Although there was plenty of activity in and around the forts, there were no signs of life in the vicinity of the fugitives; so at about four in the afternoon--according to Crosthwaite's estimate from the position of the sun--they resolved to run the risk of detection and push on in search of food. An hour's steady walk brought them to a rough mountain track. This they followed by a parallel course, not daring to keep to the path, and after twenty minutes they came in sight of a village. It was a miserable collection of hovels, situated in a narrow valley, yet it boasted of a small mosque with a slender minaret. There were no signs of any men, but, in the rough pasture close to the hamlet, veiled women were tending flocks of sheep and goats. "We'll tackle the business openly," declared Dick. "If we tried to sneak up to the nearest hut and collar some grub there might be a rumpus. If, on the other hand, they think we are German officers they'll be only too glad to provide us with food in order to get rid of our presence." Pulling themselves together the two pseudo-German officers swaggered boldly into the village. From barred lattices, yashmaked women peeped timorously. A few ragged children scampered off, crying loudly at the sight of the Franks. Half a dozen lean dogs quarrelling over a heap of garbage directed their attention with savage growls to the strangers, until Dick drove them off by planting a well-aimed stone in the leader's ribs. Hearing the commotion, a dignified old man came from one of the larger of the houses close to the mosque. He was the imaum or priest. With a courteous salutation he invited the supposed German officers to enter, but before crossing the threshold he signified that they would have to remove their boots. Nothing loath, Dick and the midshipman complied. A youth brought a basin of water, a towel, and two pairs of soft-leather slippers. The needful Eastern ceremony of washing the feet of distinguished travellers was fully appreciated by the tired wayfarers. Entering the house, the officers were regaled with a repast of roasted goat's flesh and cakes made of flour and millet, with unsweetened coffee and curdled milk. The men attacked the meal ravenously, while the imaum, seated tailorwise on a low divan, watched them with studious gravity. "Medjidieh?" asked Dick after they had satisfied their hunger. The old man pointed in a westerly direction, and said something to the youth. The latter immediately picked up his sandals and made for the door. Gravely saluting the hospitable Mahommedan priest, Dick and the midshipman took their departure. Peremptorily dismissing the lad who had been sent to act as a guide, the officers retraced their steps until a ridge of intervening ground hid them from the village. "Decent old sort," commented Farnworth. "I wonder if he would have been so awfully keen in giving us grub if he knew who we really were?"