A horn, a lute, and half a dozen tom-toms accompanied the dance.  Some distance away, and surrounded by his grim-looking guard, sat Malak, who, though he did not rise to receive me, beckoned me to his side with more politeness than usual.  It was a weird, strange sight.  The repulsive, half-naked figures leaping round the fire, the silent, awestruck crowd of Baluchis, the wild barbaric music, and pillar of flame flashing on the dark, sullen face of Malak and his followers, was not a little impressive, especially as I was in a state of pleasing uncertainty as to the object of my host’s sudden change of manner, and whether this might not be a little dramatic introduction to an attack upon our party.  This was, however, evidently not my sulky friend’s intention, for, as I rose to go, he actually stood up and took my hand.  “At Gajjar,” he said, “you will be able to get all you want, but take my advice, and get away from here early to-morrow morning.  They do not like you.”

Four hours after we were en route.  The Zigri was still going on as we rode out of the village.  Malak and his guard still sat motionless, the weird dancers and crowd of onlookers were still there, the huge bonfire blazing as brightly as ever, though the Eastern sky was lightening.  As we passed within a hundred yards, I waved my hand, but the compliment was not returned.  Some of the crowd looked up at the caravan; all must have seen it, but averted their faces till we had passed.  I was not, on the whole, sorry to leave Gwarjak.

But one European, Colonel M——­ of the Indian service, had visited Gwarjak for fifteen years prior to my visit.  My road thither from Noundra has never been traversed save by natives, and it was, perhaps, more by good luck than good management that we came through successfully.  The inhabitants of Gwarjak are a tribe known as the Nushirvanis, who claim to be of Persian descent.  It was only at Quetta that I learnt that my friend Malak was only Viceroy of this inhospitable district.  The head-quarters and residence of the Chief, one Nimrood Khan, is at Kharan (a hundred and fifty miles north-west of Gwarjak).  Nimrood, who was fortunately absent, detests Europeans, and would probably have made matters even worse for us.  Intermixed freely with the wild and lawless tribes of the Baluch-Afghan frontier (from which Kharan is but a few miles distant), it is scarcely to be wondered at that the Nushirvanis are inimical to Europeans, whom they are taught by their chiefs and Afghan neighbours to look upon as natural enemies.

Although we had not as yet formed a very favourable idea of Baluch hospitality, our reception at every village from here to the capital amply atoned for the rough and uncivil behaviour of the wild Nushirvanis.  We were now once more on the beaten track, for though the country south of Gwarjak was, previous to our crossing it, unexplored, the journey from Kelat to Gajjar has frequently been made by Europeans during the past few years.  Our reception by the natives of Gajjar (only twenty miles from Gwarjak) was a pleasant contrast to that given us at the latter place.  Camp was no sooner pitched than presents of eggs, milk, rice, and tobacco were brought in, and I was cordially welcomed by the chief of the village.