At Zarkten we found the temperature higher, though it froze during the night, and it was bitter enough when we rose by candle-light and set off upon our way. There was much less water in the Wad Ghadat than when we had ascended the valley, and we were able to make our way for some considerable distance along its course, thereby saving frequent tedious ascents and descents. We lunched at the ruined bridge of Tugana, and instead of turning to the left, continued to follow the course of the river. Signs of a warmer climate were everywhere visible. Vines, pomegranates, and olives peeped up from over hedges of aloes and prickly-pear and canes, while the laurustinus, arbutus, lentiscus, and several kinds of firs were welcome indeed after the bare peaks of rock. The river flowed quickly on its course, here in rippling eddies, there in deep green pools, and nothing could be imagined more charming than our road. The warmth revived us; our men sang and laughed as they strode along, and every one was in the best of spirits. Nearing Sid Rehal, our destination, we turned to the right from the valley, and pursued a shorter road. With what pleasure it was that from the hill-tops we looked down upon the little white Moorish town, with its mosque and tomb, its gardens, and the white house of the Governor of the district, can be imagined, for it meant so much—safety, warmth, and food, all three of which had been absent over the entire road. We finished up with a gallop, for I had mounted my pony to make a more respectable entrance, and a few minutes later we were drinking tea in our camp, which had preceded us while we lunched. How warm it was, and how plentiful were chickens and eggs, and green tea and sugar, and everything the heart of man could desire in Morocco, to say nothing of the fat sheep the Kaid sent us! [Illustration: RUINED BRIDGE ON THE ROAD TO TAFILET.] But one recollection that is not one of pleasure do I have—that it was my last camp in the company of Kaid Maclean, for his way lay north across the plains of Shauia, while mine diverged to the west to Marakesh, and it was a sad moment when the next morning I said good-bye—happily not for very long—to the man who had so befriended me. With the cold we experienced I could never have tramped the long road home from Tafilet alone and without shelter, ill as I was; but fortune had favoured me, and in my hour of need I had found unexpectedly the kindest and best of friends. I doubt if he, any more than myself, will ever forget our meeting at Tafilet, and our long journey back together.