CHAPTER X

ACROSS THE WINTRY HIMALAYAN PASSES BACK TO KASHMIR

Leaving Karasu, we marched through a barren and desolate countryside to Tagharma, in the Sarikol Pamirs. One feels that it is a very old land, but there is little tangible evidence of its antiquity. The mud-daubed stone houses of the villages are probably the counterparts of those that stood here two thousand years ago; no doubt many of the rocks used in the buildings are identical, but there is nothing to tell one so. Everything of man’s handiwork has taken on the ageless dun hue of the desert. On some big boulders near where we made our noonday halt, there were scratched rough likenesses of the ovis poli.

Tagharma might claim title as an oasis because of the presence of a few straggling willow-trees. Here the Rajah of Sarikol came to meet us, a pleasant-appearing boy clad in a tunic of purple plush. His retainers were a fierce-eyed, hawk-featured set; totally unlike our Kirghiz friends in bearing and physique. Some travellers credit this obvious Aryan race to Alexander the Great’s expeditionary force, which must have been marvellously prolific if all the isolated Aryan tribes found throughout this part of the Himalayas are really from remnants of that army.

Next morning we rode in to Tashkurghan, running the gauntlet of a series of refreshment booths set out for us by hospitable Beys. Rustum Bey was the first to halt us and escort us into the dried mud shelter in which he had spread carpets for our reception. Here we drank the inevitable tea of ceremony from the grimy china bowls, and ate a few nuts and watermelon seeds. We had already taken an early tiffin in order to leave us free to start immediately on our bundobust when we should arrive at Tashkurghan, so at each additional gathering we dreaded still further the drinking and eating which the acceptance of the courtesy would call for.

Last of all out rode the Amban, and of a truth “the nightmare Life in Death was he.” It seemed impossible that he could sit upon his horse unsupported, so emaciated was he. His skin was drawn tight over his features, like old yellow parchment. The guard that accompanied him was the most motley troop that I have ever in my wanderings come across. In comparison with it, the raggedest group of South American insurrectos would have appeared like a battalion of West Point cadets.

Tashkurghan has had a long and eventful history, but little remains to show for it. It is mentioned in Ptolemy’s “Geography,” and way before the days of Marco Polo it was a centre where the trade from the Far East met that of Persia. The ruins of the ancient stone fort (Tash—stone, kurghan—fort) can still be traced; the Amban inhabits the modern one. Probably most of the material in the new fort was originally used in the old. The bazaar is a single street a hundred yards long, boasting perhaps six shops. The sentiments of Thangbrand, Olaf’s priest, kept running through my mind, but, profiting by his difficulties, I did not say:

“What’s the use Of this boasting up and down, When three women and a goose Make a market in your town?”

The old gray-bearded Aksakal quartered us in his house, which stood in what was the most extensive and attractive garden in town—there were four small trees in it. Tashkurghan is Nadir Beg’s home, and he brought to see us his small son, an attractive alert boy of eight. The Aksakal had six or seven children, one of whom, a round-eyed youngster of some four summers, was quite evidently his favorite. He was a solemn little fellow, and took deep interest in everything that we did, following us about with great dignity. We gave him a store of treasures in the shape of large red and green buttons, empty tobacco tins, and other odds and ends.

We had decided that Tashkurghan would be the best place at which to make the final cuts in our equipment before starting back across the passes to Kashmir. Of necessity, having no idea how long we would have to spend in the Pamirs after ovis poli, we had brought with us from Kashgar a certain amount of surplus equipment. Now that we had secured the group of the great sheep, we determined to put in only two more hunting days. If fortune favored us and we got a couple more rams, so much the better, but our followers seemed so apprehensive of the snow-covered passes ahead that we did not feel justified in spending much additional time on the Pamirs.

The process of cutting down was not accomplished without considerable effort. The Oriental has strongly embedded in him the habit of acquisition. If you throw anything away, it is ten to one that some one of your servants will salvage it, no matter how utterly useless it may be. Thus you will find that your endeavor to lighten loads has merely meant a redistribution. Ted and I finally adopted the principle of presenting anything that we no longer required, and which we knew could be of no service to our men, to some needy or deserving native. Vigilance could not invariably be relaxed even then, for the gift might be requisitioned from its new owner.

