opportunity."

"No, sir; where you go, I will go. Small men never suffer. If they do it
does not matter. Only great men's sufferings are worth noticing. If you
suffer, I will suffer. I will come."

Kachi's philosophy touched me. I ascertained beyond doubt that he meant
what he said, and then decided to take him.

This was a piece of luck. Kachi Ram had five bosom friends among the
young Shoka coolies. They were all friends of the Rambang, and in the
evenings in camp they often used to join and sing weird songs in honour
of the fair maids of their hearts, whom they had left on the other side
of the Himahlyas.

Kachi hurried away in a state of feverish excitement. He was back in a
few minutes.

"How many coolies will you take, sir?"

"None will come."

"Oh, I will get them. Will five do?"

"Yes," I murmured incredulously.

My scepticism sustained a shock when Kachi returned, buoyant, saying in
his peculiar English:

"Five Shokas come, sir. Then you, sir, I, sir, five coolies, sir, start
night-time, what clock?"

"By Jove, Kachi," I could not help exclaiming, "you are a smart lad."

"'Smart,' sir?" inquired he sharply, hearing a new word. He was most
anxious to learn English, and he had a mania for spelling. "'Smart!' What
is meaning? How spell?"

"S-m-a-r-t. It means 'quick, intelligent.'"

"Smart," he repeated solemnly, as he wrote the newly-acquired word in a
book which I had given him for the purpose. Kachi was undoubtedly, in
spite of some small faults, a great character. He was a most intelligent,
sharp, well-meaning fellow. His never failing good humour, and his
earnest desire to learn and to be useful, were quite refreshing.

My luck seemed to have turned indeed. A few minutes later my bearer,
quite unaware that any one would accompany me, entered the tent, and
exclaimed in a disgusted manner:

"_Shoka crab, sahib! Hunya log bura crab. Hazur hum, do admi jaldi Lhasa
giao_." ("The Shokas are bad. The Hunyas are very bad. Your honour 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. He was the type of man I wanted. How true the poor
fellow's protestations were I learned at a later date!

Chanden Sing was a man of strong sporting proclivities. 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 reprimanded a