That evening, when they pitched their tents in the shelter of some trees on the rim of a rugged valley, Charles Keene remarked:
"Losing a few packs didn't hurt us, because we were short on porters anyway."
"Short on porters?" inquired Barma Shah. "How?"
"We had sixty yesterday morning, but there were only fifty-four when I counted them as they crossed the log bridge. That's why I brought up the rear, to see that no more of them skipped."
That news brought a grim expression to Barma Shah's face. In response, he said:
"They may have heard our talk of Yeti. What is more, I saw some big tracks in the snow before we broke camp yesterday. I obliterated them, but perhaps some of the porters saw them first."
That night it snowed again, though only lightly. In the morning, Biff awoke to hear the camp babbling with excitement. He crawled from his sleeping bag and emerged from the tent, where he promptly ran into Chandra, who told him:
"Yeti tracks again. Hurdu found them on the hill."
Biff joined Charles Keene and Barma Shah up near some barren rocks. The tracks were much larger than a man's foot, but clumsy and roughly formed. They led in from the rocks, then back again, as though some creature had come down from the craggy hill toward the camp, only to return to its lair.
Some of the Ladakhi bearers were gabbing among themselves and repeating, "Yeti—Yeti," much too often, as they walked along beside the big footprints and compared them with their own smaller tracks. Back at camp, Barma Shah conferred with Tikse, who gave the porters a pep-talk in a mixture of Hindi and Ladakhi. They responded in grunts of half-agreement as they gathered up their packs.