While the Lama was talking with these people, the owner of the tent came up and was much astonished to find an unexpected visitor. He followed the Lama to our tent and sat down on the wet ground outside the entrance. His name was Sampo Singi, and he was the dirtiest fellow I ever saw in my life. The rain-water dropped from his matted hair on to the ragged cloak he wore; he wore felt boots but no trousers, which indeed almost all Tibetan nomads regard as quite, superfluous. Sampo Singi blew his nose with his fingers, making a loud noise, and he did it so often that I began to think that it was some form of politeness. To make sure I followed his example. He showed not the slightest suspicion, only looked at our things and gave us the information we wanted. We had a journey of eight days more to Lhasa, he assured us. Then Shagdur gave him a pinch of snuff which made him sneeze at least fifty times. We laughed at him when he asked whether we put pepper in our snuff, whereupon, in order to keep up our story, Shagdur roared at me, "Do not sit here and stare, boy; go and drive in the cattle." I started up at once, and had a terrible job to get the animals in to the camp. We had an undisturbed night, thanks to the neighbourhood of the nomads, for they too had fierce dogs and arms. Early in the morning Sampo came with another man and a woman to visit us. We had asked if we might buy some food from them, and they brought several choice things with them--a sheep, a large piece of fat, a bowl of sour milk, a wooden bowl of powdered cheese, a can of milk, and a lump of yellow cream cheese. Then came the question of payment. Our money consisted of Chinese silver pieces, which are valued by weight, and are weighed out with a pair of small scales. Sampo Singi, however, would take only silver coins from Lhasa, of which we had none. Fortunately I had provided myself with two packages of blue Chinese silken material in Turkestan, and a length of that is a substitute for silver of all kinds. The Tibetans became quite excited when they heard the rustle of the silk, and after the usual haggling and bargaining we came to an agreement. The sheep was then slaughtered, some fat pieces were fried over the fire, and after a solid breakfast, of which a share was bestowed on the dogs, we bade farewell to the Tibetans and rode on through the valley, still in pouring rain. Soon we came to the right bank of a broad river which was composed of about twenty arms, four of which were each as large as an ordinary stream. Without hesitation our courageous little Lama rode straight out into the rapid turbid current, and Shagdur and I followed. When we had crossed about half the river we rested a while on a small mud flat, from which neither bank could be seen owing to the rain. On all sides we were surrounded by swiftly flowing water, yet it seemed as if the water was standing still while the small sandbank rushed up the river at a terrific pace.