The Hidden Treasure
in vain I talked of buried gold and silver to my old man,
who merely spat upon his hands and smiled.
Another old man came presently riding on a donkey over
the yellow plain. He had a long beard descending to his
chest with a flattened silvery wave like that of a Sumerian
carving: he had an aquiline profile, and a pleasant wise keen-
ness of old age in his eyes. When, as a matter of course, he
dismounted to hear all about us, I knew that the morning's
digging might just as well be relinquished, for he and Shah
Riza squatted side by side and began to smoke in that com-
panionable silence which is the prelude to a long, long chat.
The Malikshahi and our old host rested near-by with the
pickaxe between them, ready to listen in. Our Odyssey was
entered upon by the Philosopher with such slow and casual
monosyllables as might belie any indecent sense of hurry.
The old stranger, puffing at a home-made clay pipe, very like
a small coffin in shape, gave me a glance now and then to see
if my appearance corroborated the peculiar story he was
hearing, and the sun climbed higher and higher in the sky.
It was no use staying there, I thought. I made a note of the
place as a fertile hunting-ground for future archaeologists, and
announced myself ready to start.
Shah Riza was ready too. He must have been hungry for
his lunch, for he soon beat his mare into a trot and deviated
from our path towards a litde group in a bare hollow. Said
Ja'far and I meandered leisurely after. When we came up,
our welcome was waiting. The master of the tents held my
stirrup to descend: a carpeted space had been made for me
under a woollen awning: and we had just settled down to the
first friendly politenesses, when the sudden appearance of
three mounted policemen on the skyline gave us all a shock.