against the down sweep of the green turquoise flood.
Sometimes for a mile one does but hear the stream of
the Rang-po murmuring invisibly through the trees ;
again over its very waters the track clings scantily
round the bare red scarp of some intruding spur, hand-
railed most rottenly. A warm breath of guimauve-like
scent pants out at one here : there is the sweet acrid
perfume of wild geranium, more taste than smell. The
fierce glare of the day sinks imperceptibly into a cooler
and a steadier ligh t; there is no sign of sunset yet
awhile; only the high crowned ridges of the western
heights break his force. And presently the dust on
the patient road-side foliage seems half shaken off, and
tints and shades creep out on surfaces which the blatant
heat of midday had frightened into an insignificant
blur of neutral colours.
Here the cactus stops for a while, why, I do not
know : there are many puzzles in this Himalayan botany.
Why does the rhododendron grow to the very highest
spot on the south and refuse to put forth a leaf at any
elevation to the north ? Why does the blue poppy of
Tibet despise utterly the identical rocks and ledges,
offered at the same height south of the Tang la ? Why
does the bamboo stop with a certainty and cleanness
at a height of 9,500 feet on the south, which
enables the Bhutanese to use it as their frontier
mark, while two hundred miles away on a hill side
at Lhasa a flourishing twenty-five foot hedge keeps
the cold from the Chief Wizard’s house, nearly 13,000
feet above the sea ?
You will cross the bridge at Rang-po ; and there you
will stay the night, sleeping under mosquito nets for
the last time. The stream you have just crossed you
will meet again under very different circumstances,
but some suggestion of the clear emerald of its ice-bound
pools at Lagyap still lingers as it joins the snow-stained
A tributary of the Rang-po.
waters of the Rang-po. Still going on, your path lies
on the left bank of the latter river, chiefly bound up
against the side of the river cliff. Six miles will take
you to the last river that you will have to follow till
Tibet is reached. The Rong-ni is, after all, the most