The time had come when we no longer needed the evening clothes which had served us so well for our ceremonial calls upon the Ambans of Turkestan. Nadir Beg fell heir to mine, but Ted’s was kept and presented to a follower of the Mir of Hunza, who made himself

## particularly useful to us.

Occasionally we hid our lesser belongings as a sort of Easter-egg hunt for the inhabitants of some village where we had spent the night. In this way I concealed in the felt lining of a yourt in which we had slept an old pair of cotton pajamas. It so happened, however, that the yourt was dismantled upon our departure, and we had not gone many miles before a Sarikuli came galloping after us, waving the discarded pajamas. Still, in one way or another, our efforts were crowned with success, for when we started down the Hunza we had only twelve pony-loads all told, and among them were comprised six ovis poli skins and eight heads.

After much consultation Rahima advised Payik Nullah as the most profitable place to put in our last days after poli. The new caravan which we had engaged in Kashgar had proved to be far and away the least efficient of any of the caravans we had had. They were hopelessly dilatory in getting under weigh in the mornings, and marched at a snail’s pace when once they did get going. We hoped that by making good marches and letting them come in after dark, we could give them a practical lesson in the advantages of early starting and steady marching. We explained this principle to them on the first evening on which they came in, complaining and groaning, in the cold and dark, but they were apparently hopelessly shiftless, and unable to profit by even the most practical illustrations.

We determined, therefore, to give our slow-moving caravan the advantage of the last days’ hunting, and by sending it on ahead we hoped that it would reach Misgar before us. We were most fortunate in having the very efficient Nadir Beg with us, for in putting him in charge of this advance caravan, we knew that it would be capably managed.

The first night out from Tashkurghan we halted at Jurgal Gumbaz, and on the second at Jayloo, where we found a most welcome stone hut in which we waited snugly for the shiftless caravan, instead of shivering under the shelter of a rock, as we had anticipated.

A couple of hours’ marching next morning brought us to Payik Karaul, and here, with a few horses bearing our bedding and food, we left the main road. We followed up Payik Nullah for some fifteen miles, until we came to where the yourts of Daoud Beg were pitched. He had come to Tashkurghan to meet us, and his nephew Palang was reputed, and rightly so, to be the best shikarry around. We had brought no tent, but a roomy yourt in which a fire of yak dung burned proved far superior to any tent. Daoud Beg’s numerous offspring crowded in to look the strangers over, and on them we bestowed the gaudy buttons which we always carried in our pockets to serve on such occasions.

Before daylight next morning Loosu brought us in the two cups of tea that form chota hazri (little breakfast) and, inspirited by them, we reluctantly crawled out of our warm bedding-rolls. Our saddles had been put on yaks, for we had some steep and rocky climbing ahead of us. The shaggy coats of the yaks were white with hoarfrost, as we clambered stiffly into our saddles. Our path lay over a steep pass, on the farther side of which we found ourselves in the Russian Pamirs. By this time the sun was up, and, although we were still most grateful for our heavy leathern coats with their sheepskin lining, we felt less the necessity for concentrating our thoughts entirely upon keeping warm, and were able to give some attention to the neighboring mountainsides. The first thing we saw was a big red fox homeward bound from his night’s rambles, and shortly afterward Palang made out a herd of arkal or ovis poli ewes. It was not until after we had seen still another lot of ewes that Khalil picked up two rams. One was standing and the other lay stretched out on the rubble. We could see that the former had a fine head; that of the latter was only partly visible, and did not look as good. The wind, of course, was wrong, which, together with the conformation of the country, called for a long and roundabout stalk. We were able, however, to go the greater part of the way on our yaks. Bos Grunniens has been well named; he grunts and pants like an asthmatic patriarch as he climbs, but he plods along regardless, and the minute you stop him he starts eating snow, or boortsa, if there be any about. Before we came to the last rise dividing us from our quarry, a fox jumped up and trotted across ahead of us. We feared it would move the poli, and either it or something else did, for when we had reached the vantage-point from which they should have been visible and within range, they were nowhere to be seen.

Cautiously we examined the country roundabout, but they had evidently gone some distance, so we kept on along the ridge, making numerous halts to spy out the land. We came upon a herd of females and young, and watched them through our field-glasses as they pursued their noonday occupation of feeding and sleeping. We had a little cold mutton and bread with us, and while we were eating it, sheltered as well as possible from the bitterly cold wind that whipped across the ridge, Palang went ahead, scouting on his own. Half an hour later he appeared on a ridge, waving to us to join him. We were not long in reaching him, and he explained with whisper and gesture that he had seen the rams lying down below some big rocks.

