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The tale-teller has just finished a story, when two white-clad men with white turbans on their heads emerge from the darkness of the night. They tie up their dromedaries, humbly salute Shah Sevar, who invites them to sit down and help themselves to tea from an iron pot. Other men come up to the fire. All carry long guns, spears, swords, and daggers. Some lead two or three dromedaries each.

Some sleep, others are kept awake by excitement, while four riders go scouting in different directions. Bam itself cannot be seen, but the hill is visible at the foot of which the town stands. The men long for night and the cover of darkness. The day has been calm and hot, but now the evening is cool and the shadows dense. A faint breeze comes from the north, and Shah Sevar smiles.

Shah Sevar sits erect on his dromedary and leads the assault. Some jump down and seize three men, twelve women, and six children, who are hastily bound and put in charge of two Baluchis, while others quickly search some houses close at hand. They come out again with two youths who have made a useless resistance, a couple of sacks of grain, some household goods, and all the silver they could find.

"I told you the day before yesterday that this time we shall strike at Bam. Bam is a populous town. If we are discovered too early the fight may be hot. We must steal through the desert like jackals. The distance is three hundred miles, four days' journey." Again Shah Sevar stares into the fire for a while and then asks, "Are the jambas in good condition?" "Yes."

The chieftain's practised eye has detected a party of armed men coming up. Three shots are heard in the darkness, and Shah Sevar falls backwards out of the saddle, while his dromedary starts and flies off into the desert. The rider's left foot is caught fast in the stirrup and his head drags in the dust. A bullet has entered his forehead, but the blood is staunched by the dust of the road.

"Shall we empty the waterskins so as to make the loads lighter for the attack?" asks a Baluchi. "No," answers Shah Sevar; "keep all the water that is left, for we may not be able to fill the skins in the town before our retreat." "It is time," he says; "have your weapons ready." They mount again and ride slowly towards the town.

"How many slaves?" roars Shah Sevar. "Twenty-three," is answered from several directions. "That is enough; pack up." The slaves and the stolen goods are bound fast on dromedaries. "Quick, quick," shouts the chief. "Back the way we came." In the hurry and confusion some of the animals get entangled in one another's ropes. "Back! Back!"

When the reflection of the evening sky lies in purple shades over the desert, they have only ten or twelve miles more to go. Shah Sevar pulls up his dromedary and orders a halt in muffled tones, as though he feared that his voice might be heard in Bam.

"In the name of Allah," calls out Shah Sevar, and the party rides off through the night at a steady pace. The path they follow is well known and the stars serve as guides. Day breaks, the sun rises, and the shadows of the dromedaries point towards Bam over the hard yellow sand where not a shrub grows.

Fourteen men are now gathered round the fire. There is a marked silence in the assembly, and Shah Sevar looks serious. At length he asks, "Is everything ready?" "Yes," is the reply from all sides. "Are the powder and shot horns filled?" "Yes." "And the provisions packed in their bags?" "Yes dates, sour cheese, and bread for eight days."