One day when the Man's Wife and the Tertium Quid had just arrived in the Cemetery, they saw some coolies breaking ground. They had marked out a full-size grave, and the Tertium Quid asked them whether any Sahib was sick. They said that they did not know; but it was an order that they should dig a Sahib's grave. “Work away,” said the Tertium Quid, “and let's see how it's done.” The coolies worked away, and the Man's Wife and the Tertium Quid watched and talked for a couple of hours while the grave was being deepened Then a coolie, taking the earth in blankets as it was thrown up, jumped over the grave. “That's queer,” said the Tertium Quid. “Where's my ulster?” “What's queer?” said the Man's Wife. “I have got a chill down my back just as if a goose had walked over my grave.” “Why do you look at the thing, then?” said the Man's Wife. “Let us go.” The Tertium Quid stood at the head of the grave, and stared without answering for a space. Then he said, dropping a pebble down, “It is nasty and cold; horribly cold. I don't think I shall come to the Cemetery any more. I don't think grave-digging is cheerful.” The two talked and agreed that the Cemetery was depressing. They also arranged for a ride next day out from the Cemetery through the Mashobra Tunnel up to Fagoo and back, because all the world was going to a garden-party at Viceregal Lodge, and all the people of Mashobra would go too. Coming up the Cemetery road, the Tertium Quid's horse tried to bolt up hill, being tired with standing so long, and managed to strain a back sinew. “I shall have to take the mare tomorrow,” said the Tertium Quid, “and she will stand nothing heavier than a snaffle.” They made their arrangements to meet in the Cemetery, after allowing all the Mashobra people time to pass into Simla. That night it rained heavily, and next day, when the Tertium Quid came to the trysting-place, he saw that the new grave had a foot of water in it, the ground being a tough and sour clay. “'Jove! That looks beastly,” said the Tertium Quid. “Fancy being boarded up and dropped into that well!” They then started off to Fagoo, the mare playing with the snaffle and picking her way as though she were shod with satin, and the sun shining divinely. The road below Mashobra to Fagoo is officially styled the Himalayan-Thibet Road; but in spite of its name it is not much more than six feet wide in most places, and the drop into the valley below must be anything between one and two thousand feet. “Now we're going to Thibet,” said the Man's Wife merrily, as the horses drew near to Fagoo. She was riding on the cliff-side. “Into Thibet,” said the Tertium Quid, “ever so far from people who say horrid things, and hubbies who write stupid letters. With you--to the end of the world!” A coolie carrying a log of wood came round a corner, and the mare went wide to avoid him--forefeet in and haunches out, as a sensible mare should go.