We accompanied the young man, and were courteously received by the governor, Chow Phya Pet (_Pet_ is Shan for a diamond), a fine-looking old gentleman, seventy-eight years of age, who said he had resided in the city ever since he was twenty-five years old, when there were only two houses in it. The city had been burnt by the Ngios (Burmese Shans) fifteen years before, in 1869. The Ngios were under the leadership of Roy Sam, the governor of Muang Hăng, the State in the upper valley of the Meh Teng. Muang Hăng was subsequently deserted, but had lately been resettled by A-Chai, a brother of Roy Sam, and now had twenty houses in it. Another play was being acted at the governor’s, and we recognised one of our mahouts amongst the performers. The governor told us that his _Muang_ contained 2000 inhabitants, chiefly witches who had been turned out of Zimmé; other people were therefore reluctant to settle there, being afraid that the witches might work them harm. Amongst his people were 200 fighting (or full-grown free) men. Some of the teak-forests belonged to the Chow Che Wit, and one to Chow Ootarakan of Zimmé. The forests are worked by our Burmese subjects. Leaving Muang Ngai the next day, we turned east, and crossed a low table-topped hill formed of soft sandstone, until we reached the Meh Ping. When crossing the river (which was 100 feet broad and 10 feet deep, with 1¾ foot depth of water, and a sandstone bed), I was amused by seeing the leading man on foot pull his foot quickly up as he stepped in a hot spring, but not saying a word for fear the others should miss doing likewise. The crossing lay 43½ miles from Zimmé, and 1444 feet above the sea. Small canoes can reach this place, but cannot proceed farther up the river. From the river we crossed a low spur, and ascended through a teak-forest along the south bank of a stream called the Meh Na Oi, until we reached the crest of the plateau, and passed through a gap in Loi Pa-Yat Pa-Yai,—the limestone cliffs that fringe the edge of the plateau, which lies 300 feet above the bank of the Meh Ping. _Pa_ means rocks; and _Yat_ and _Yai_, in a straight line. The line of cliffs is precipitous on both sides, and lies nearly due north and south. Pine-trees were occasionally seen in the forest. For the next six miles we skirted the eastern face of the cliffs, the streams on our right draining into the Meh Pam, which enters the Meh Ping a mile to the south of Muang Ngai. As we left the cliffs to descend to the Meh Poi, a heavy shower of rain came down on us like a deluge, from a low-lying cloud which capped some of the neighbouring peaks. The broken rainbows on the mist, and the battle between sunshine and cloud amongst the crags and peaks, made such a scene of beauty and grandeur that even the stolid elephant-drivers stopped their animals and shouted with delight.