hers.

The doctor snatched the rifle from my shoulder.

"You must not shoot," said he, with his usual calmness; "you might kill
somebody."

"I only wish to teach these cowards a lesson."

"That is all very well. But every man in Tibet is so cowardly that the
lesson would have to be constantly repeated," answered Wilson with his
perpetual wisdom.

I slung my rifle over my shoulder and made up my mind to start some other
time on the cyclopean task I had then so nearly begun.

When we had covered a mile or so of the plain, our phantomlike escort
crossed the pass, and came full gallop down the hill. I gave orders to
my men to halt, seeing which, the soldiers also came to a dead stop. I
watched them through the telescope. They seemed to be holding a
discussion. At last five men rode full speed northwards, probably to
guard the track in that direction. Three men remained where they were,
and the remainder, as if seized by panic, galloped frantically up the
hill again, and disappeared over the summit.

We resumed our march. The three horsemen followed a course one mile south
of ours, close against the foot of the hills, and lying low upon their
ponies' heads, they probably imagined that they were passing us
unperceived. Seeing that our bearings were for our old camp at Lama
Chokden, they left our line and rode ahead of us.

When in the evening we reached Lama Chokden, two shepherds came to greet
us. Then another appeared.

"Our sheep are far away," said they. "We are hungry. We are poor. Can we
stop near your camp and pick up the food that you will throw away?"

"Certainly," I replied. "But mind you do not pick up anything else."

These simple folk, thinking I should not know them, had left their ponies
at the Lama Chokden guard-house, and, disguised as shepherds, they were
now trying to ingratiate themselves with us, with the object of
discovering our movements and plans. They were, of course, no other than
the three sepoys from Gyanema.

At each step in our retreat towards the Himahlyas my heart became heavier
and my spirits more depressed. I was full of stratagems, but to think out
plans and to carry them into effect were two different things.

How many times had not my schemes been upset? How often had I not had to
begin afresh when all seemed ready and in perfect working order?--that,
too, when I had plenty of good material at my disposal to work upon. Now
things had changed altogether for the worse. My cha