io6 By Mo^mtain, Lake, and Plain 



the vehicles of those mysterious beings created 

 " a little lower than the angels " from smokeless 

 fire, the genii that have access only to the lower 

 heaven. Following them comes the wind that 

 tears up sand and soil, and sends it flying. The 

 landscape is blotted out, and the sun himself 

 becomes a lurid shield of copper amid swirling 

 wreaths and clouds, or is altogether obscured, 

 while over the country hangs a dreadful twilight. 

 Let me now try to describe the " garclaning " 

 of a herd of ahu as it actually happened. The 

 time is just after sunrise. I am riding on the 

 left of the line, my wife to my right, some 

 five hundred yards away a similar distance 

 separating her and Ibrahim. This is the best 

 time for spying, for there is neither haze nor 

 mirage. Sunshine is essential. A shikari will 

 tell you that you might as well stay at home 

 as go out on a dull day. Even when cloud 

 shadows drift across the plain, spying becomes 

 difficult; gazelle appear and disappear in the 

 most disconcerting way. One moment they 

 stand out bright and clear, the next they are 

 gone. Spotting gazelle is, indeed, an art, even 

 in the best of lights, that requires long practice 

 as well as keen eyesight. A faint flicker in the 

 misty distance, as imperceptible to the ordinary 

 being as a distant light to the landsman on a 



