ome twenty boys were hard at work on the
classics and mathematics, undisturbed by the weird-looking gods around
them. They seemed wide awake, and showed real disappointment that I
could not stop to see a display of their skill in gymnastics. Every
good-sized village seems to boast a school of sorts, and not a few do
something for the girls.

The rain was falling as we approached Lu Ting Ch'iao, and that meant a
long evening cooped up in a noisy, ill-smelling inn, so in desperation I
took refuge under a large tree just outside the town where bushes
screened me from the passers on the road. My men had long since made up
their minds that I was rather mad, so they left me in peace, only
posting one of the soldiers in a temple near by to keep watch and ward;
but there was no need, for most of the people hereabouts are Tibetan,
and they have little of the pertinacious curiosity of the Chinese,
whether because of better manners or because less alert I do not know.
And it was well I cut short my stay in the inn, for it was about the
worst I had come across, as I took pains to inform the landlord the next
morning. But there was no choice. Lu Ting Ch'iao, or the "Town of the
Iron Bridge," derives its importance as well as its name from its
location, and it was crowded to overflowing with east- and west-bound
travellers, officials, merchants, soldiers, coolies, for all traffic
must cross the Ta Tu here, the one point spanned by a bridge. Indeed,
according to Mr. Archibald Little, this is the only bridge across any
one of the many large rivers that unite to form the Great River. It is
of the suspension sort, built in 1701, in the reign of that energetic
ruler, Kang Hi, and is three hundred and eleven feet long. The nine
cables of charcoal-smelted iron that compose it are anchored at the ends
in the usual Chinese fashion. On these are laid loose planks to serve as
a footway, while the only guard is a shaky chain on either hand. When
the wind swoops down the gorge, as it does most afternoons, the whole
structure swings uncomfortably, and I wondered at the nonchalance with
which heavily laden coolies and ponies crossed. But such as it is, this
is the one connecting link between China and Tibet, for ferrying across
the upper reaches of the Ta Tu is impracticable most of the year.

After passing the bridge we kept up a narrow trail that clung to the
face of the cliff, often cut out of the granite rock. There were no
villages, but we pa