ABSTRACT
In accordance with our plan, towards sunset we started on our way to the fortress-town, but we had several weary hours before we reached it. In the first place, we had under-estimated the distance covered, and, secondly, we were considerably delayed owing to the collapse of “Shigatsé,” our second pony. He had fought the good fight well, but starvation and piercing cold had mortally weakened him, and at last he refused to go a step farther. I was very loath to lose him, and I thought that if we could only get him to Kampa Dzong, where shelter and good food awaited, he might yet recover. By alternate pushings and pullings we managed to get him another half-mile on the way, but in the end he died under our eyes despite all our efforts. Already overloaded as they were, it was impossible to add another pound to the weight carried by the other animals, so I was forced to abandon, with the dead pony, his saddle and one of our saddle-bags which he was carrying. Our travelling equipment had been reduced to what seemed an absolute minimum, but bit by bit we were being forced to dispense with a good part of even this minimum. The discarded saddle, incidentally, was of good English make and had cost a pretty penny. In Tibet, for the most part, in spite of the abundance of yak-hides which can be made into excellent leather, the saddles are constructed of wood. The wooden saddles of the richer classes are inlaid with coral and turquoise, the favourite jewels of the Tibetan, and some are of really pretty workmanship, though insufferably hard, so that it is the custom to lay a number of carpets of native make on top of the saddle to ease the rider’s seat. When saddled, a Tibetan pony, therefore, appears to have imitated a dromedary and grown a huge hump on its back.
