Our two yaks had disappeared. I climbed up to the summit of the hill above camp, and with my telescope scoured the plain. The two animals were some distance off, being led away by ten or twelve men on horseback, who drove in front of them a flock of about five hundred sheep. By their clothing I recognized the strangers to be robbers. Naturally I started at once to recover my property, leaving Chanden Sing and Mansing in charge of our camp. I caught them up as they were marching slowly, though, when they perceived me, they hastened on, trying to get away. I shouted three times to them to stop, but they paid no heed to my words. I unslung my rifle, and would have fired at them had the threat alone not been sufficient to make them reflect. They halted. When I got near enough I claimed my two yaks back. They refused to give them up. They said they were twelve men, and were not afraid of one. Dismounted from their ponies, they seemed ready to attack me.
As I saw them take out flint and steel in order to light the fusees of their matchlocks, I thought I might as well have my innings first. Before they could guess my intention, I applied a violent blow with the muzzle of my rifle on the stomach of the man nearest to me. He collapsed, while I administered another blow in the right temple of another man who held his matchlock between his legs, and was on the point of striking his flint and steel in order to set the tinder on fire. He, too, staggered and fell clumsily.
"Chakzal, chakzal! Chakzal wortzié!" (We salute you, we salute you! Please listen!) exclaimed a third brigand, with an expression of dismay, and holding up his thumbs with his fist closed in sign of surrender.
"Chakzal!" (I salute you!) I replied, inserting a cartridge into the Mannlicher rifle.
"Middù, middù!" (No, no!) they entreated, promptly laying down their weapons.
I purchased from these men about thirty pounds of tsamba and eight pounds of butter. I got one of them to carry the stuff to my camp, while I, without further trouble, recovered my yaks and drove them back to where Chanden Sing and Mansing were busy lighting a fire to make some tea.
Toward noon, when our things had got almost dry in the warm sun, the sky became clouded, and again it began to rain heavily. I was rather doubtful as to whether I should go over a pass some miles off to the east, or should follow the course of the river and skirt the foot of the mountains. We saw a large number of Tibetans travelling in the opposite direction to ours. They all seemed terrified when we approached them. We obtained from them a few more pounds of food, but they refused to sell us any sheep, of which they had thousands. I decided to attempt the first-mentioned route. Making our way first over a continuation of the flat plateau, then over undulating ground, we came to two lakelets at the foot of the pass before us. The ascent was comparatively easy, over snow. We followed the river, which descended from the pass. About half-way up, on looking back, we saw eight soldiers galloping toward us. We waited for them. As soon as they came up to us they went through the usual servile salutations, depositing their weapons on the ground to show that they had no intention of fighting. A long, amiable conversation followed, the Tibetans professing their friendship for us and their willingness to help us to get on in any way they could. This was rather too good to be true. I suspected treachery, all the more so when they pressed and entreated us to go back to their tents, where they wished to entertain us as their highly honored guests. They would shower upon us all the luxuries that human mind could conceive. These luxuries were found to consist of presents of chura, cheese, butter, yak milk, and tsamba. They said they would sell us ponies if we required them. The description was too glowing. Taking all things into consideration, and allowing for the inaccuracy of speech of Tibetans in general, I thanked them from the bottom of my heart, and answered that I preferred to continue my journey and bear my present sufferings.
They perceived that I was not easy to catch. If anything, they respected me for it. In fact, they could not conceal their amazement at my having got so far into their country with only two men. After giving my visitors some little presents, we parted in a friendly manner.
We climbed up to the pass (18,480 feet). Before us, on the other side, some two thousand feet lower, was a large stretch of flat land. I could see a lake, which I took to be the Gunkyo. To make certain of it, I left my men and yaks on the pass and went to reconnoitre from a peak 19,000 feet high north-east of us. There was much snow. The ascent was difficult and tedious. When I got to the top another high peak barred the view in front of me, so, descending first and then ascending again, I climbed this second summit, finally reaching an elevation of 20,000 feet, and obtaining a good bird's-eye view of the country all round. There was a long snowy range to the north, and directly under it what I imagined to be a stretch of water, judging from the mist and clouds forming directly above it and from the grass on the lower slopes of the mountains.
A hill range stood in my way, just high enough to conceal the lake behind it. I rejoined my men. Sinking in deep, soft snow, we continued our march down the other side of the pass. We pitched our tent at a place about five hundred feet higher than the plain below us, where the mountain sides were close together and formed a gorge. Notwithstanding that I was now quite accustomed to great elevations, the ascent to 20,000 feet had caused a certain exhaustion, and I should have been glad of a good night's rest.