It was necessary to proceed very carefully and slowly, for, although the wind for once favored us, the slide rock was treacherous and a rolling stone would quickly put the poli on the alert and probably send them off at the double. Step by step we picked our way among the boulders. We came to where Palang had seen the rams, and, peeping over, we caught a glimpse of the head of one of them. He seemed to be standing up, but drowsing on his feet. Ducking back, we continued along the ridge to a heap of rocks we had marked down as the end of our stalk. We reached it in safety, and, peering over, saw a fine poli ram only seventy-five yards away. Ted had won the toss for first shot. As soon as I heard the report of his rifle, I also let drive, quickly reloading in case the second ram should show up. Ted had fired his second shot at his ram, when the other poli popped into sight; I quickly let drive, and after that the shooting became general. We each fired four times, and each bullet scored a hit. I was able to get several snapshots of one of the wounded animals. They were fine big fellows; Ted’s had a fifty-three-inch horn and mine a fifty-two.

We were eager to secure another female for the museum group, so after a last congratulatory look at our prizes, we left Rahima and Khalil to take the skins off while we faced the main ridge again with Palang. It was a stiff climb, and when we had made the ascent we found that the ewes upon which we had designs had decamped. Climbing or even walking on the level at these high altitudes involves much more labor than can be imagined by those who have not experienced it. In Persian this region is called the Bam-i-Dunya, the Roof of the World, and from this is, I suppose, derived the name Pamirs, for “B” and “P” are easily interchangeable. It is indeed a roof, and a high one; we were often hunting at an altitude of 17,000 feet.

[Illustration: RAHIMA, PALANG, KHALIL, AND T. R. WITH T. R.’S BIG POLI]

Palang was both indefatigable and cheerful, so on we went in search of the ewes, but it was almost too dark to shoot before we came upon a bunch. There was no chance for a stalk, so we chanced a few long-range shots without success. It was a stiff pull back to camp; there was no moon, but the white of the snow gave some light, and the stars shone out in glittering brilliancy. Daoud Beg had sent out two ponies, but we were glad to change back to our yaks for the final descent from the pass. The dark and the hidden stones bothered the yaks not a bit; the steepest and most uncertain short cut only incited them to additional speed when they were headed down-hill. However, you soon acquired a blind and unreasoning confidence in their ability to keep their feet under any circumstances. On the steep slopes the snow lay in strips and patches that shone with a phosphorescent glow in the dark. In spite of the bitter cold we could find thought to thoroughly enjoy the wild scene, doubly so with the knowledge of the two fine poli that our shikaries had brought in ahead of us. It was nearly half past eight before we were thawing ourselves out at the welcome yak-dung fire in our yourt.

We had still one day more that we felt justified in allotting to ourselves for hunting, and we determined to make a last try for the extra ewe that we wanted. In the morning, therefore, we sent our two shikaries down to Payik Karaul with the pack-ponies, while we took Palang and a couple of other local shikaries and went off to Gunjabat Nullah, reputed a most likely ground. Riding up the ravine we came upon both sheep and ibex heads, all old and weather-beaten. The first game we saw was a large herd of ibex; we watched them through our glasses, and estimated two of the large males as having horns at least forty-five inches in length, a very good size for the Himalayan ibex. It was not, however, ibex that we wanted, so we continued our search. It was only a few minutes later that we made out four poli rams. They looked larger than any one we had yet seen, so we immediately set out upon a lengthy and toilsome stalk which if successful should bring us within good range. For four hours we struggled along through deep snow and slide rock. Palang was most distrustful of avalanches—he had lost four friends in one—and we did our best to avoid setting anything in motion. The only restful part of the stalk was when we tobogganned down a steep bit of mountainside in the track of an avalanche. It would have been better fun had we not realized that for every foot we gaily coasted we would have to elsewhere plod upward a corresponding distance. Several immature avalanches came down, while the two shikaries and I were making our way along the foot of the hill, and I did not pay much attention to them. Of a sudden I heard them shout, and looked up to see Ted humming down in the middle of a small avalanche. Fortunately he was able to keep on the surface, so that when the snow slowed up he extricated himself without having suffered any damage.

It was tedious work winning our way up to the ridge from which we hoped to make the tag end of the stalk, and disappointment was awaiting us at the top; the sheep were no longer there. The man who had stayed behind with the yaks, and who had been instructed to watch the rams, told us that they appeared to get our wind when we were about half through the stalk, and that by the time we appeared on the crest they had been gone for two hours! Whatever it was that disturbed them, it had done its work thoroughly, for the poli had left the country at a round trot, and put a good day’s march between us and themselves. During the rest of the day we saw nothing but a herd of female ibex, so empty-handed we worked our way back to the main nullah and headed down to Payik Karaul. For the latter part of the ride Ted and I shifted back to ponies. Work as hard as we could, it seemed impossible for us to keep our yaks going at any reasonable pace, except when they were bound down-hill. The Sarikulis could keep them going apparently without effort. Our escort, which consisted of three men, also changed mounts; one climbed on to a huge camel, another got on a pony, and the third shifted to a fresh yak. As they rode along, all three abreast, ahead of us, we could only regret that it was too dark to use the camera.

