e our journey."

"Then," angrily said a young and powerful Tibetan, "if you continue your
journey, we will take back our gifts."

"And your _kata_!" I rejoined, flinging first the large ball of butter
into his chest, and after it the small bags of flour, _tsamba_, cheese,
fruit, etc., a minute earlier prettily laid out before us.

This unexpected bombardment quite upset the Tibetans, who, with powdered
coats, hair, and faces, scampered away as best they could. Chanden Sing,
always as quick as lightning when it was a case of hitting, pounded away
with the butt of his rifle at the roundest part of one ambassador's
body, when in his clumsy clothes he attempted to get up and run.

Mansing, the philosopher of our party, interrupted in his feed, but
undisturbed by what was going on, picked up the fruit and cheese and
pieces of butter scattered all over the ground, mumbling that it was a
shame to throw away good food in such a reckless fashion.

The soldiers, who had been watching attentively from a distance the
different phases of the interview, considered it prudent to beat a hasty
retreat. Mounting their steeds with unmistakable despatch, they galloped
in confusion down the hill, and then along the valley of the river,
until they were lost to sight in the mist. The ambassadors, who had been
unable to rejoin their ponies, followed on foot as quickly as possible
under the circumstances, with due allowance for the rarefied air and
rough ground.

Their cries of distress, caused by fear alone, for we had done them no
real harm, served to strengthen the contempt in which my men by now held
the Tibetan soldiers and their officers.

The scene was truly comical. We laughed heartily.

When the Tibetans were out of sight, Chanden Sing and I pocketed our
pride and helped Mansing to collect the dried dates, apricots, the
pieces of _chura_, butter, and _guram_. Then, having loaded our yaks, we
marched on.

CHAPTER XV

FOLLOWED BY TIBETAN SOLDIERS

We were not in luck. The weather continued squally in the morning, and
in the afternoon the rain was again torrential. We went over
uninteresting and monotonous gray country. A chain of snowy peaks
stretched from south-west to north-east. We waded through a fairly deep
and cold river, and afterward climbed over a pass 17,450 feet high. A
number of Tibetans with flocks of several thousand sheep came in sight,
but we avoided them. They did not see us.

At the point where we