came
close to us. They resembled zebras, except that they were light brown in
color. Their graceful and coquettish ways were most attractive. The
natives regarded the proximity of these animals as dangerous, for their
apparent tameness was merely in order to get quite near the unwary
traveller, and then, with a sudden dash, inflict a horrible bite.

Having climbed over a hill range, we descended on the other side into a
grassy stretch of flat land with a lake on the northern side. On a hill
south of the lake stood the Gyanema fort, a primitive, tower-like
structure of stone, with a tent pitched over it to answer the purpose of
a roof. Two dirty white rags hung from a flagstaff. These were not
national flags, but merely wind-prayers. Lower down, at the foot of the
hill, were two or three large black tents and a small shed of stone.
Hundreds of black, white, and brown yaks[1] were grazing on the green
patches of grass.

The appearance of our party evidently frightened everybody, for we had
hardly shown ourselves on the summit of the pass when in the fort a gong
began to sound loudly, filling the air with its metallic notes. A shot
was fired. Soldiers with their matchlocks[2] ran here and there. They
pulled down one of the black tents and hastily conveyed it inside the
fort. The greater part of the garrison sought shelter within the walls
of the fort with the hurry almost of a stampede. When, after some time,
they made up their minds that we did not mean to hurt them, some of the
Tibetan officers, followed by their men, came trembling to meet us. The
doctor, unarmed, went ahead to talk to them, while Chanden Sing and I
remained with the coolies in order to protect our baggage in case of a
treacherous attack, and to prevent my frightened carriers from
abandoning their loads and escaping. Matters looked peaceful enough.
Rugs were spread on the grass, and finally we all sat down. An hour of
tiresome talking with the Tibetan officers, while the same things were
repeated over and over again, led to nothing. They said they could on no
account allow any one from India, whether native or sahib, to proceed,
and we must go back. We, on our side, stated that we were doing no harm.
We were pilgrims to the sacred Lake of Mansarowar, only a few miles
farther. We had gone to much expense and trouble. How could we now turn
back when so near our goal? We would not go back, and trusted they would
allow us to proceed.

We treated them cou