hollow which would bring us to the back of a ridge close to the burrhel, the air being on the move across from them to us. It took over an hour to reach the particular pointed rock we had noted. Over this Munnoo was not long in verifying our position as just opposite to where the herd still lay quietly. Having rested a moment to allay the unsteady panting caused by the quick climb, I had the satisfaction of seeing fifteen old rams lying asleep, most of them with their heads resting on the ground, and not seventy yards off. Recollecting that one is terribly apt to fire high at these close distances, and having picked the heaviest head, I slipped the point of my double rifle, a 16-bore Jacob, over the rock; and, being perfectly steady and cool, he dropped to a shot in the neck. Terrified at the report, they sprung to their feet, and, not knowing whence the danger came, stood for a second, when another big ram fell to the second barrel. Munnoo, who lay behind me, handed the second rifle; and, still in doubt, the herd started to run in all directions, some actually towards me, and passed within twenty yards below me. A third was hit behind the shoulder as they galloped by, and the fourth bullet went high. So I had *succeeded in killing three rams with four barrels, and securing a very nice lot of mutton for the men to eat, and some good heads, the biggest with horns 15 inches long and II inches girth.

The rams are found at this season separate from the ewes, as in the case of the thar. The burrhel is not a forest animal; he lives entirely on the grassy hills above the tree-line, and grazes on the slopes, retreating to more precipitous ground when disturbed. He can move on the face of the most dangerous crags quite as freely as the wild goats.

We sloped along the upper levels towards the trail,

and found the camp pitched in a flat, with snow lying all round and mist drifting up from the south. The south-west monsoon was about now due, and we were enveloped soon in dense clouds, with a warm damp breeze blowing up from the plains of India. We were close to the summit of the great range, and to-morrow we were to cross the frontier.

CHAPTER X

HUNDACE OR HUNDES: THE LAND OF THE HUNS

THE sixty Bhotia carriers, hardy, strong, well clad mountaineers, all wearing thick gray woollen clothing with good native-made shoes or Hunia boots, grouped under rocks round the tents, had lighted fires, and were cooking strips of burrhel meat and boiling coppers of rice. The yaks and ponies were grazing close by on the short grass, and Jussoo was at the tent door discussing the chances of our crossing on the morrow without being obstructed by the Hunias. They had given out that the sahibs were gone into Nepal to shoot. Soon all the men, tired with the weight of their loads, wrapped themselves in their thick goats' hair blankets and lay all round the tents. At early morn we were on the move, and soon got on to snow, the last ascent being steep but by no means difficult. The yaks were driven on ahead along the face of the snow slopes, an old cow leading. She smelt her way on the safest and most solid snow, by instinct choosing the places where the surface was sound, and the others followed in her footsteps. By the time these heavy animals had passed there was as fine a flight of solid steps cut in the snow as could be made by the best ice-axe man, and no one sank in or even got wet feet. The difficulties of Alpine climbing as usually described by mountaineers are thus very much simplified.

No one had crossed the Tinkar Pass this year, and the

path had to be found. But barring the great labour of walking at an elevation of nearly 18,000 feet, there was not much difficulty and no danger. Some of the bearers became exhausted under their heavy loads, and some were sick, and all complained of headaches. Goggles over the eyes were necessary; or strips of black crape, which we brought for the men, were worn tied over the eyes. A few, who had not recovered from the big drink to celebrate the start from their homes, threw down their loads and declined to proceed; but, acting as rearguard, I was provided with a flask of brandy carried on my saddle pony, which brought the laggards to the scratch. The native opinion is that there is poison in the air at these high elevations, and they have a great dread of the mountain sickness which generally affects people. With me it only took the form of headache and a singing in the ears; but with some it seemed to cause prostration and vomiting and bleeding from ears and nose.

Following the track in cloud and damp mist and snow, by ten o'clock we found ourselves all safe at the summit, and for a moment the cloud cleared away. Looking back, a wonderful view of dark valleys opened under our feet, with distant ranges melting away in the blue, hazy distance, and valleys traced out on the distant map, giant peaks of white quartz rock or snow standing in blocks, over the top of which we could see out into the far, far, hazy, dim distance where lay the sultry plains of Hindustan. Above these drifted up perpetually from the south a canopy of white, fleecy clouds, which struck the highest summits of the Himalayas and then tumbled over to the other side. But, strange to say, the endless phalanxes of soft white vapour, in falling over the rim, as it were, melted away suddenly into invisibility, and to the north was a clear blue sky without a cloud, and a fierce blaze of vertical

sunshine. No words can describe the transformation scene which the view northward presented.

The contrast was surprising and startling. Sloping away gradually northward from the summits there were gently rounded hills, smoothed and levelled off almost like plains. To the south the best roads were but dangerous tracks, where the most sure-footed might slip or fall down into depths unseen. To the north there was an endless stretch of smooth surface, where a coach and four might be driven without fear of an upset. To the south was a climate where the rainfall for half the year was 200 to 300 inches, and the snow line was about 16,000 feet above the sea. To the north was an almost rainless climate, with a snow line at an elevation of 19,000 to 20,000 feet. Towards India was dense forest, and vegetation covering every spot and clinging to every hillside where a bush or a blade of grass could grow. To the north there was not a tree in a thousand miles, or perhaps ten thousand, not a bush to be seen, scarce a blade of grass— nothing but stones, gravel, shingle, or clay. To the south you could not see the soil for its dense parasitic clothing of vegetation, green and blue, stretching to eternity under a deep and sombre canopy. To the north not a scrap of green in the whole landscape-nothing but brilliant crude red and yellow and purple and white, dazzlingly marbled out under a blazing sun. Lastly, to the south lay a region of rivers and torrents, noisy streams and cascades, perpetually roaring and cutting up the soil into an endless network of deep ravines and watercourses, while to the north there lay vast and arid plains where (except from scantily melting snow) no water was to be found; the beds of streams could be seen but rarely and they were often dry, and what rivers were found flowed gently and with feeble current.