To-day our karavan was visited by crowds of the nomads dwelling on the spot. Some business was transacted, and bargains struck between the merchants and cattle-dealers of our karavan, and upon credit, too. They applied to me to draw up in writing their cheques. I was surprised to find that the debtor, instead of handing over his signature to tranquillise his creditor, put it into his own pocket; and this was the Turkoman way of arranging the whole business. When I questioned the creditor as to this remarkable manner of procedure, his answer was, 'What have I to do with the writing? The debtor must keep it by him as a reminder of his debt.' In the evening, when we were ready to start, an event took place, for Madame Buffalo did us the honour of increasing our number by the addition of a healthy little calf, a subject of supreme delight to the Kervanbashi; and not until we were actually on the route, did it occur to him that the poor little calf was not strong enough to accompany our march on foot, and that he must search for a more commodious place for it on one of the camels. As the only kedjeve was the one occupied by Hadji Bilal and myself, all eyes were directed to us. We were asked to cede our place to the new-born calf. My friend was cunning enough at once to evince his readiness to be of service, with the observation that he would, out of friendship to me, whose lameness rendered me less easy to accommodate with a seat, vacate his own, and content himself with any exchange. Hardly had he surrendered his place to the young calf, than the extremely disagreeable smell of my new _vis-à-vis_ betrayed to me the real {102} motive of my friend. By night it was endurable, as my slumbers were only disturbed by the frequent bleating of the calf; but in the daytime, particularly when the heat was very great, my situation became intolerable. Happily my torments did not last long, for the calf succumbed the second day of its ride through the desert. [Little and Great Balkan] From this day (May 18) we reckoned two days to the Great Balkan, and thence twelve days to Khiva (altogether fourteen days). During the whole time we should come to only four wells of bitter salt water, and should not encounter a single living human being. As we were still in the middle of May, our leader hoped to find in the lone places some rain-water (called kák). We had filled our skins with dirty water from the miserable cistern at Körentaghi. The jolting on the backs of the camels had changed it into something very like mud, having a most nauseous taste, and yet we were obliged to make a very sparing use of it, for there was no hope of finding kák until we reached a station on the other side of the Great Balkan.