At sunrise, leaving Shammo to care for the luggage, we mounted spirited horses selected for us, and with an escort of about one hundred cavalry picked our way, Indian file, up through the lane-like streets of Koofa until we reached the summit, from which we had a view of the surrounding country, especially ancient Nazzip, now called both Nazzip and Me-Schwab, which lay on a rise of ground before us, just far enough away to conceal its grossness.

The morning sun at our backs cast its golden rays across the desert wild interspersed with clumps of verdure green. Over and beyond lay, face to us, the silver side-hill city of Nazzip, like the Arab himself, whose ambition is an array of dashing splendor. The Mohammedan pride appeared decorated with polished steeples and spires coated with sheets of silver and polished bronze, while the great Allah temple sat as a center piece. As we neared the scene it became grotesque, but in the far away it looked like a dazzling gem, set in soft Oriental drapery. A thoughtless vision seemed to confuse me with the scene as I said to myself, "Oh, if my Chicago friends were here to enjoy this enthusiasm."

Now all the horses, with heads high, who could run like greyhounds, amid the whoops and howls of the braves of the desert, struck out wildly for the Oriental Silver Shrine. This was too much for me, and forgetting that I was to avoid all risks I stood in my stirrups and urged my horse forward in the race, which had broken its ranks, and soon found myself near the front of the now go-as-you-please, bawling to my steed like a regular Buffalo Bill, and this was kept up all the way to Me-Schwab. When I liberally recompensed the chief he kissed me, and I kissed him; then he put his arm around me and shook me and kissed me again, then they all cheered and were off.