enough to enter a cave inhabited by one of these
creatures, and by so doing should awaken it, the
Taner’out squirts from its enormous mouth a jet of
hoiling water at the intruder, which not only kills
him, but cooks him as well. After feasting upon
the body of its victim, this uncanny beast falls again
into a peaceful sleep, which lasts until it is reawakened
by some fresh intruder.
With Aïssa spinning such yams as these, and an
occasional détour off the road after bustard, hare, or
sand-grouse to relieve the monotony of the journey,
time passed pleasantly enough.
Soon after five we reached the borj of Jeffair, a
little loop-holed caravanserai placed about a hundred
yards from the well of the same name. Here we
halted for the night. The guardian of the borj—a
fine grey-bearded old Arab, who, with his family,
occupied two of the rooms—came forward, and gave
us a most cordial welcome. He was, I think, un-
feignedly glad to see us, for he was a garrulous old
gentleman, with few opportunities of indulging in
conversation. The caravanserai was a small one,
many miles from any human habitation, and one
which was seldom used except by the few travellers
who, like ourselves, journeyed by double stages.
There were two rooms reserved for travellers.
One of these was placed at my disposal. The camel
was unloaded, and then, while the guardian made
me some coffee, Aïssa and El Haj mixed themselves
a huge bowl of aroueena (a sort of oatmeal), which,
with the aid of their fingers, they consumed in
enormous quantities and at an astonishing rate.
Having finished their meal, El Haj drove the camel
out to graze.
The lodging allotted to me was a bare whitewashed
apartment, with a brick floor. The room
was lighted by two loop-holes, which served for
windows. A little fireplace had been built in one
corner. The guardian produced from somewhere a
deal table and a very rickety chair, and by the time
that Aissa had spread my rug by the bedside for a
carpet, and furnished the room with a miscellaneous
assortment of boxes and cooking-gear, it began to
look quite homely.
He fetched some water from the well, and then,
with the help of the guardian, proceeded to kindle
an enormous fire of brushwood in the middle of the
courtyard, and set to work to cook the dinner.
He apologised for not having provided a murger
for me for dinner ; but there was no need for him to
have done so, for I always avoided a murger when
possible. Murger is the Arab soup. It is made, I
should imagine, as follows: You take a pint of
brack water (brackish is not salt enough), and you
carry it for two or three days in the sun in a gurbah
formed from the skin of an old he-goat, well cured
with pitch. When it has reached the consistency
of a good thick soup you boil it in a pot to condense
the flavour. You then add several onions, a quantity
of garlic, a handful or two of Arab pepper, and any
kitchen refuse which may be handy.
As soon as dinner was over everything was
packed up in readiness for an early start on the
morrow. The camel was then brought in, made to