From Imasin to Askura was again a shorter march than usual, but there was no choice of where we were to stay, for beyond Askura lie some fifteen miles of weary desert—the Sebaa Shaabat—before reaching the next inhabited district, Ghresat. We camped near some large tamarisk-trees, a few hundred yards from the palatial residence of a Sheikh, who sent men to guard the camp at night. Passing Ghresat at mid-day the following day, we reached Agurzga before dark, and pitched below one of the great _ksor_ that crown the eminences of rock high above the river. Here, too, much poverty exists; but the people were good, kindly souls, with apparently no thoughts of murder or robbery, and intent only on selling us almonds and walnuts, and examining our weapons, a few shots from a revolver fired in quick succession causing almost a panic. Great was their amusement in recognising in me the poor ragged Shereef who had passed through a month or so before, and heartily we laughed together over the deception. I was of course still in Arab dress, and they had not failed to remember my face. They showed no signs of annoyance or anger, nothing in fact but intense amusement, and a certain amount of admiration for my venturesomeness. Only one or two spoke Arabic, the rest nothing but Shelha. One old man, the wit of the party, could not get over the fact of my returning in a new character, and remarked, “I have always heard Tafilet was a terrible place. How bad it must be when it changes Shereefs into Christians!” and then added, fearful that his joke might offend, “After all, the Christians are the best; they buy our walnuts and our almonds and pay for them, and Shereefs want everything for nothing.” There is no doubt we created a good impression in Agurzga, the few cups of tea the men drank with us being a luxury some of them had never tasted before; and when I absolutely sought out the poor people who, when they had believed me to be a Shereef, had brought me supper, and paid them for it, their surprise and joy knew no bounds. Their last words were, when we left the next morning—spoken in broken Arabic—“_Arja; Allah ijibna er Rumin._” (“Come back some other time—God bring us Romans”—_i.e._, Europeans.) From Agurzga we followed the old road, obtaining the glorious view of the Atlas peaks, which I have already described, as we crossed the mountains above Tiurassín. But we did not stop there, pushing on over the ford of the Wad Marghen, to the great _kasba_ of the Kaid of Glawa at Teluet. It had long [Illustration: _The Kaid of Glawa’s Residence._]