lake is the home of the gods?" I
inquired of Kachi. "Why, even on the Devil's Lake we had better weather
than this."

"Yes, sir," replied Kachi. "But you make the gods angry, and that is why
they send thunder, hail and rain to stop your progress. You are going on
against the gods, sir."

"Never mind, Kachi. It cannot pour for ever."

At midnight we had no idea of our position, still we pushed on.

"Have we passed the Gomba? Have we not yet reached it?" were the
questions we asked each other. It seemed to me that, at the rate we were
going, we ought by now to be very near the place, and yet after another
hour's tramp we had not struck it. I was under the belief that we had
gone about nine miles, and I expressed the opinion that we had passed it,
but the Shokas insisted that we had not, so we again proceeded.

We had hardly gone five hundred yards, when we heard a faint, distant,
and most welcome dog's bark. It came from the N.W., and we surmised that
it must come from Tucker. We had steered too far south of the place,
which accounted for our missing it in the darkness.

Guided by the yelping, we hastily directed our steps towards the
settlements. The dog's solitary howl was at once supplemented by fifty
more angry barks, and though we knew by the sound that we were
approaching the village, it was so dark and stormy that we could not find
the place. Only when we found ourselves close to the mud huts could we be
certain that we had at last arrived.

It was now between 2 and 3 A.M. The rain still came down in torrents,
and, alas! there was no sign of any of the inhabitants being willing to
give us shelter. It was quite out of the question to pitch our little
_tente d'abri_, for our things were already wringing wet.

[Illustration: MY TWO YAKS]

The noise we made tapping outside a door was determined, so much so that
the door itself nearly gave way. This was a shelter-house, a _serai_
for pilgrims, and as we claimed to be pilgrims, we had, by the laws of
the country, a right to admission. The Kutial Nattoo, who had once before
reached this lake by a different route, led us to this house.

"You are dacoits," said a hoarse voice from inside; "or you would not
come at this hour."

"No, we are not," we entreated. "Please open. We are well-to-do people.
We will harm no one, and pay for all."

"_Middu, Middu!_" ("Cannot be, no.") "You are dacoits. I will not open."

To show that we were not what they imagined, fait