"Down to the Jordan"

CHAPTER VII.


It was early on the following morning when our horses were led
around to the door of the mission-house, but notwithstanding the
early hour a dozen or more of the natives were standing in line to
receive medical attention from the missionary. A few were there
who seemed to have come to witness our departure. Our guide,
promised the night before, was on hand, mounted, ready to lead the
way over what proved to be by far the roughest part of my trip.
For that day my party consisted of four persons. Our new leader,
whose name I did not learn, was a man of about fifty years, and
was a genuine Arab in appearance and dress. But he wore nothing on
his feet--not even sandals. I felt better satisfied, knowing that
he would lead the way on that day, for my dragoman was not
familiar with that part of Gilead. However, when toward the middle
of the afternoon we descended into the Jordan Valley, he was quite
at home again.

Single file we proceed from Coefrinje along a narrow path with the
bushes and briars brushing the sides of our horses and wetting us
with dew. It is not long until we begin to ascend a high ridge.
Here there are no paths whatever, and at times our horses can
scarcely move on because of the steepness of the ascent. But a few
minutes before nine o'clock, after a toilsome struggle, we reach
the summit of the ridge, and here I get my first panoramic view of
the west-Jordan country. It is entrancingly beautiful.