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[page 19]
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no smoking no matches to be struck & no talking. This is getting interesting I think. I have lost my only pipe in the struggle for water at Tulkeram [Tulkarm?], but a kind friend has given me an old corn cob pipe. There is a hole in the bottom of the bowl but it is covered by a piece of gummed paper. It requires very careful handling & I act accordingly. I have also [imsurked ?] a water bottle & it is full to the top & I am taking religious care of it. We jog along & then strike off into a donkey track. Dear oh dear shall I ever forget that track. The old mare slithers and slides & stumbles & several times I find my heart interfering with my larynx. Onward mile after mile & hour after hour now up now down. I am dead beat & notwithstanding the fearful track my head droops on my