For two days we rode, and camped, and slept a little, and rode on unmolested, climbing ever forward to where we could see the peaks that our friendly chief assured us were in Persia.

For miles and miles and everlasting miles it seemed the passes all led upward; but there came a noon at last when we were able to feel, and even see--when at least we knew in our hearts that the uphill work was over.

We could see other ranges, running in other directions, and mountains with tree-draped sides.

But chiefly it was our hearts that told us we were really in sight of Persia at last.
Then wounded and all gathered together, with Ranjoor Singh in the midst of us, and sang the Anand, our Sikh hymn of joy, our Kurdish friends standing by and wondering (not forgetting nevertheless to watch for opportunity to snatch that gold and run!) And there, on the very ridge dividing Persia from Asiatic Turkey, it was given to us to understand at last a little of the why and wherefore of our marching unmolested.

We came to a crack in a rock by the wayside.