The next morning the two men set out again with the one donkey and its load which the Chinaman left to them, and, after a few hours' hard travel, they came to the mountain spur just above the capital of Tibet. The city was well within range, and a few minutes after they had arrived the camera was set up, and Chad was finding the focus. While they were both occupied busily, a group of yellow-clad figures was approaching from a lamasery that was half-hidden on the mountainside. The leader of the band, a one-eyed Chinaman with an almost idiotic expression, was evidently greatly respected by his followers; for the party did not change its position without his direction. Slowly and with the utmost caution they approached the unconscious workers and surrounded them; then with a yell the mob of Buddhist priests was about the camera. In another instant it was rattling down the mountainside, Chad and Jim were firmly bound, and the march back had begun. The few rays of sunlight that found entrance into the Buddhist lamasery served only to reveal the filthiness of the place; but not even the disgusting sights and odors could suppress the strangers' curiosity. In the first room was an immense statue of Buddha with a large cylinder in front of it. "A prayer wheel," whispered Chad. Jim nodded. Suddenly Chad's eyes flashed with an inspiration. Turning to the leader he exclaimed, "You speak English _now_, don't you?" The man bowed gravely, courteously. The honorable strangers' honorable conversation was greatly edifying, he murmured. "Well, then," Chad continued, "Will you tell me why we are detained here?" "The insignificant custom of the Tibetans is to resent having their souls destroyed." The voice was calm and matter-of-fact, but the words were terrible to the two men looking into the circle of hostile faces which showed so clearly their superstition and ignorance.