We left for Gwarjak at 5.30 the following morning.  Etiquette compelled Malak to offer me his horse, while he mounted my camel—­an operation effected with very bad grace by my host.  The Baluch saddle consists simply of two sharp pieces of wood bound together by leathern thongs, and the exchange was by no means a welcome one so far as I was concerned.  Had it cut me in two, however, I would have borne it, if only to punish this boorish ruffian for his insolence of yesterday.  Malak’s chief failing was evidently vanity, and he was very reluctant, even for an hour, to cede the place of honour to a European.

The road for the first ten miles or so lay along the dry bed of a river, which, I ascertained with difficulty from my one-eyed companion, is named the Mashki.  Large holes, from eight to ten feet deep, had been dug for some distance by the Dhaira natives, forming natural cisterns or tanks.  These were, even now, after a long spell of dry weather, more than half full, and the water, with which we filled barrels and flasks, clear, cold, and delicious.

The Shirengaz Pass, which crosses a chain of hills about five hundred feet high, separates the Dhaira Valley from the equally fertile district of Gwarjak.  The ascent and descent are gradual and easy, and by ten o’clock we were in sight of Gwarjak, before midday had encamped within half a mile of the town, if a collection of straggling tumble-down huts can so be called.  The news of our arrival had preceded us, and before tents were pitched the population had turned out en masse, and a mob of quite two hundred men, women, and children were squatted around our camp, watching, at a respectful distance, the proceedings of my men with considerable interest.  Malak had meanwhile disappeared, ostensibly to warn the Wazir of our arrival.

Gwarjak is situated on the left bank of the Mashki river, and consists of some thirty huts, shapeless and dilapidated, built of dried palm leaves.  About two hundred yards north of the village rises a steep almost perpendicular rock about a hundred feet high, on the summit of which is perched a small mud fort.  The latter is crenelated, loopholed for musketry, and mounts six cannon of a very primitive kind.  It was at once apparent that we were anything but welcome.  The very sight of my armed escort seemed to annoy and exasperate the male population, while the women and children gathered together some distance off, flying in a body whenever one of our party approached them.  I looked forward, with some impatience, to Malak’s return, for Kamoo’s request for the loan of a knife from one of the bystanders was met with an indignant refusal, accompanied by murmuring and unmistakable expressions of hostility.  We were well armed certainly, but were only ten men against over a hundred.

Our camping-place was wild and picturesque, and, had it not been for the uncomfortable sensation of not quite knowing what would happen next, our stay at Gwarjak would have been pleasant enough.  Even Gerome was depressed and anxious, and the Beila men and escort ill at ease.  I was sorely tempted more than once to accede to Kamoo’s request, strike tents and move on to Gajjar, the next village, but was restrained by the thought that such a proceeding would not only be undignified, but a source of satisfaction to my bete noire, Malak.