The road from Tokat to Sivas is a good one for the first few hours. My friend the engineer's work had been very fairly done; our horses were able to get over the ground at from five to six miles an hour. The track led through a succession of hills and valleys. In some places the engineer had been obliged to cut the road for several hundred yards in the solid rock. Presently we passed a small Circassian village. Several good-looking women, coming to the road-side, offered chickens and geese for sale. One of the Circassians was a very pretty girl, and would have carried off the palm amidst many European belles. Her face was not veiled. There was a great deal of expression in her large, dark eyes. They flashed excitedly as she sought to induce me to buy her wares. "I am tired of chicken," I said; "I should like a little meat." "There is no meat here," replied the girl. "We ourselves live upon bread and eggs: buy some eggs." And running back to a house, she brought out about fifty eggs; the price being eightpence of our money. Now we came to Tchiflik, an Armenian village. Here there were thirty houses; and as six hours had sped by since we left Tokat, I determined to halt for the night, the more particularly as Mohammed's horse showed unmistakable signs of fatigue. The Armenian in whose house I stopped, complained of his Circassian neighbours. According to him, they had hazy ideas as to the difference between _meum_ and _tuum_. Several cows belonging to the villagers had recently disappeared. It was strongly suspected that some Circassians were implicated in the robbery. The country in the neighbourhood was very highly cultivated. The farmers' granaries were full of corn. Hundreds of cows and cattle could be seen grazing along the side of the road. We arrived at the Tchamlay Bel mountain. As we were ascending a narrow pass which overhung a steep precipice, the guide, a Zaptieh, observed that only five days previous a Turk had been killed on this very spot. It appeared that there was a band of brigands in the neighbourhood. Five of them had attacked a party of four Turkish merchants, who were returning from Sivas with, as it was believed, a considerable amount of gold on their persons. Three of the Turks ran away, leaving their companion, who showed fight, but was shot down; the brigands had taken away from him thirty-five liras, besides two horses. An hour later, when the news was brought to a village, several of the inhabitants turned out on horseback to pursue the robbers: it was too late, they had made their escape and carried off the booty. "Do not be alarmed," said the guide as he concluded his story. "I am with you; the brigands will be afraid. Look here!" he carefully unstrapped a long, single-barrelled flint gun from his saddle-bow. The barrel was tied on to the stock by a piece of string. "It is a wonderful gun," said the guide. "It belonged to my grandfather, I once shot a deer with it." "Was the deer far off?" I inquired.