pipe.

From Hoopar Pari we marched to Gupis. Gupis is a fort built by the
Kashmir troops last year, on the most scientific principle, the only
drawback being that it is commanded on all sides, and would be perfectly
untenable if attacked by three men and a boy armed with accurate
long-range rifles. Here we picked up Stewart, who was turning catherine
wheels at the thought of taking his beloved guns into action. He
expressed a desire to try a few shells on the neighbouring villages, to
practise his men in ranging; but as there were objections to this plan,
the idea was allowed to drop. At Gupis we made a raid on the stores in
the officers' quarters and pretty well cleared them out. De Vismes, who
took command, had to get a fresh supply up from Gilgit.

[Illustration: A "Pari" on the road to Gupis.]

We had a merry dinner that night, provided, I think, by Stewart, who
used to get up at intervals and dance a jig at the idea of seeing his
guns the next morning--they were coming on with the second detachment
under Peterson. From Gupis I sent my pony back to Gilgit, as it was
useless taking it any farther, as we doubted being able to take animals
over the pass, which eventually proved to be impossible. From Gupis
onwards we had to be content with the usual hill track of these
countries, good enough for a country pony, but still nothing to be proud
of; here we discarded our Government mules, and took coolie transport
instead. The march from Gupis to Dahimal is a long, trying one, up and
down all the way. Cobbe, who was on rearguard, didn't get in till long
after dark.

The village of Dahimal lies on the opposite bank of the river, so we did
not cross, but bivouacked on the right bank, where there was some scrub
jungle that provided us with wood. The Pioneers had brought four ducks;
they were carried in a basket along with the mess-stores.
Browning-Smith, who ran the messing, got quite pally with these ducks,
and as soon as they were let out of their basket, he used to call them,
and off they would waddle after him in search of a convenient puddle. I
forget when those ducks were eaten, but I don't remember them at Ghizr,
and am sure they didn't cross the pass.

Our next march was a short one to Pingal, only about nine miles. Here we
were met by Mihrbhan Shah, the Hakim or governor of the upper part of
the valley. Mihrbhan Shah is a bit of an authority in the murder line,
having been employed by the late lamented Nizam-ul-m