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About half an hour afterwards, rough ravines with sharp and thorny descents warned us that we had exchanged the dangerous plain for a place of safety where horsemen rarely venture. Raghe, not admiring the "open," hurried us onward, in hope of reaching some kraal. At 8 P.M., however, seeing the poor women lamed with thorns, and the camels casting themselves upon the ground, I resolved to halt.
The celebrated footprint seen by Robinson Crusoe affected him not more powerfully than did this "daaseh" my companions. The voice of song suddenly became mute. The women drove the camels hurriedly, and all huddled together, except Raghe, who kept well to the front ready for a run.
As the sun sank towards the west, Long Guled complained bitterly of the raw breeze from the hills. We passed many villages, distinguished by the barking of dogs and the bleating of flocks, on their way to the field: the unhappy Raghe, however, who had now become our protege, would neither venture into a settlement, nor bivouac amongst the lions.
We rode cautiously, as is customary, amongst the yeaning she-camels, who are injured by a sudden start, and about 8 A.M. arrived at our guide's kraal, the fourth station, called "Gudingaras," or the low place where the Garas tree grows. Raghe disappeared, and the Bedouins flocked out to gaze upon us as we approached the kraal.
Raghe, urged thereto by his tribe, became importunate, now for tobacco, then for rice, now for dates, then for provisions in general. No wonder that the Prophet made his Paradise for the Poor a mere place of eating and drinking. The half-famished Bedouins, Somal or Arab, think of nothing beyond the stomach, their dreams know no higher vision of bliss than mere repletion.
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