From now on we pass through a gorge-like valley over a stratum of greyish rotten rock tilted on edge. I amuse myself by pushing away with my stick the sharp points of rotten stone that stick up by the side of the track over which we walk and lead the camels. Between the grey layers of stone are occasionally sandwiched layers of white, and the rocks on the hillside above take on a reddish tinge, which, though there is the scantiest of vegetation, just saves the scene from being depressing. We pass a loaded camel--one of ours--lying down. He insists, despite the vigorous persuasion of his syce, in remaining in that position. He is bored to death with the two water-tanks he is carrying; and when a camel makes up his mind to throw up the sponge nothing on earth will change it. I, therefore, give orders for the tanks to be emptied, Women from a passing kafila rush with their bowls and ask for the water. When it is all gone the camel is pleased to rise and proceeds grumblingly on his way. By half-past eight we have headed the baggagers and descend onto a flat plain in a horse-shoe of hills. Here, thank God, on the banks of a dry water-course, are trees large enough to give us shade from the sun, and here we halt. As I select my tree some gerenauk run across the river-bed, and, for the sake of the pot, I chance a snapshot. By bad luck I wound a poor beast who disappears into the scrub. Cursing my luck and folly, I call on my orderly to follow with a water chagul, and come out from my shade to go and finish off the fell work. But luck is with me after all. Instead of a chase for hours, as I had expected, I come up with my quarry in ten minutes and administer the _coup de grâce_. My orderly--although I am sure the animal is stone dead, but tactfully refrain from saying so--makes a show of finishing him off in the orthodox Mahomedan fashion, so that the flesh may be lawful to all true believers, and we return to camp. At two o'clock the baggage camels are loaded and sent off; we soon follow. We keep to the foot of the hills, follow a dry water-course, and pass through the most arid of country, leading our animals. At six-twenty we are well ahead of the baggage, so halt under a patch of low trees. There is water to be had for the digging; we need not have carried so much water after all.