F TORTURES]

Here he produced a heavy pair of them, which he had kept concealed under
his coat.

"You will not wear them for more than a few moments while we are leading
you to his presence. Then you will be free. We swear to you by the Sun
and Kunjuk-Sum that we will treat you kindly."

I promised not to resist, chiefly because I had no chance of doing so.
For greater safety they tied my legs and placed a sliding knot round my
neck; then I was carried out into the open, where a ring of soldiers with
drawn swords stood round me. While I lay flat on my face on the ground,
held down firmly, they unwound the ropes from around my wrists, and the
iron fetters, joined by a heavy chain, were substituted for them. They
took some time in fastening the clumsy padlock, after which, all being
ready, they unbound my legs.

They made me stand up again, and knowing that I could not possibly get my
hands free, they began to load me with insults and offensive terms, not
directed to me as an individual, but as a _Plenki_, an Englishman. They
spat upon me and threw mud at me. The Lamas behaved worse than any of the
others, and the one who had sworn that I should be in no way ill-used if
I would submit quietly to be handcuffed was the most prominent among my
tormentors and the keenest in urging the crowd on to further brutality.

[Illustration: MY HANDCUFFS]

Suddenly the attention of the crowd was drawn to the approach of the
Rupun with a number of soldiers and officers. He seemed depressed, and
his face was of a ghastly yellowish tint. He kept his eyes fixed on the
ground, and, speaking very low, ordered that I should again be conveyed
inside the mud-house.

A few moments later he came in and closed the door after him, having
first cleared the room of all the people who were in it. As I have
mentioned before, Tibetan structures of this kind have a square aperture
in the ceiling by which they are ventilated and lighted.

The Rupun laid his forehead upon mine in sign of compassion, and then
sadly shook his head.

"There is no more hope," he whispered; "your head will be cut off
to-night. The Lamas are bad and my heart is aching. You are like my
brother, and I am grieved...."

The good old man tried not to let me see his emotion, and made signs that
he could stay no longer, lest he should be accused of being my friend.

The mob again entered the room, and I was once more dragged out into the
open by the Lamas and soldiers. Some