We made up river for five miles; the road has certainly been constructed ages ago by a people possessing some degree of civilisation. Though rough and stony it is well graded. The scenery is wild and rugged but grand in its way. Once we passed a man and woman sitting on the rocks. The woman was unmarried, unusual at her age, which looked to be every second of twenty-seven years. She consented to stand for her photograph. I was, she said, the first European she had set eyes upon. I should have been better pleased had she made less fuss about it; for she covered her face with her hands, called out "Oo-oo-oo-ooh!" and shook with laughter at my appearance. This neighbourhood is being grazed, and on all the hillsides we see as we pass young girls herding the sheep and goats, and hear them calling to each other. And now we come to the spot where we leave Dur-dur-'ad for good and here we shall loiter for an hour. The baggage camels arrive and halt just long enough to fill the water-tanks, then, on they go, leaving us alone. Mahomed Gaileh, Akil of the Gadabursi Mahadasan, appears; he is accompanied by a Mullah, who carries a yellow flag on which is embroidered a crescent and five stars in crimson. We exchange greetings and news. Will I accept the sheep the Akil has brought as a present? "No," I answer, I regret to say I shall not, but thank Mahomed just the same. I most highly appreciate his kindness in thinking of our commissariat. Indeed, I convey to him the fact that I shall for ever after look upon him as a man who gave me a sheep that I was unfortunately unable to take away. The Mullah sits cross-legged, telling his beads, with his eyes ever on my face. He desists once to give me an interesting piece of information. Three hours' away from here, but off our road, is a ruined town. The walls of the houses are still standing, and the mortar used to bind the stones together, he says, has set very hard. He does not know what it is made of, but it looks like cement. Probably a town like Harrar. No one knows who built it. "Good-bye! Thanks so much for the sheep," I call as I ride off, knowing quite well that Mahomed Gaileh is saying to himself, "And thank Allah you did not take it."