The wind fell about mid-day, letting down a brisk fall of snow for some three hours; then the sky cleared, and we were shown the full direness of our calamity. Advance or retreat was out of the question till the snow thinned, and we set about pitching a camp in the normal pattern--pulling down our canvas wall and resolving it into three tents. This kept us busy till dark. An atmosphere of utter dejection was everywhere, which even Philipson's dogged energy and inspiration couldn't lift. For myself, it was useless to deny I had ceased to believe we could win through. Our one great hope had failed us: we had been counting all along on "summer" weather, whatever the difficulties of the route; but this terrific blizzard proved that such reliance had been mere vain imagining. I could see Poyning was a prey to similar gloomy forebodings, and I knew from the look of the hillmen that if we got any more help from them it would only be because of their mortal terror of Saunders Philipson. The Chinese servants alone seemed to have no thought of retreat. They wore the fatalistic look of men reconciled to death, and content to humour their master's madness to the end. That night there was again a terrific frost, but sheltered as we now were by a canvas wall on all sides, we felt it far less than before, and reckoned to make do with the yak-hide spread out mattress-wise underneath us. At last, however, the cold awakened me, and sitting up, I was a good deal startled to see that the flap of the tent was open. I crept to it and looked out. In a direct line, and no great distance away, was the bearers' tent; and it seemed to me that instant that a figure was disappearing through their door. This was disquieting. If the hillmen deserted--as I made little doubt they would if a chance presented--they would get no wages except by robbery. Could it be that the man I saw retreating into their tent had just visited ours, and left the flap unfastened in his hurry? I turned to rouse Philipson and report my suspicions. This was queerer still. Philipson's place on the yak-hide was empty.