They all laugh heartily at the remark,
and the khan orders them to sing no more. Over a country that consists
chiefly of trailless hills and intervening strips of desert, we wend our
weary way, the bicycle often proving more of a drag than a benefit. The
weather gets insufferably hot; in places the rocks fairly shimmer with
heat, and are so hot that one can scarce hold the hand to them. We camp
for the first night at a village, and on the second at an umbar that
suggests our approach to Persia, and in the morning we make an early
start with the object of reaching Karize before evening.
The day grows warm apace, and, at ten miles, the khan calls a halt for
the discussion of what simple refreshments we have with us. Our larder
embraces dry bread and cold goat-meat and a few handfuls of raisins. It
ought also to include water in the leathern bottle swinging from the
stirrup of one of the sowars; but when we halt, it is to discover that
this worthy has forgotten to fill his bottle. The way has been heavy for
a bicycle, trundling wearily through sand mainly, with no riding to speak
of; and young as is the day, I am well-nigh overcome with thirst and
weariness. I am too thirsty to eat, and, miserably tired and disgusted,
one gets an instructive lesson in the control of the mind over the body.
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