was just that the world is very old.



One evening against the clear sky there appeared the dim outline of
towering cliffs, shaped like a horseshoe. They were the Mountains of Mur
many miles away, but still the Mountains of Mur, sighted at last. Next
morning we began to descend through wooded land toward a wide river that
is, I believe, a tributary of the Nile, though upon this point I have
no certain information. Three days later we reached the banks of this
river, following some old road, and faring sumptuously all the way,
since here there was much game and grass in plenty for the camels that,
after their long abstinence, ate until we thought that they would burst.
Evidently we had not arrived an hour too soon, for now the Mountains of
Mur were hid by clouds, and we could see that it was raining upon the
plains which lay between us and them. The wet season was setting in,
and, had we been a single week later, it might have been impossible for
us to cross the river, which would then have been in flood. As it was,
we passed it without difficulty by the ancient ford, the water never
rising above the knees of our camels.

Upon its further bank we took counsel, for now we had entered the
territory of the Fung, and were face to face with the real dangers of
our journey. Fifty miles or so away rose the fortress of Mur, but, as
I explained to my companions, the question was how to pass those fifty
miles in safety. Shadrach was called to our conference, and at my
request set out the facts.

Yonder, he said, rose the impregnable mountain home of the Abati, but
all the vast plain included in the loop of the river which he called