30 
MORE QUARRELS. 
picking up its dung, smelt it as musk, saying, " It 
is very good." As I jogged on upon my camel, the 
oppressive heat caused me to sleep and dream in 
the saddle of things that had now become the pro- 
vince of memory. 
More quarrels ! The chaouches are boiling over 
again ; they must fight it out between them. 'No 
doubt they are both correct in exchanging the 
epithet of "thief." Scarcely has the grumbling of 
these two terrible fellows died away, when the 
blacks are at it amongst themselves. He who has 
two wives gets hold of his blunderbuss, and threatens 
to blow himself to pieces. Nobody interferes; 
there is little public spirit in a caravan : so he con- 
sents to an explanation, saying sententiously, " My 
little wife is mad." The fact is, his two helpmates^ 
one young and one old, are vastly too much for him, 
as they would be for most men. He moves along 
in a perpetual family tornado. The mother of the 
young one, a sort of derv\'ish negress, is a tremendous 
old intriguer, and stirs up at least one feud a day. 
Quarrelling is meat and drink to her. 
It would have been out of character had not Ali 
got up a little convulsion on his own account. One 
day, in the Targhee's absence, he took his gun to 
" play at powder," and using English material, suc- 
ceeded in splitting the machine near the lock. 
When the Targhee returned, and found what 
damage had been done, he began first to whimper, 
and then working himself up into a towering pas- 
