In a few minutes a woman arrived from some other house in the neighbourhood. She was clad in a long strip of cloth, which enveloped the upper part of her body; her legs and feet were covered with mud. Putting down a large wooden tray, on which were several thin cakes of half-cooked paste, and a basinful of oily soup, she retired. The proprietor of the house, after offering the dishes to me, returned to the Zaptiehs. In the meantime, closing my eyes, I tried to doze off to sleep. Presently the gendarmes thought that I was in the land of Somnus, and my attention was aroused by the familiar term of "giaour." "Only think of our being ordered to accompany an infidel to Divriki in the winter!" observed the chief of the party. "Yes, and for him to threaten to whip us!" said the other. "He would have done it too," said Mohammed, joining in the conversation. "My Effendi is not like the Christians about here. He is an Inglis!" "So the Inglis giaours are different to the Armenian giaours?" observed the Zaptieh. "Very different: the Armenians talk, but the Inglis strike. Hush! hush! we shall awake him!"—and the conversation gradually died away in a whisper. CHAPTER XXXI. The river Dumrudja—How to cross the river?—A waterfall in the neighbourhood—Thanksgivings—Crossing the mountain—A house of refuge—Divriki—Its appearance—The number of houses—The river Tchalt Tchai—The Captain—His evolutions—Lor! what a cropper—Serve him right, sir—A Astley's performance—My host—Mines in the neighbourhood—People with brains—Houses formerly built of hewn stone—Cause of the decline of the Turkish power—Wives chosen for their looks—How to breed a good foal—A Turk's opinion of European women—They uncover their faces—What ridiculous creatures they must be—The Citadel—The Persians—The Greek fire—The view of Divriki—Sport—A rifle used as a shot gun—One of your best shots—The Kurds—Gunpowder—It is manufactured by the Kurds—Powder sent from Constantinople—Cost to the Government of cartridges—The Pacha of Sivas—His astrologer—Christians who are usurers—Turkish families ruined. The baggage-horse was very little the worse for his long march of ten hours on the previous day. Yarbasan was not a lively place to stop at, I determined to push on to Divriki. We passed a range of hills—red-coloured stones lying in profusion along the track—and, descending a deep incline, arrived on the banks of the river Dumrudja (Kumer Su), a rapid stream, here about fifty yards wide. A quantity of wood was floating on the waters. This had been cut in the pine-forests higher up the channel, and afterwards been tossed into the river to find its way to Divriki. There was no bridge over the stream, the water being more than four feet deep. A consultation took place amongst the Zaptiehs. "What are they talking about?" I inquired of Mohammed.