I slung my rifle over my shoulder, and made up my mind to start some
other time on the great task I had then so nearly begun.

When we had covered a mile or so of the plain our ghostly escort crossed
the pass, and came full gallop down the hill. I gave orders to my men to
halt. The soldiers also came to a dead stop. I watched them through the
telescope. They seemed to be holding a discussion. At last five men rode
full speed northward, probably to guard the track in that direction.
Three men remained where they were, and the remainder, as if seized by
panic, galloped frantically up the hill again and disappeared over the
summit.

We resumed our march. The three horsemen followed a course one mile
south of ours, close against the foot of the hills. Lying low upon their
ponies' heads, they probably imagined that they were passing us
unperceived. Seeing that our bearings were for our old camp at Lama
Chokten, they left our line and rode ahead of us.

When, in the evening, we reached Lama Chokten two shepherds came to
greet us. Then another appeared.

"Our sheep are far away," said they. "We are hungry. We are poor. Can we
stop near your camp and pick up the food that you will throw away?"

"Certainly," I replied. "But mind you do not pick up anything else."

These simple people, thinking I should not know them, had left their
ponies at the Lama Chokten guard-house, and, disguised as shepherds,
were now trying to make friends with us, with the object of discovering
our movements. They were, of course, the three sepoys from Gyanema in
disguise.

At each step in our retreat toward the Himahlyas my heart became
heavier. I was thinking out fresh plans, but to think out plans and to
carry them into effect were two different matters.

How many times had my schemes been upset! How often had I been forced to
begin afresh when all seemed to point toward success! Now things had
changed altogether for the worse. My chances of success, notwithstanding
my constant struggle, were getting smaller and smaller every day.
Failure stared me in the face.

At this camp the _daku_ (brigand), who had changed his disguise several
times since coming in contact with the Tibetans, announced his immediate
departure. The doctor, with his usual kindness, had already begged him
to remain, but without avail. We well knew that in this region, infested
by robbers, this man was only leaving us to become a robber again. The
_daku_ knew that I carri