ABSTRACT
It is early November, the 2nd to be accurate, and I have ordered Salim al Muzaiyin to move his camp out into the barr, preparatory to my joining him. We have had a week’s steady south wind, clouds are banking up in the West, and we have had distant thunder and lightning. Most of the tribes have left water and are scattering over the hinterland in search of suitable grazing grounds, for the promise of rain is near. All the tent families go off on their own and camp in twos and threes, well apart from their neighbours (a mile or so perhaps), yet within sound of rifle-shot in case of an alarm, when all must come to the help of the person attacked.
