'Put it to yourselves as rational men,' he said. 'The Tibetan Sbrang Chikya, who died on this spot, had strayed from his caravan, and he must have strayed a long way, since we are far west of any caravan route that I know of. Why he came in this direction, which was the least likely to lead to safety, I do not know, but it is probable that the mountains remained wrapped in cloud and he lost his bearings, only to pick them up again when he got down into the valley and saw the sun. You will remember he describes the valley quite definitely as west of this spot. But we must assume from the fact that he had left the caravan presumably without preparation of any sort that he had little food with him, and how far could a man travel like that in these mountains? Certainly not much farther than we are from the nearest caravan route at this moment. Therefore I say the valley of great birds cannot be much beyond this point. Is not that sound logic?' There was no denying it was. 'Then let us get on at once and find the valley.' 'Before the snow clears?' 'If we wait for that we may be merely waiting for a fresh fall. We must make a dash for it. The sooner we are off these heights the better. Never fear, I will find you a track!' We paid off the bearers and parted company with them for ever. If I wanted proof that Philipson really believed we were near the end of the trail, the way he dismissed those hillmen would have convinced me: he not only gave them more than the stipulated wage, but all the surplus gear which, in his view, we should no longer require. They then filed off down the pass, heading north-east. We ourselves divided the rest of the baggage into five packs, and struck due west by Philipson's compass.