For five days at the outset of our journey we traversed great plains of pasturage, where the Mahamyd wander with their flocks. At the end of this time we reached a well, at which it is customary for the Arabs, even Bidegats from the north-east of Wadaï and other wandering tribes, to encamp and meet the caravan,—holding a kind of fair,—selling or letting out to the Jellabs, or the travellers, provisions, camels, utensils for the journey, skins, ropes, &c. God is my witness that I forget the name of the well. We halted there two days, and the camels were turned loose to feed. Five days more took us to the well of Daum, so called from the trees of that name that surround it. Now it happened that our guide, or caravan master, named Ahmed, was an old man, who had passed the vicissitudes of this life. He belonged to a tribe of the Tibboos, named in Fezzan the Tibboo-Reshad,—or Tibboos of the Mountains. Ahmed had formerly killed a member of another tribe; and ever since the people had been waiting for the opportunity of vengeance. After the accident, the murderer had fled to Dar-Seleih. Here he remained ten years, not daring to return to his tribe; but at length the love of home became too strong, and he desired to see his country, and the huts thereof, with his ancient dwelling-place. He believed that in ten years his visit would be forgotten; and he departed with our caravan as a guide, leaving a comfortable position in Wadaï, where he had amassed wealth, which, along with his age, produced him great respect, and allowed him to fear nothing but God.