learn and to be useful were quite refreshing.

My luck seemed to have turned. A few minutes later Chanden Sing, quite
unaware that any one had undertaken to accompany me, entered the tent,
and exclaimed, in a disgusted manner:

"_Shoka crab, sahib! Hunya log bura crab. Hazur, hum, do admi jaldi
Lhassa giao._" (The Shokas are bad. The Hunyas are very bad. Your honor
and I, we two alone, will go quickly by ourselves to Lhassa).

Here was another plucky and useful man anxious to come. He professed to
have no fear of death. How true the poor fellow's words were we will
learn later.

Chanden Sing was a man of strong sporting tastes. His happiness was
complete when he could fire his rifle at something, though he was never
known to hit the mark. He had been severely scolded and punished only a
few days before for wasting several cartridges trying to shoot _kiang_
(wild horse) three miles distant. Ordinary work, however, such as doing
his own cooking or keeping my things tidy, was distasteful to him, and
was invariably passed on to others.

Mansing, the leper, being unfortunately of the same caste as Chanden
Sing, became my servant's servant. The two Hindoos constantly quarrelled
and fought, but at heart they were the best of friends. The bearer, by
means of promises, mingled at intervals with blows, eventually succeeded
in inducing his protege to join in our new expedition and face what
dangers we might find ahead.

By eight o'clock in the evening I had collected all the men who had
promised to follow me. They comprised my bearer, Kachi, and six coolies.

We named this camp "Devil's Camp," for diabolical indeed was the wind
that shook our tents, not to speak of the snow blown into our shelters
by the raging storm. During the night the wind grew in fury. Neither
wood, dung, nor lichens for fuel could be found. Our tents were pitched
at 16,900 feet above sea-level. To ascend to the summit of the range
would mean a further climb of two thousand feet. In such weather the
difficulties of the ascent were increased tenfold, though for escaping
the notice of the Tibetan watchmen, who were spying our movements, we
could have no better chance than on a stormy night like this. I arranged
with the doctor that he was to take back to Garbyang all the baggage I
had discarded and the men who had declined to follow me. He must leave
all our tents pitched until the afternoon of the next day, in order to
let the Tibetans suppose that we w