On our road back, Miss Bush had with her a young girl whom we were taking to Harpoot for safety (we had frequent charges of this kind), and she wanted me to stop at her favorite beautiful village of Biervan, for a pleasant picture to carry back in memory to America. We had a long day's journey at best to reach our village, and had met with delays; four hours in the morning waiting for a zaptieh. Our muleteer left us at the ferry some twelve miles back, in order to stop over night at his own village; and the second zaptieh was two hours late, but having started we must keep on through the mountain pass, and it was ten o'clock at night when we reached the village. Our zaptieh took us to the house of the "Villageman" (each village is provided with such a personage whose duty it is to see that shelter is provided for travelers). We rode up together and the zaptieh pounded on the door. The dog on the roof barked viciously, then all the dogs in the village barked. A woman on another roof above this one raised herself and talked, then shouted down the chimney-hole (the roof is the sleeping place in warm weather), after a time she pointed with her hand and the zaptieh started off in the direction indicated; the moon had gone down and it was too dark to see anything distinctly. He came to a small pile, poked it with his foot, punched it with his gun, kicked it. After a time a part of the pile raised itself in a sort of surprised astonishment, mystified, uncertain, complicated attitude--evidently looking at the "poker." Then the pile expressed itself emphatically, the zaptieh did the same more emphatically, each in turn louder and louder, all with necessary and unnecessary gesticulation. Then the pile got up and began on our servants for having the pack mules and animals on his roof. After these had been led off the house, he wanted to know what we came there for anyway, at that time of night, to wake him up when there were six other villages we could have gone to; why didn't we go to one of them? Then our zaptieh changed his tone and attitude and in the most polite, persuasive, pleading voice and manner, tried to explain that he himself was not to blame for all this trouble, he was under orders and had to come with these people; he couldn't help doing his duty. But this made no impression, and we were told there was no place for us.