We recovered the stampeded ponies, helped by Ah Sing and Lo Eng, who had been far in the rear at the time of the brush, leading one of the baggage animals that had gone lame and could carry no load. One by one we got the lot, but the bearers were harder to collect. I noticed a couple of them skulking shamefast in the middle distance, and thought at first they were watching me; then I saw it was Philipson they were looking at, with eyes of awe and fear. When at last they had gathered into a sulky knot, Philipson summoned them to approach. They hesitated, then, obviously in spite of themselves, slunk up to our leader, who addressed them in their own dialect. I didn't know enough of this to follow his words closely, but there was no mistaking the gist. The hillmen were manifestly ill at ease. They shifted their weight from one foot to the other. Under the swarthy skin and life-long dirt of their faces a paleness became apparent. With a miserable cry one of them dropped to his knees, head to earth, and the rest followed suit, groaning and whining. Still the level, hard voice of Saunders Philipson kept on. It was like some long, blighting curse to listen to. He pointed to the yak, apparently drawing a parallel from its fate, and at last strode up to the grovelling hillmen, stretching his blood-crusted hands over their heads and raising his voice to a startling, terrible shout. At this moment I happened to glance at Poyning. I may have been mistaken, but I thought he trembled. Then I noticed I was trembling a little myself. Philipson ceased, motioning the bearers back to their work, and they scuttled off, clearly relieved to find themselves still alive. 'Those fellows will behave better in future,' said our leader, turning to us. 'They know now that the next man to fail in his duty dies. I have also taken the precaution of making them understand that I am bullet-proof, in case one of them should be tempted to seek revenge with a gun.' We halted while the bearers cut up the slain yak and prepared the meat for transport. Ah Sing and Lo Eng were superintending the work, in their capacity of non-commissioned officers, and I heard them haranguing the bearers in a style the very reverse of sympathetic. They had learned how the hillmen deserted in the hour of danger, and I anticipated that for the next few days those bearers would have a thin time of it. But when Ah Sing came to me a few minutes afterwards, there wasn't much of the bullying ganger about him. Instead, he looked strangely uncomfortable. 'My no likum dis, Misser Mirlee,' he said, shaking his head. 'My long time sabbee master him plenty stlong. Jus' now my tinkee him too muchee stlong.' 'What gives you that impression, Ah Sing?' I said. His voice took on a tone of awe. 'Jus' now my look-see dat piecee yakkum,' he said, with his hand held edgewise to his own poll. 'Him neckee bloke-um hab got!'