March 29. Temperature 13° in the night, and 55° at seven o’clock—this is spring. Welcome mild salubrious breezes, come to thaw our frozen joints!
Early in the morning came a couple of our men tramping along with another dog, light yellow, dirty, and loathsome. He was inhospitably received by Takkar, who immediately gave him a sharp pinch in the neck, and seemed to think that the new member of the caravan was quite superfluous as long as he kept watch himself.
Far in the north a solitary Tibetan appeared, and approached our camp. I was sitting at breakfast, and was hoping that we should soon leave this dangerous place. I went out and looked through the field-glass; the stranger was making straight for our tents. Soon Abdul Kerim came and said that it was Tsongpun Tashi himself. He stopped at some distance and called to us to tie up our dogs, for Takkar had rushed at the old man, who defended himself with stones. The men were purposely slow in fastening up the dogs, in order to give me time to put the interior of my tent in order. On such occasions my note-books and instruments were crammed into a rice sack, which always stood ready. There was no other furniture, for we had burned all European articles and boxes long before.
Meanwhile, Abdul Kerim conducted Tsongpun Tashi into his tent, which stood close against mine, and I listened to their conversation at a distance of little more than a yard. By degrees the talk became, to say the least of it, lively. Tsongpun Tashi raised his voice more and more, and Abdul Kerim was evidently in a serious dilemma.
“Did you not promise to give me the black horse in exchange for butter? Bring the horse immediately. If you do not keep your word, I will detain the whole pack of you here. We do not let men that break their word escape in Bongba. I thought yesterday that you were honest men, but now I see what you are up to. Now I shall begin by searching your tents.”
With that he got up as angry as a wasp and went out. But Gulam, who was always alert and never lost a word of a conversation, had let Takkar loose again. As soon as Tsongpun Tashi showed himself at the tent door the dog flew at him again. He backed, and Abdul seized the opportunity to call out in a gruff voice: “Kutus, take Hajji Baba with you and go and look for the lost horse.”
“What horse is that?” asked Tsongpun.
“It is one of our horses which has run away up the mountain, and we cannot set out till we have found him.”
“What colour is he?” asked Tsongpun with uncomfortable inquisitiveness.
“Grey,” replied Abdul Kerim, who had difficulty in concealing his uneasiness, for it was he who had pledged the black steed without knowing whether it was still in our possession.