On the morning of the third day after leaving Major Endicott they were met at the British frontier by two stalwart and well-mounted Sikhs, who had been sent by their uncle to conduct them over the remaining stages of their journey; and the Major’s three sowars returned to overtake their master. That night they had only just got into camp when they experienced for the first time the full rigours of a mountain storm. Dense clouds rolled down from the heights, enveloping them in a drenching icy mist. A cutting wind sprang up, and soon a hurricane of sleet and snow burst upon them, with lightning and thunder, and other rumblings which, as they learnt from their guides, were caused by avalanches and landslips among the mountains. All next day they were storm-bound, remaining rolled up in their blankets in the tent, and feeling more low-spirited than ever. On the following morning, however, the sun rose in a cloudless sky, and they set off again through a narrow pass dangerous at any time, but doubly dangerous now that the track was almost obliterated by snow-drifts. They felt a pang of commiseration for the scantily clad coolies who trudged along barefoot in snow and slush by their mules; but the men were cheerful, laughing and singing as they marched, and the Appletons envied their hardiness and vigour. Leaving the Pamirs on their right, they threaded their way through the mountains towards what had once been the Russo-Afghan frontier. Slowly, steadily they marched on for three days, the track leading gradually downwards. Then one morning, soon after they had left camp, they saw in the far distance two horsemen riding slowly towards them. "The huzur, sahib!" said one of the guides. The lads lifted their glasses, and were then able to discern that the one of the two riders who wore a grey suit and a solah helmet was their uncle himself. They hastened on in front of their party, and in a quarter of an hour uncle and nephews met. "How do?" cried Harry Appleton, gripping them in turn by the hand. "You’ve grown since I saw you last: I should hardly have known you." "You look the same as ever," said Bob. "Wait till you see me with my hat off. Hair doesn’t grow on brains, they say. But I’m glad to see you, boys: you are looking uncommonly fit too. Have you had a pleasant journey?" "Pretty good, bar a snowstorm. Major Endicott came with us best part of the way. He’s gone to interview a troublesome tribe. He sent his salaams to you, Uncle." "Much obliged to him. He thinks I’m mad, you know. Don’t look it, do I?" The boys laughed. Their uncle was a sturdy man, rather under middle height, hard and muscular, his brown face half covered with a thick moustache and beard turning slightly grey. His blue eyes were bright and piercing, with an expression of alertness and humour. He certainly did not look mad. "Your caravan is rather smaller than I expected to see," he went on, as the mules came straggling up.