already fought the Kolo? When? What is your name?”
“Five years ago, at the affray over the ambassador; I still have a reminder of that day,” and he bared his arm, marked with a long sabre scar. The brigand laughed and again asked him
his name.
“I am Rala Tchembé,” said the merchant. “Maybe you know that name?”
“Yes, all the Kolo know it, it is the name of a brave man,” said the Kolo and jumped off his horse; he drew a sabre from his belt and presented it to the Tibetan. “Here,”
he said, “take this sabre, it is my best. We fought more than once; when next we meet, we shall meet as brothers.” The Tibetan accepted the gift and gave the brigand chief in exchange a
magnificent bow and quiver which he had bought in Peking.
The Kolo who had remained outside the camp, seeing that their chief was fraternising with the headman of the caravan, dismounted, tied their horses in pairs by the bridles and came to drink a
friendly bowl of tea with the poor travellers who were at last beginning to breathe again. All these brigands were extremely amiable; they asked for news of the Tartar-Khalkas, whom they were
particularly anxious to meet, because during the previous year they had killed two of their men who had to be avenged. Politics were also discussed. The brigands claimed to be great supporters of
the Dalai Lama, and bitter enemies of the emperor of China; this was why they seldom failed to plunder the embassy on its way to Peking, since they held that the emperor was unworthy to receive
gifts from the Dalai Lama, but normally respected it on its return, because it was right and proper that the emperor should send gifts to the Dalai Lama. After graciously accepting the tea and tsamba of the caravan, the brigands wished us a good journey and set off back to their camp. Despite all these brotherly gestures we slept with one eye open. The night was untroubled,
however, and next day we peacefully resumed our journey. Amongst the many pilgrims who have taken the road to Lhasa, there are few indeed who can boast of having seen the brigands so near at hand,
and suffered no harm from them.
We had just escaped one danger, but, we were told, another even greater, though of a different nature, awaited us. We were beginning to climb the huge chain of the Tant La Mountains. According
to our travelling companions all the sick would die on the plateau, and even the healthy would suffer greatly. Father Gabet was condemned to certain death by the experienced travellers. After six
days’ painful climb up a number of mountains, ranged as in an amphitheatre one above another, we finally arrived on this famous plateau, maybe the highest point of the world. The snow seemed
to form a permanent crust, to be part of the soil. Although it crackled under our feet we hardly left the slightest footprint. The only vegetation was a grass, growing here and there in clumps,
short, sharp, smooth, of a woody texture, hard as iron but not brittle; it would have made very good upholsterers’ needles. The animals were so famished that, willy nilly, they had to graze
on this terrible stuff. We could hear it crunch as they bit, and they could only get a few mouthfuls of it down after a fierce struggle which made their lips bleed.
Beyond the edge of this magnificent plateau we could see below us the summits and peaks of a number of great ranges of mountains, stretching far away to the horizon. We had never seen anything
to compare with the splendour of this stupendous sight. For the twelve days that we travelled on the top of the Tant La we had good weather; the air was windless, and each day God sent a
health-giving warm sunshine that tempered to some extent the cold of the atmosphere. Yet the air, much rarefied by the great altitude, was incredibly bracing. Enormous eagles followed our band of
travellers, and every day several corpses were left behind for them. It was decreed that Death should also take toll of our small
“Five years ago, at the affray over the ambassador; I still have a reminder of that day,” and he bared his arm, marked with a long sabre scar. The brigand laughed and again asked him
his name.
“I am Rala Tchembé,” said the merchant. “Maybe you know that name?”
“Yes, all the Kolo know it, it is the name of a brave man,” said the Kolo and jumped off his horse; he drew a sabre from his belt and presented it to the Tibetan. “Here,”
he said, “take this sabre, it is my best. We fought more than once; when next we meet, we shall meet as brothers.” The Tibetan accepted the gift and gave the brigand chief in exchange a
magnificent bow and quiver which he had bought in Peking.
The Kolo who had remained outside the camp, seeing that their chief was fraternising with the headman of the caravan, dismounted, tied their horses in pairs by the bridles and came to drink a
friendly bowl of tea with the poor travellers who were at last beginning to breathe again. All these brigands were extremely amiable; they asked for news of the Tartar-Khalkas, whom they were
particularly anxious to meet, because during the previous year they had killed two of their men who had to be avenged. Politics were also discussed. The brigands claimed to be great supporters of
the Dalai Lama, and bitter enemies of the emperor of China; this was why they seldom failed to plunder the embassy on its way to Peking, since they held that the emperor was unworthy to receive
gifts from the Dalai Lama, but normally respected it on its return, because it was right and proper that the emperor should send gifts to the Dalai Lama. After graciously accepting the tea and tsamba of the caravan, the brigands wished us a good journey and set off back to their camp. Despite all these brotherly gestures we slept with one eye open. The night was untroubled,
however, and next day we peacefully resumed our journey. Amongst the many pilgrims who have taken the road to Lhasa, there are few indeed who can boast of having seen the brigands so near at hand,
and suffered no harm from them.
We had just escaped one danger, but, we were told, another even greater, though of a different nature, awaited us. We were beginning to climb the huge chain of the Tant La Mountains. According
to our travelling companions all the sick would die on the plateau, and even the healthy would suffer greatly. Father Gabet was condemned to certain death by the experienced travellers. After six
days’ painful climb up a number of mountains, ranged as in an amphitheatre one above another, we finally arrived on this famous plateau, maybe the highest point of the world. The snow seemed
to form a permanent crust, to be part of the soil. Although it crackled under our feet we hardly left the slightest footprint. The only vegetation was a grass, growing here and there in clumps,
short, sharp, smooth, of a woody texture, hard as iron but not brittle; it would have made very good upholsterers’ needles. The animals were so famished that, willy nilly, they had to graze
on this terrible stuff. We could hear it crunch as they bit, and they could only get a few mouthfuls of it down after a fierce struggle which made their lips bleed.
Beyond the edge of this magnificent plateau we could see below us the summits and peaks of a number of great ranges of mountains, stretching far away to the horizon. We had never seen anything
to compare with the splendour of this stupendous sight. For the twelve days that we travelled on the top of the Tant La we had good weather; the air was windless, and each day God sent a
health-giving warm sunshine that tempered to some extent the cold of the atmosphere. Yet the air, much rarefied by the great altitude, was incredibly bracing. Enormous eagles followed our band of
travellers, and every day several corpses were left behind for them. It was decreed that Death should also take toll of our small
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