stick, so I'd to carry G. pick-a-back, and it took me to the
thick of the thigh and G. well over her ankles. We walked three steps on
Chinese ground and stopped, and looked at the Chinese riffraff soldiery
that turned out from a cane house, and they likewise looked at us. As
they offered no signs of welcome, we began our homeward journey, took a
breath, said a prayer, and "hold tight," and waded back. These guards, I
am told, lose their heads if they allow anyone to pass without a permit;
we did not have one, so I can quite well understand their expressions.
G. knew this before we crossed, but I did not, so I reflect. I do not
suppose we could have forded sooner as the river was falling; a few
hours later, it could have been crossed with less difficulty.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

So we got back to our ponies again, and followed our baggage jogging
back down from China, in and out, and up and down the valleys; and it
was just as nice as jogging up: we were glad to see the scenes of wood
and valley and foaming rivers over again from new points of view.

At Kulong Cha, we stopped the night in the Glen of the Sound of Many
Waters. A leopard called on us in the night--came into the back verandah
with a velvety thud, and so we each turned out with our Browning
revolvers, and when we met with candles dimly burning, each said we
"heard a rat!" It probably was in search of the terrier of the Burmese
wife of our native cook; but it did not succeed in the quest. Terriers'
lives here are short and full of sport, and leopards love them. What an
adventuresome day--Bag one crow--one Mahseer.

The desperate play of the Mahseer and our adventure into China had tired
us, so that we left Kulong Cha late, after a "European breakfast"; which
is to say, a breakfast at or about nine, and rode with much pleasure
till lunch time. Then fell in with our servants, camped in flickering
shadows under bamboos beside the yellow surging Taiping, the fire going
and the air redolent with an appetising smell of roast duck; our last
dear duck, whose fellow ducks and hens had accompanied us in the baskets
at either end of a pole across a coolie's back from Bhamo.

In less than fifteen minutes by the watch, we had a rod cut, salmon reel
attached and rings put on with the invaluable plaster, and all ready for
underhand casting. I fished the most magnificent-looking salmon pool;
there were fresh leopard tracks on