The Tibetans, in fact, openly claimed possession of the "pattis" bordering on Nari Khorsum; and the more obviously to impress our natives with their influence as superior to British, they came over to hibernate on our side, and made themselves quite at home in the warmer valleys and in the larger bazaars. They brought their families with them, and drove before them thousands and thousands of sheep to graze on our pasture-lands; they gradually destroyed our forests in Bias to supply South-Western Tibet with fuel for the summer months. For this they not only paid nothing, but our native subjects had to convey the timber over the high passes without remuneration. Necessarily such unprincipled task-masters did not draw the line at extorting from our natives under any pretence money, food, clothes, and everything else they could possibly levy. Some were known to travel yearly as far south as Lucknow, Calcutta, and Bombay. [Illustration: SHOKA WEAVERS] So much for the gentleness of the Tibetans--a hermit nation living in a closed country! Chanden Sing, ever anxious to be polite and helpful, would not hear of my carrying my own sketch and note books as had always been my custom, but insisted on doing so himself. "_Hum pagal neh!_" ("I am no fool!") said he with an expression of wounded feelings. "I will take great care of them." We started up the steep road, having first descended to the level of the River Dholi, 800 feet lower than Khela, crossing by a wooden bridge. The zigzag up the mountain-side seemed endless. Here and there a cool spring of crystal water quenched our thirst, welcome indeed on that tedious ascent in the broiling sun. Six miles above Khela we had risen to 7120 feet, and from this point the incline became less trying. Still we rose to 7450 feet two miles farther on, where under the shade of some magnificent old trees, at Pungo, I halted for lunch. We had entered the first inhabited village of the Shokas, visually but erroneously called Botiyas, and were now in that part of their country called Chaudas. A pleasant surprise awaited me. A smart-looking lad in European clothes came boldly forward, and, stretching out his hand, shook mine for some considerable time in a jovial and friendly fashion. "I am a Christian," said he. "I should say that you were by the way you shake hands." "Yes, sir," he proceeded. "I have prepared for you some milk, some _chapatis_ (native bread), and some nuts. Please accept them." "Thank you," I said. "You do not seem to be a bad Christian. What is your name?" "Master G. B. Walter, sir. I teach in the school." A crowd of Shokas had collected. Their first shyness having worn off, they proved to be polite and kind. The _naive_ nature and graceful manner of the Shoka girls struck me particularly on this my first introduction to them. Much less shy than the men, they came forward, and joked and laughed as if they had known me all their lives. I wished to sketch two or three of the more attractive.