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I
DAWN OF THE BAGHDAD RAILWAY 73
looking down on to the Mediterranean shores, knew
of the life and bustle of its sea-girt towns.
We had come out on the other side of the unknown
plain and the aspect of things was changed. What
drew us on now was not the mystery of unexplored
space, but the feeling that here was a great barrier
to cross. We were about to share with these heights
the knowledge of what lay on the other side. But
there was more than this—we were about to do what
the Monster might possibly fail to do. As we drew
near the barrier, the mysterious allusions to his
approach all took the form of pointing at this barrier.
" So far and no further he may come," they seemed
to say.
As I rode with Mustapha up a long, winding pass
on the outskirts of the range he pointed at the valley
below us. " The Turkish Railway," he said solemnly.
A long line of laden camels wound slowly up the
opposite side; for a full quarter of a mile they
covered in single file the road winding up out of the
valley. I pulled my horse up, and Mustapha stopped
his alongside of mine. We both bent our heads
forward and listened. The sound of their tinkling
bells came faintly across the valley to us; the low,
musical tones, the quiet, measured movement, all was
in keeping with the towering mountains and the still,
clear air. Hassan rode up with the other men and
joined us. He put his hands up to his mouth and
gave a shrill, prolonged whistle in exact imitation of
the engine we had left at Konia. The men looked
at one another and laughed. Then they shrugged
their shoulders and pushed on up the path.