cooked by slapping the dough on the inside of a heated cement barrel. When we were ready to start again we could not find out why we did not go.