I asked the muleteer if he had seen anything like them. “Oh, they are nothing,” he replied; “in the neighbourhood of Ararat I have seen them as large as eggs (!), and they killed lots of sheep.” I thought him what the reader may think me.
At half-past three we got into Doong, after six hours and a half in the saddle.
We found a big caravanserai with only one room, the other places being merely stables, which were full.
However, some camel-men politely vacated it, and we, after some half-hour’s sweeping, made it very warm and comfortable. Fortunately it was a large one, twenty by ten, and sheltered, being built at the end of a recess.
While at dinner something fell on the table; it was a camel-tic, and I expected what followed.
A camel-tic is a flat insect, which is active when not distended and hungry, but very sluggish when full. We caught a small one in the bedclothes, but saw no more. In the night, however, one bit N⸺ on the top of her head, and the wound bled freely. This place was painful for a month.
In the morning, on walking over where some two hundred camels had lain, it was difficult to avoid treading on the sluggish and gorged beasts, who looked like smallish cockchafers. I mean the tics.
April 20th.—Started at eight for Hajeeb, six farsakhs. On getting to a big caravanserai, half-way, got down to breakfast, muleteer going on; but in an hour he returned, saying Hajeeb was not safe to stay in at night, so he advised stopping where we were. We took three rooms; they seem comfortable. Sleet storm in the afternoon.
The name of this place is Koshkirūd (Dry River). I don’t think there are any tics here, but we shall see.