features had become pinched and drawn felt ill.  Within a few moments the truth was out.  The six men had eaten nothing save a little of the mules’ barley since they left Marrakesh, and as they had been on short rations between Tiensiert and the Southern capital, their strength was beginning to give out.  It was no part of my business to feed them; they had received “something in the hand” before they left the city, and could well have bought supplies for the road, but they had preferred to trust Providence, and hoped to live on a small part of the mules’ barley and the daily gift of tea that had been promised.  Under the circumstances, and though I had found reason to believe that they were lazy, feckless rogues enough, who really needed an iron-handed kaid to rule over them, I told Salam to pass word round that their wants would be supplied at the day’s end.  Then they picked up their old stride, and one by one resumed the love-songs of yesterday as we moved slowly over the plains to where, in the far distance, Sidi el Muktar stood between us and the fast setting sun, placed near to the junction of three provinces—­Oulad bou Sba, through which we travelled, M’touga, famous for fleet horses, and Shiadma, where our road lay.

But we were to find no rest in the shade of Sidi el Muktar’s stately zowia.  The “Sons of Lions” had raided the place on the previous day, hoping to terminate alike the rule and the existence of a kaid whose hand had rested too heavily upon them.  Some friend of the kaid having given him due notice of the raiders’ intentions—­treachery is a painfully common feature of these forays—­he had been well prepared to meet these godless men.  Powder had spoken, and was to speak again, for the kaid, having driven off the raiders, was going to carry war into the enemy’s country, and was busy preparing to start on the morrow at daybreak.  At such a time as this it had not been wise to pitch tent within sound or sight of men with the killing lust upon them.  Very reluctantly we rode on for another two hours and then Ain Umast, a douar that is famous for its possession of a well of pure water, received us with nightfall.  There our troubles were over, for though the place was more than commonly dirty, the inhabitants were peaceable and disposed to be friendly.  A few crops were raised on the surrounding fields, and small herds of sheep and goats managed to pick up some sort of a living on the surrounding lands, but poverty reigned there, and Ain Umast is of small account by the side of Sidi el Muktar, which is the burial-place of a saint, whose miracles are still acknowledged by all the faithful who happen to have met with good luck of any sort.

[Illustration:  A GOATHERD]