CHAPTER IV

THE AVALANCHE

On the morning of the second day from that night the sunrise found us already on our path across the desert.  There, nearly a mile behind us, we could see the ruined statue of Buddha seated in front of the ancient monastery, and in that clear atmosphere could even distinguish the bent form of our friend, the old abbot, Kou-en, leaning against it until we were quite lost to sight.  All the monks had wept when we parted from them, and Kou-en even more bitterly than the rest, for he had learned to love us.

“I am grieved,” he said, “much grieved, which indeed I should not be, for such emotion partakes of sin.  Yet I find comfort, for I know well that although I must soon leave this present life, yet we shall meet again in many future incarnations, and after you have put away these follies, together tread the path to perfect peace.  Now take with you my blessings and my prayers and begone, forgetting not that should you live to return”—­and he shook his head, doubtfully—­“here you will be ever welcome.”

So we embraced him and went sorrowfully.

It will be remembered that when the mysterious light fell upon us on the peak I had my compass with me and was able roughly to take its bearings.  For lack of any better guide we now followed these bearings, travelling almost due north-east, for in that direction had shone the fire.  All day in the most beautiful weather we marched across the flower-strewn desert, seeing nothing except bunches of game and one or two herds of wild asses which had come down from the mountains to feed upon the new grass.  As evening approached we shot an antelope and made our camp—­for we had brought the yak and a tent with us—­among some tamarisk scrub, of which the dry stems furnished us with fuel.  Nor did we lack for water, since by scraping in the sand soaked with melted snow, we found plenty of fair quality.  So that night we supped in luxury upon tea and antelope meat, which indeed we were glad to have, as it spared our little store of dried provisions.

The next morning we ascertained our position as well as we could, and estimated that we had crossed about a quarter of the desert, a guess which proved very accurate, for on the evening of the fourth day of our journey we reached the bottom slopes of the opposing mountains, without having experienced either accident or fatigue.  As Leo said, things were “going like clockwork,” but I reminded him that a good start often meant a bad finish.  Nor was I wrong, for now came our hardships.  To begin with, the mountains proved to be exceeding high; it took us two days to climb their lower slopes.  Also the heat of the sun had softened the snow, which made walking through it laborious, whilst, accustomed though we were to such conditions through long years of travelling, its continual glitter affected our eyes.