"What are you going to do?" inquired the doctor of me. "I think you had better return to Garbyang, get fresh men, and make another start." "No, doctor. I will die rather than continue this backward march. There will be a far better chance if I go alone, and I have resolved to start to-night, for I am convinced that I shall find my way over the range." "No, no, it is impossible, Mr. Landor," cried the doctor, with tears in his eyes. "That must mean death to any one attempting it." I told him that I was quite determined. The poor doctor was dumbfounded. He knew that it was useless to try to dissuade me. I went into the tent to rearrange and reduce my baggage, making a load small enough to carry on my back, in addition to the daily kit and instruments. Whilst I was making preparations for my journey, Kachi Ram entered the tent. He looked frightened and perplexed. "What are you doing, sir?" inquired he hurriedly. "The doctor says you are going to leave alone to-night, cross the mountain range, and go to Lhassa by yourself." "Yes, that is true." "Oh, sir! The perils and dangers are too great, you cannot go." "I know, but I am going to try." "Oh, sir! Then I will come with you." "No, Kachi. You will suffer too much. Go back to your father and mother now that you have the opportunity." "No, sir; where you go, I will go. Small men never suffer. If they do it does not matter. Only great men's sufferings are worth noticing. If you suffer, I will suffer. I will come." Kachi's philosophy touched me. I ascertained beyond doubt that he meant what he said, and then decided to take him. This was a piece of luck. Kachi Ram had five bosom friends among the young Shoka coolies. They were all friends of the Rambang, and in the evenings in camp they often used to join and sing weird songs in honour of the fair maids of their hearts, whom they had left on the other side of the Himahlyas. Kachi hurried away in a state of feverish excitement. He was back in a few minutes. "How many coolies will you take, sir?" "None will come." "Oh, I will get them. Will five do?" "Yes," I murmured incredulously. My scepticism 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 in a book which I had given him for the purpose. Kachi was undoubtedly, in spite of some small faults, a great character. He was a most intelligent, sharp, well-meaning fellow. His never failing good humour, and his earnest desire to learn and to be useful, were quite refreshing.