Meeting two Tibetan women, I purchased, after endless trouble, a fat sheep out of a flock they were driving before them. These two females carried rope slings in their hands. The accuracy with which they could fling stones and hit the mark at great distances was really marvellous. For a few coppers they gave an exhibition of their skill, hitting any sheep they liked in their flock, even at distances of thirty and forty yards. I tried to obtain from these dangerous creatures a little information about the country, but they professed absolute ignorance. "We are servants," they said, "and we know nothing. We know each sheep in our flock, and that is all. Our lord, whose slaves we are, knows all. He knows where the rivers come from, and the ways to all Gombas. He is a great king." "And where does he live?" I inquired. "There, two miles off, where that smoke rises to the sky." The temptation was great to go and call on this "great king," who knew so many things. We might probably persuade him to sell us provisions. As we had none too many, they would be of great assistance to us. Anyhow the visit would be interesting. I decided to risk it. We steered toward the several columns of smoke that rose before us, and at last we approached a large camp of black tents. Our appearance caused a commotion. Men and women rushed in and out of their tents in great excitement. "_Jogpas! jogpas!_" (Brigands! brigands!) somebody in their camp shouted. In a moment their matchlocks were made ready, and the few men who had remained outside the tents drew their swords, holding them clumsily in their hands in a way hardly likely to terrify any one. To be taken for brigands was a novel experience for us. The war-like array was in strange contrast to the terrified expressions on the faces of those who stood there armed. In fact, when Chanden Sing and I walked forward and encouraged them to sheathe their steels and put their matchlocks by, they readily followed our advice, and brought out rugs for us to sit upon. Having overcome their fright, they were most anxious to be pleasant. "_Kiula gunge gozai deva labodu_" (You have nice clothes). I began the conversation, attempting flattery, to put the chieftain at his ease. "_Lasso, leh_" (Yes, sir), answered the Tibetan, apparently astonished, and looking at his own attire with an air of comical pride. His answer was sufficient to show me that the man considered me his superior. Had he thought me an equal or inferior he would have said _lasso_ without the _leh_. "_Kiula tuku taka zando?_" (How many children have you?) I rejoined. "_Ni_" (Two). "_Chuwen bogpe, tsamba, chon won i?_" (Will you sell me flour or _tsamba_?) "_Middu_" (Have not got any) he replied, making several quick semicircular movements with the upturned palm of his right hand. This is a most characteristic gesture of the Tibetan, and nearly invariably accompanies the word "No," instead of a movement of the head, as with us.