We made several attempts at crossing the water, which, although deep and some thirty yards across, presented the advantage of a firm, stony bottom. We thought the Kushok might have pointed out the place to cross by. This, we at length found, was only three feet deep. That night we had no transactions at all with the merchants, although, curiously enough, they came to our servants' apology for a tent and hobnobbed with them.
Our route onwards, which was up-stream of the Shugatza, took us over fine prairie land, teeming with immense herds of kyang, who, under the leadership of some chosen stallion, manœuvred round and about us, often within shooting distance. They seemed in no way to feel this exceptionally warm day. We were at a very little higher altitude than Leh itself, and were not sorry to find the merchants had only marched nine miles, half the distance of the previous day.
We discovered the camp pitched just at the foot of a range of hills, which protected them from any welcome breeze that might have sprung up. A small stream trickled from these hills, and formed a pond below. So still was the atmosphere that the smoke from the several fires was diffused neither to the right nor to the left, but curled very slowly upwards. The ponies and yak were either standing knee-deep in the water or lying about in the grass with no inclination for grazing, while the men who were not attending to the fires were either asleep in the tents or stretched out in the open. It was a scene of absolute quiet and perfect peace.
We soon pitched our little camp, and took our latitude from the midday sun. As there was no wind we had some trouble in making our fire burn, so sent a message to the Kushok to ask him kindly to lend us some bellows. We also inquired if he would allow us to photograph himself and his own tent, which was always conspicuous in the camp by reason of the flag that flapped from the end of the pole. To neither of these requests would he assent. We had half expected that this would be the case, for the merchants somehow or other wore an air of indifference to us now, and had given up the friendly turn they first showed towards us. It might have been the natural behaviour of these men, and perhaps we were wrong in our surmises, but we felt as though a screw was loose somewhere.
Later on in the day he sent his servant Nimbri to borrow our frying-pan, small as it was. We at once saw an opening of showing the merchants that we were not going to be entirely dependent on them, so sent him back word that unless he would lend us his bellows each day, we would not lend him our frying-pan. This had the desired effect, for the merchant came to see us, and the bargain was struck. Although at the time we considered this of much importance, it showed how childish both parties had grown.
Since the time when we had first become acquainted with these merchants, and learnt that they were going to Barong in the Tsaidam before reaching Tankar on the Chinese border, we saw the advantage of travelling in their company, for we were all bound for the same destination. Yet we could never get any definite or reliable answer as to how far off Barong was, either from the merchants or from any of the underlings. In fact, whenever we broached the question, we were always given to understand that Barong was further off than ever. They would neither tell us anything about the road or how to find our way there, excepting that they repeated the intricacies of the route and the impossibility of finding it by ourselves.
We knew quite well they were desirous that we should travel with them for two reasons; firstly, that they might bleed us of all our rupees, and secondly, that they might rely upon our protection against predatory tribes, such as the Golok, in the neighbourhood of whose country we should have to march. The Kushok was very fond of our rifles, and admired them, yet when we offered him one during our bargains, he explained that it was of no use to him unless we gave him two or three hundred rounds of ammunition as well, which of course we could not do.
On this day, the 15th of September, the Kushok declared that Barong was a journey of twenty days distant, but we calculated from our own observations that it would only take us about a week to get there if we could but find the way. We knew we were unable to buy food for us all for twenty more days at his starvation prices, and decided to buy from him four or five days' rations and then leave the merchants by shoving on ahead and making longer marches. Of course, our great difficulty was to know the right way to go, for very often there was absolutely no clue for miles; and if we once wandered off wrongly, it would mean much useless meandering over mountains, during which we should probably be lost altogether. We tried our utmost to gain information about the road from the servants. One man told one thing and the next something else directly contrary to what the former had said. A great many of them very likely really did not know, and those who did had been forbidden by the Kushok to tell us. An order from the Kushok was not one to be trifled with, for in this caravan he was omnipotent.
One circumstance that exercised the Kushok's mind was the plane-table surveying of Shahzad Mir. To ward off suspicion, we purposely marched in the wake of the merchants; but Shahzad Mir would always arrive in camp a few minutes after ourselves, carrying the plane-table, and this always puzzled the Kushok. "Why," he asked, "was Shahzad Mir always made to come in last carrying this square board? What offence had he committed to merit such a punishment as this?" He was alluding to the Chinese penalty for crime of carrying the wooden collar, which is commonly known to us as the "cangue."
As we had reached a fine grass country, the merchants were going to make the most of it by allowing their yak plenty of time to graze. On the 16th of September they only marched three miles, and furthermore gave us to understand that they would remain at rest at this encampment the following day. They had certainly chosen a very beautiful spot. The camp was pitched on the richest of pasture land, with hills on either side of it. There was also a spring of cold, clear water, supplying enough for all. The stream formed by this spring separated the Tibetans from ourselves.