ABSTRACT
Above our camp the valley expanded on to a bare plateau at a height of 18,000 feet. It was as well we had a guide with us, for it looked as though we could cross the range anywhere within a space of two miles. We could have reached the rim of the amphitheatre anywhere; but only one valley led down to Shoshi Dzong. There were no outstanding peaks in any direction. Passing the red mountain, we reached one which was dazzling white, and crunched over a broad saddle strewn with crystals of calcite. Near the pass was a small glacier and a lake. A saw-edged wind rasped our faces, flaying the skin. Then began the descent of another interminable valley. All day we marched, descending gradually from a lifeless region of rock and snow to alpine pastures, from alpine pastures to scrub. However, the monotony was enlivened late in the afternoon by an incident. The path here skirted the hillside a hundred feet above the bottom of the valley, where a narrow strip of pasture showed. A quarter of a mile ahead stood three black tents; and I noted the tall lanky figure of a Kampa herdsman standing outside one of them. Two dogs now detached themselves from the encampment, and bounding up the slope were lost to view behind a shoulder. I was on foot, my party some distance behind. Herdsmen and dogs — usually tied up — were familiar objects, and I paid no particular attention to them until, suddenly rounding a corner, I saw the great angular head of a Tibetan mastiff poked up from behind a rock, not twenty yards away. It looked at me without a trace of friendliness in its bloodshot eyes, and I suddenly realized my danger. Being quite unarmed, I hastily picked up the largest stone I could find and retreated backwards, shouting to the herdsman below. Then the second dog popped up its head. They were huge, hungry-looking brutes, weighing perhaps 150 lb. each; these mastiffs make a blind rush, and in the first onslaught will knock a man down. At that critical moment there came a most welcome diversion. Some of the yak drivers farther back had seen and taken in the whole incident. Suddenly I heard a man running behind me, and a stone whistled over my head. ‘Pönpo,’ panted a stout fellow, ‘look out! dogs!’ He dashed past me, with drawn sword, and the mastiffs began to retreat. More men arrived and my servants, shouting angrily to the herdsman, rushed up. Reluctantly the dogs drew off, were captured by the surly Kampa — who throughout the proceedings had displayed a truly remarkable detachment — and tied up. I felt greatly relieved; I had had a good fright.
