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Being a low-caste and a shameless tribe, they did not reply to our reproaches. At last, a manoeuvre was successful: Beuh and his brethren, who squatted like sulky children in different places, were dismissed with thanks, we proposed placing ourselves under the safeguard of Gerad Hirsi, the Berteri chief.
Whilst thus chewing the cud of bitter thought where thought was of scant avail, suddenly appeared the valiant Beuh, sent to visit us by Dahabo his gay sister. He informed us that a guide was in the neighbourhood, and the news gave me an idea.
Having taken leave of our friends and property , we spurred our mules, and guided by Beuh, rode through cloud and mist towards Koralay the Saddle-back hill. After an hour's trot over rugged ground falling into the Harawwah valley, we came to a Gudabirsi village, where my companions halted to inquire the news, also to distend their stomachs with milk.
My hosts cleared a Gurgi for our reception, brought us milk, and extended their hospitality to the full limits of even savage complaisance. Expecting to march on the 13th December soon after dawn, I summoned Beuh and his brethren to the hut, reminding him that the Hajj had promised me an escort without delay to the village of the Gerad Adan.
After sundry pretences and prayers for delay, Beuh saddled his hack, the Hammal mounted one mule, a stout-hearted Bedouin called Fahi took a second, and we started to find the herds. The End of Time lagged in the rear: the reflection that a mule cannot outrun an elephant, made him look so ineffably miserable, that I sent him back to the kraal.
That day we had ridden nearly fifteen hours; our halting place lay about thirty miles from, and 240o south-west of, Koralay. After another delay, and a second vain message to the Gerad Adan, about noon appeared that dignitary's sixth wife, sister to the valiant Beuh. Her arrival disconcerted my companions, who were too proud to be protected by a woman.
We received him politely, and he in acknowledgment positively declared that Beuh should not return before eating honey in his cottage. Our Abban's heroism now became infectious. Even the End of Time, whose hot valour had long since fallen below zero, was inspired by the occasion, and recited, as usual with him in places and at times of extreme safety, the Arabs' warrior lines
Presently appeared Deenarzade, hung round with gourds and swelling with hurt feelings: she was accompanied by Dahabo, sister of the valiant Beuh, who, having for ever parted from her graceless husband, the Gerad, was returning under our escort to the Gurgi of her family.
Then we advanced with cocked guns, Beuh singing, Boanerges- like, the Song of the Elephant. In the Somali country, as amongst the Kafirs, after murdering a man or boy, the death of an elephant is considered the act of heroism: most tribes wear for it the hair-feather and the ivory bracelet.
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