soon after leaving the last camp, had thrown away
their loads and deserted with the animals. This was
disconcerting intelligence, but it was obviously useless
to send back for these abandoned stores, as we could
hardly trust the hired men we still had with us, and
should they desert, we should be in a very awkward
fix. All that could be done was to see that the most
valuable stores were packed on our own ponies and
the coarser grain on the hired animals. We had left
Phobrang, eight days ago, with seventy animals, and
were now reduced to thirty-six.
We were, however, unable to convince ourselves
even at this stage that these men could deliberately
intend to desert us, and comforted ourselves with the
hope that they would all rejoin at Arport Tso within
a few days of our arrival. Our own men, meanwhile,
were working honestly and well; they did not seem to
be at all disheartened by the dreary prospect of snow
which stretched in an unvarying white sheet to the
eastern horizon, or by the loss of the reserve supplies
of food.
On the following morning—June 11th—the weather
had improved; there was not a cloud in the sky, and
the sun thoroughly warmed both man and beast—not,
indeed, before they needed it, for a night in the snow
with 24 degrees of frost is enough to cool the most
ardent spirit. We breakfasted, or rather attempted to
breakfast, at daybreak, little impression being made
on the eatables as everything was frozen hard.
A four miles’ march brought us to the Lanak La,
18,000 feet high. The ascent was easy, so the tents
were pitched that night but a few feet below the
summit of the pass and about seven miles beyond the
boundary pillar between Ladak and Tibet.
CHAPTER VI
ACROSS THE FRONTIER
A ctual cold as registered by the thermometer is in
itself not often unbearable, but when accompanied
by a howling, biting wind, one’s powers of endurance
are taxed to the utmost. Such was the wind that
blew upon us that night on the Lanak La, and, indeed,
almost every day for the first month of our journey.
The intensity of the cold was evidenced by the fact
that our ink-pot burst during the night, the spilled
contents being frozen solid on the outside of the bottle
before the ink had time to run down the side an
inauspicious omen of what was in store for us.
We started on our way through desolate scenery,
without a sign of any vegetation; the road traversed
three wet, barren plains intersected by rocky ridges,
while all around lay patches of half-thawed snow.
Many doe antelope, most of them with young, were
encountered on the road and near the camp ; it is
difficult to imagine how they exist in these barren
regions. We camped in a side nullah called Book-
chang, where it had been our original intention to
halt for a day, but the scarcity of fodder compelled us
to push on. Snow fell steadily all the afternoon and
the cold became more intense than ever.
To add to our misfortunes, trouble arose between
some of the men; the Argoons and Kashmiris had
been continually quarrelling—each believing the other
39