My caravan, on leaving Beila, was considerably increased.  It now consisted of twenty-two camels (six of which were laden with water), five Baluchis, my original escort, and six of the Djam’s cavalry.  I could well have dispensed with the latter, but the kindly little Wazir would not hear of my going without them.  An addition also to our party was a queer creature, half Portuguese, half Malay, picked up by Gerome in the Beila bazaar, and destined to fulfil the duties of cook.  How he had drifted to Beila I never ascertained, and thought it prudent not to inquire too much into his antecedents.  No one knew anything about him, and as he talked a language peculiar to himself, no one was ever likely to; but he was an undeniably good chef, and that was the chief consideration.  Gaetan, this strange being informed us, was his name—­speedily transformed by Gerome into the more euphonious and romantic name of Gaetano!

I took leave of the Prince and my old friend the Wazir with some misgivings, for the new camel-drivers were Beila men, and frankly owned that their knowledge of the country lying between Gwarjak and Noundra (where we were to leave the caravan-track) was derived chiefly from hearsay.

There are two caravan-roads through Beila.  One, formerly much used, is that over which we had travelled from the coast, and which, on leaving Beila, leads due north to Quetta via Wadd and Sohrab.  An ordinary caravan by this route occupies at least forty days in transit.  Traffic is now, therefore, usually carried on by means of the safer trade-routes through British Sindh, whereby the saving of time is considerable, and chances of robbery much lessened.  The second road (which has branches leading to the coast towns of Gwadar, Pasui, and Ormara) proceeds due west to Kej, capital of the Mekran province, near the Persian border.  The latter track we were to follow as far as Noundra, ninety miles distant.  I should add that the so-called roads of Baluchistan are nothing more than narrow, beaten paths, as often as not entirely obliterated by swamp or brushwood.  Beyond Noundra, where we left the main track to strike northwards for Gwarjak, there was absolutely nothing to guide us but occasional landmarks by day and the stars at night.

Barring the intense monotony, the journey was not altogether unenjoyable.  To reach Noundra it took us five days.  This may appear slow work, but quicker progress is next to impossible in a country where, even on the regular caravan-road, the guides are constantly losing the track, and two or three hours are often wasted in regaining it.  The first two or three days of the journey lay through swampy ground, through which the camels made their way with difficulty, for a cat on the ice in walnut-shells is less awkward than a camel in mud.  Broad deep swamps alternating with tracts of sandy desert, with nothing to relieve the monotonous landscape but occasional clumps of “feesh,” a stunted palm about