The men of Mahmoudabad wear bracelets and ankle-ornaments of thick copper wire, and necklaces of beads.  Nothing whatever is seen of the women; so far as ocular evidence is concerned, Mahmoudabad might be a community of men and boys exclusively.  The plain continues level and gravelly, and pretty soon it becomes thinly covered with green young camel-thorn.  The widely scattered shrubs fail to cover up much of the desert’s nakedness at close quarters, but a wider view gives a pleasant green plain, out of which the dark, massive mountains rise abrupt with striking effect.

Late in the afternoon the hard surface of the desert gives place to the loose adobe soil of the Furi-ah Eooi bottom-lands.  For some distance this is so loose and soft that one sinks in shoe-top deep at every step, and the path becomes a mere trail through dense thickets of reeds that wave high above one’s head.  Beyond this is a narrow area of cultivation and several walled villages, most of which are distinguished by one or two palms.  Arriving at one of these villages, an hour before sunset, the old guide advocates remaining for the night.  In obedience to his orders the headman brings out a carpet and spreads it beneath the shadow of the wall, and pointing to it, says, “Sahib, bismillah!” Taking the proffered seat, I inquire of him the distance to Furrah.  Ho says it is across the Furrah Rood, and distant one farsakh.  “Kishtee ass?” “O, Idshtee” Turning to the guide, I suggest:  “Bismillah Furrah.”  The old fellow looks disappointed at the idea of going on, but he replies, “Bismillah.”  The carpet is taken away again, and the village headman sends a younger man to guide us through the fields and gardens to the river.

The Furrah Rood is broader and swifter here than the Harood, and when at sunset we reach the ferry, it is to find that the boat is on the other side and the ferrymen gone to their homes for the night.  Several hundred yards back from the river the city of Furrah reveals itself in the shape of a sombre-looking high mud wall, forming a solid parallelogram, I should judge a third of a mile long and of slightly less width.  The walls are crenellated, and strengthened by numerous buttresses.  It occupies slightly rising ground, and nothing is visible from without but the walls.  The old guide shouts lustily at a couple of men visible on the opposite bank; but he only gets shouted back at for his pains.

Darkness is rapidly settling down upon us, and I begin to realize my mistake in not abiding by the guide’s judgment and stopping at the village.  Another village is seen a couple of miles across the reedy lowland to our rear, and thitherward we shape our course.  The intervening space is found to consist largely of tall reeds, swampy or overflowed areas, and irrigating ditches.  Many of the latter are too deep to ford, and darkness overtakes us long before the village is reached.  Finding it impossible to do anything with the bicycle, I remove my packages and lay the naked wheel on top of a conspicuous place on the bank of a ditch, where it may be readily found in the morning.