they will strike a rough section that must try the staying powers of the
wretched vehicle.

As they whirl through Birkadeen in a cloud of dust, with several mangy
curs howling at the heels of the steaming horses, it is just sunset.
There is no mosque here with its minaret, from which the _muezzin_
chants his call to prayer, but the faithful do not need such a summons,
and can be seen here and there prostrating themselves on the ground with
faces toward the holy city.

One grows accustomed to such spectacles when traveling in oriental
countries where Mohammed is looked upon as the great prophet of Allah,
and the novelty inspired by the first sight dies away.

After leaving the Arab village they strike the rough section of the road.

It would be natural to suppose that the driver has by this time gotten
over his anger at being chided by Mustapha, and might moderate his pace,
out of respect to his antiquated vehicle, if not the safety of those who
occupy it.

Not so.

If anything, as darkness steals over the scene, he uses his whip with
greater energy, and his voice urges on the sweating horses.

Now they have it surely.

The ruts in the road cause the vehicle to bounce from side to side, and
those inside are tossed about much like rubber balls.