Purchase of this book includes free trial access to www.million-books.com where you can read more than a million books for free. This is an OCR edition with typos. Excerpt from book: CHAPTER III THE JOURNEY TO FEZ At six o'clock in the evening we left Tangier, amid the cheers and good wishes of our fellow- guests at Villa Palentina. Our caravan awaited us in Kafla Kab, where we were to pass the night. I felt too impatient to enjoy taking three hours to get there, and so I galloped on in the dusk, trusting to my Transvaal experience to help me find the way. Night fell very rapidly, and in the darkness I confused one hill with another, and thus lost my way. When I reached the chain of hills and found no camp I was completely at a loss. As the neighbourhood of Tangier had been very unsafe recently, and several Europeans had been killed when only a few miles from the city, I knew it was a very risky thing to ride to an Arabian village, especially as I could not speak a word of Arabic. But there was nothing for it but to gallop for the huts I could just see in the falling twilight. The dogs made a great noise at my approach, and two men with muskets rushed forth to meet me. I called out the only Arabic word I knew, " Bashador !" (Ambassador), whereupon they lowered their muskets and came to me with a more friendly mien. To all their questions I only answered, " Alemann Bashador" and "Pigsticking," showing with gestures how one stuck a pig with a lance. They then understood, and took the bridle of my horse. I said "Alemann Bashador," because the German Minister was then in the pig-sticking camp, and I thought they would take me there. So I rode with these weird protectors through the darkness under the palms. It was not very reassuring when they presently cocked their muskets, but it appeared it was meant for the common enemy. After ten minutes' ride, lights appeared ; it was the camp. I gave them a duro each and galloped off. My English friend and hi... --This text refers to the Paperback edition.