But I had already turned, and I rode to the fallen man. He lay dead on his face with arms outstretched—both Robert and I thought, at any rate, that he was dead. But when we had dismounted beside him he slowly turned his head, and with a look of horror waved his hand, as much as to say: “Do not trouble about me, I am dead as a mouse.” We could not repress a smile when, turning him over like a joint at the fire, we examined his bones and joints, and found that the fellow was still sound, though severely bruised. The yak had trodden upon the inner side of the left shank, where a bloody stripe showed the mark of his hoof.
Two strong men bore the fallen hero to Muhamed Isa’s tent, where he was well tended by Robert. He seemed stupefied for several days, and we feared that his adventure had affected his brain. He did not eat or speak, and had to travel on horseback, and one of his fellow-countrymen was told off to attend on him. After some time, when his head was clear again, he was able to tell us his impressions. When he saw the yak preparing to attack my horse, he turned round and threw himself flat on the ground. Perhaps irritated by the red and violet chapkan floating about in the air, the yak left me, made an unexpected change of front, and rushed with lowered horns on the fallen man. He had half unconsciously made a quick movement to one side, and the horns had struck the ground instead of entering his body, and so close beside his head that Rehim Ali felt the panting breath of the brute in his face. Then he lost consciousness, and did not revive till we came up, and then he thought that the yak was on him again. He had intended to save himself by this manœuvre, and thereby had become our deliverer. After the adventures he had taken part in lately he had an immense horror of Tibetan lakes and wild yaks (Illustrations 83, 84).
Temperature—16½° on the night of November 28. One would expect that the temperature would fall with the advance of winter, but it remains constant, owing in great measure to our progress southwards. Beyond a small pass we came to a new longitudinal valley, where the country was open towards the south-east. Game was abundant, spoors crossed one another in all directions, and two bold yaks awakened in us greater respect than before. At six places we saw large herds of wild asses, and antelopes grazed on the plains. We lost a mule here, and had now 16 animals of both kinds.
Another day’s journey across flat country. We were traversing the large white patch of unknown land, and were approaching Bower’s route at an acute angle, though we were still rather far east of it. A wild yak ran across our path, and we wondered if it were our enemy of the previous day. Where we pitched our camp, No. 58, we found some hearths which could not be more than a couple of days old. Our excitement and eagerness increased day by day; now the uttermost margin of inhabited Tibet could not be far distant. As I let my eyes rove over these red or black, snow-capped or bare crests, I could fancy I could perceive a whole host of dancing notes of interrogation, some in fantastic draperies, mocking us because we had ventured without an escort into the forbidden land, others motioning us onwards, but all doubtful and speculative. Step by step, day by day, with failing strength, we approached the solution of all these questions. Any moment a troop of mounted men might appear on the horizon, bringing orders from the Devashung that we must immediately evacuate the country and retire northwards.
I was still convalescent, went to bed at seven o’clock, and was not much the better for it, for I always felt terribly languid. Tsering was very despondent because I did so little honour to his cooking. “How can the Sahib regain his strength if he eats so little?” he used to remind me. He was a comical fellow, Tsering, as he marched day after day with his stick in his hand at the head of his detachment, self-conscious and pompous as a chanticleer.
Late at night we heard the dismal, long-drawn howling of wolves close at hand. We could tell from the wild complaining tone that hunger had made the brutes bolder and that the odour of fresh meat excited them. They were on the other side of the source, and Tundup Sonam stole off to scare them away by firing into the troop, though there was small chance of hitting one in the darkness. The brutes retired, but in the night chased our animals, which scampered off to the north as though there were a fire behind them. But the men followed their trail, and found them at dawn a good day’s journey from the camp.
On November 10 we had good ground again, and saw to the east-south-east a lake which looked like a bright white ring, the middle being deep blue. Near this day’s camp, No. 59, were clear traces of a man who had driven five tame yaks to the lake. The footprints were at most three days old, and excited a great stir in the caravan. We were undoubtedly close to human dwellings, and I thought with regret of the interval of nearly three months during which we had no cause to dread hostile tribes. We held a council of war: should we as long as possible avoid contact with men, and keep out of the way of their tents, so that we need not turn back until further progress became quite impossible? Or should we seek out the nearest nomads at once, and beg them for assistance? At this moment Tundup Sonam ran up out of breath. He had been scouting to the west and had descried a black tent. I immediately sent him to it with two other men, and gave them a handful of rupees. But the news they brought from this first meeting with human beings was not particularly interesting.
The tent was inhabited by a woman and her three children. She had come from the district of Gertse in the south-west, and had covered the distance in twenty-five short days’ marches. She had arrived seventeen days before with her two husbands, but both had returned a few days ago to Gertse, after they had filled the tent for her with wild-ass meat. She was daily expecting her parents, who were to keep her company for three months, during which time they would live on game—yaks, kiangs, and antelopes. She owned a few yaks and a small flock of sheep, which she and the oldest child tended and milked. The inside of the tent was very wretched, but a warm fire burned in the centre. She knew that four more tents were standing in a neighbouring valley. When Tundup Sonam told her that we were a party of Ladakis on a pilgrimage to the holy places, she replied that we had chosen a very bad route, and would have done better to take a more southern road where there were men. Her geographical knowledge was limited. The country in which we were now she called Gomo-selung. The gold placers we had passed lay in the La-shung country, and the lake at camp No. 55 she called La-shung-tso. My servants, who had already been in Tibet, held that this information was reliable, for they had heard the names before.
Now, then, the ice was broken. After seventy-nine days of complete isolation from the outer world, some of our men, at least, had seen human beings. But other connections would soon follow this lonely woman, this daughter of the wilderness, this real lady of the mountains, and again we discussed the line of policy we must adopt. The woman dwelt alone, and no news of our approach could be conveyed through her instrumentality to the south. We could, then, take the matter for the present quite coolly as heretofore, and when we were surrounded on all sides by nomads, among whom reports are rapidly dispersed, we must then think of hastening our movements.
We granted the animals a day’s rest, for the pasturage was good, and it was pleasant to spend this day under canvas. The storm whistled and howled through the grass and round the stones. Everything that was light and loose was blown away, and the ground was swept clean. The sky was cloudless and the air clear, the wild commotion was only in the layer of air close to the ground, and the important part played by the wind in the deformation of the surface was evident; in such a storm huge masses of material must be removed from their original position.