Choosing the village of Idu Tizi for our halting-spot, for the old Shereef had friends there, we pitched our little tent in a walled enclosure adjoining the _ksar_ in which our hosts lived, for they had come out to meet us, and soon made us welcome. Poor though they were, they brought us an excellent supper of _kuskusu_ and boiled turnips, the first hot food we had tasted for some days—and very welcome it was. In return we were able to entertain our host and his companions with sugar and tea, both luxuries far beyond the reach of ordinary man in this far-away part of Morocco—the carriage alone, with its physical difficulties of road, not to mention the constant plundering of caravans, rendering the price demanded for such luxuries exorbitant, even to our extravagant European ideas. The people knew but little Arabic, so I ran no fear of detection, and poured out the sweet green tea in true native fashion with great success. Askura passed—the only Arab settlement between the Atlas and Tafilet—I began to feel far more certain of the success of my journey, and thought nothing or little of my disguise. So accustomed was I becoming to my _rôle_ that I found it no exertion to keep the part up, and became most orthodox and regular in saying my prayers, &c., with the rest of our little band. It is only fair to state that I had lived for considerable periods of time in the interior of Morocco previously, and the various customs and habits of the people had gradually become part and parcel of my life, so that I performed the necessary duties without any anxiety or mental exertion. The gardens of Aït Yahia have a poor appearance, and the irrigating canals in many places were dry, a sure sign, as was the case, that the people were constantly at war with outside enemies and amongst themselves. The soil, too, is not suited for cultivation, for it consists entirely of patches of a poor yellow clay interspersed with rocks. Fig-trees seemed to thrive best, and even these were small and wretched, while the date-palm was absent altogether. Although up to now the direction of our road had been almost due east, we had gradually been leaving behind the main chain of the Atlas and approaching Jibel Saghru,—the Anti-Atlas,—both of which ranges, parallel to one another, take a slightly northerly direction as they proceed east; and here at Aït Yahia we found ourselves with only the river and a few miles of sloping plain between ourselves and the southern range. It is at Aït Yahia, in fact, that the Wad Dads, having flowed south from the Atlas across the plain, meeting the lower northern slopes of Jibel Saghru, alters its course to a westerly one.