From the village of Meh Pik, which we had passed, he said a path led westward across the hills to Viang Pow, which was reached by caravans in three days. The descent on the Viang Pow side of the hills was very gradual, but part of the ascent from the Meh Low side was difficult. His village contained sixty houses, but he could not tell, without referring to his books, the number in the other villages under his jurisdiction. In the village I noticed peach-trees, the first I had seen. [Illustration: _The little elephant’s fun._ ] The next day we left early, and a mile and a half from our camp entered the gorge through which the Meh Low escapes between the spurs from Loi Kook Loi Chang on the west and Loi Mok on the east. These two ranges form the north and east flanks of the old lake-basin, which is now drained by the Meh Low. For five miles, spurs from either side occasionally approached near the stream, which we had frequently to cross in order to shorten our route, as the river is very serpentine in its course. Whilst passing through this gorge, Ramasawmy was playing “God bless the Prince of Wales” on a reed flute; and the little elephant was taking every chance he could to hustle the men over as they crossed the river, and souse them with water from his trunk. If there is truth in transmigration of souls, that little rogue must have been a monkey in a former existence, and had not lost his zest for malicious pranks. Portow, who had an overweening opinion of his own dignity, and was bent on setting up as an oracle, was unfortunately not only the butt of the boys, but likewise the sport of the baby-elephant. Many a time have I seen him hustled over by the youngster, who seemed to have picked him out as his playmate. Slily and softly stealing up behind, he would suddenly increase his pace, and with a quick shuffle or a sudden lurch shoulder him sprawling to the ground. Portow during this part of the journey behaved like a hunted or haunted man, ever looking behind to see whether the dreadful infant was near. The large spurs on our left were called Loi Pa Kuang, the hill of the deer-forest; Loi Wung Ngoo, the hill of the snake pool: between which rose Huay Pak Chang, the brook of the elephant’s mouth; and Loi Kee-Wo Hay, the hill where the cattle scatter their dung, so called because the cattle caravans that cross it on their way by a short cut to Kiang Hai, are much distressed whilst ascending its steep sides. There were several plains in the gorge, the spurs being at times half a mile and a mile apart.