This was a piece of luck. Kachi Ram had five bosom friends among the young Shoka coolies. In the evenings in camp they often joined in weird love-songs, in memory of the fair maids of their hearts whom they had left behind, on the other side of the Himahlyas. Kachi hurried away in a state of great excitement. He was back in a few minutes. "How many coolies will you take, sir?" "None will come." "Oh, I will get them," said he, with assurance. "Will five do?" "Yes," I murmured, incredulously. My doubt sustained a shock when Kachi returned, buoyant, saying, in his peculiar English: "Five Shokas come, sir. Then you, sir, I, sir, five coolies, sir, start night-time. What clock?" "By Jove, Kachi," I could not help exclaiming, "you are a smart lad!" "'Smart,' sir?" inquired he, sharply, hearing a new word. He was most anxious to learn English, and he had a mania for spelling. "'Smart!' What is meaning? How spell?" "S-m-a-r-t. It means 'quick, intelligent.'" "Smart," he repeated, solemnly, as he wrote the newly acquired word into a book which I had given him for the purpose. Kachi was undoubtedly, in spite of small faults, a great character. He was a most intelligent, sharp, well-meaning fellow. His never-failing good-humor and his earnest desire to learn and to be useful were quite refreshing. My luck seemed to have turned. A few minutes later Chanden Sing, quite unaware that any one had undertaken to accompany me, entered the tent, and exclaimed, in a disgusted manner: "_Shoka crab, sahib! Hunya log bura crab. Hazur, hum, do admi jaldi Lhassa giao._" (The Shokas are bad. The Hunyas are very bad. Your honor and I, we two alone, will go quickly by ourselves to Lhassa). Here was another plucky and useful man anxious to come. He professed to have no fear of death. How true the poor fellow's words were we will learn later. Chanden Sing was a man of strong sporting tastes. His happiness was complete when he could fire his rifle at something, though he was never known to hit the mark. He had been severely scolded and punished only a few days before for wasting several cartridges trying to shoot _kiang_ (wild horse) three miles distant. Ordinary work, however, such as doing his own cooking or keeping my things tidy, was distasteful to him, and was invariably passed on to others. Mansing, the leper, being unfortunately of the same caste as Chanden Sing, became my servant's servant. The two Hindoos constantly quarrelled and fought, but at heart they were the best of friends. The bearer, by means of promises, mingled at intervals with blows, eventually succeeded in inducing his protege to join in our new expedition and face what dangers we might find ahead. By eight o'clock in the evening I had collected all the men who had promised to follow me. They comprised my bearer, Kachi, and six coolies.