There are two passes from the Pamirs over into the Hunza Valley—the Mintaka and the Killik. The former offers the more direct route, but is much more difficult to negotiate in bad weather. Our Sarikuli friends insisted upon taking us over the Killik, assuring us that by so doing we would reach Misgar sooner than if we went the shorter way. We marched from Payik Karaul to a group of yourts known as Khush Bel; it was well over thirty miles and our Kashgar caravan men ran true to form in getting off late, so that it was not until after nine that they came in—a frozen and woebegone lot.

On the way we met the mail runner that comes through once a week from Gilgit to Kashgar. The fact that he had chosen the Killik impelled us to put more faith in the selection of our Sarikulis. This mail is run through in relays, and takes about a month to get from Srinagar to Kashgar. The runner told us he had seen poli rams near Khush Bel. Of course they had decamped by the time we reached there, but not far from the yourts we came upon the skulls of several big rams; they had been killed by wolves when the snow lay deep and the weight of their great horns wore them down when they tried to run from their foes. It must have been several years ago, for there was one head just short of sixty inches that I would have liked to have taken along had it not been so weather-worn as to make it useless. We had been continually on the lookout for good pick-ups, but this was the only one that we came on which was larger than those we shot.

At Khush Bel we were lodged in a yourt for the last time; we saw none after we had crossed the Killik. On the Pamirs we noted one reversal of nature as we had hitherto found it. The cats were most friendly and came up to be stroked and petted, while the dogs were unchangeably savage, and showed no inclination to be conciliated. There were only a few cats, but they were fine large fellows; one tried to get into my bedding-roll with me on a particularly cold night.

We crossed the Killik under favorable conditions; the ascent was long but gradual; the altitude was only 15,600, which seemed low after the great heights which we had topped between Leh and Yarkand. On the way over it came on to snow, but when we started to descend, it was not long before we left the snow behind.

The country for some time was unbelievably barren and desolate. We had heard a place mentioned, Shirin Maidan, the translation being the Polo Field. On reaching it we were disappointed to find it was merely a small plateau a couple of hundred yards long and half as wide, the only level spot of that size for miles around. The larger of the stones had been dragged off and ranged on either side. The Hunza men are very keen on polo, but as far as we could see, the only time when they could use this field would be on their way across the pass.

Our halt was to be Mukurshi, the junction of the Killik and Mintaka River, and a few miles before we reached it we quite unexpectedly began to come upon small bushes and even trees—willows and stunted cedars. Our two Sarikulis were mounted on yaks. They were riding along in the lead, except for Rahima, who had left his pony and walked on ahead. The trail was very steep and winding. Rahima sat down beside it to wait for us just where it made a sharp turn. As the leading yak pushed his head around the bend, he caught sight of Rahima and took fright. I heard his snort, and saw him plunge off the trail down the all but perpendicular mountainside. It seemed as if nothing could save him or his rider; a pony could not have kept his footing for an instant, but would have rolled over to be dashed to pieces long before he struck the stream below. By some miraculous process known only to yaks, the beast did keep his feet, and, after plunging down a short way, straightened himself out and slanted across the face of the mountain to reach the trail a little way on. Neither yak nor rider seemed in any degree flustered.

Mukurshi we found uninhabited, but there were many willow-trees growing in the small delta between the two streams, and plenty of dead branches with which we made a roaring fire, a fine contrast to the less spectacular but by no means to be despised fires of yak dung to which we had been confined during our hunting on the “world’s white roof-tree.”

Next day saw us at Misgar, a tiny village where we once more made the acquaintance of telegraph-poles, that invariable harbinger of civilization. There were a couple of lonely telegraph operators, exiled for a year to this far-flung outpost. At Misgar we sent back our Kashgar caravan. It was the first caravan from which we had parted without regret. Its members had been thoroughly incompetent without any disarming or redeeming features.

All down the Hunza gorge we used mixed caravans, a few ponies, a donkey or two, and the balance in porters. The entire outfit was generally changed twice a day, and as we got lower down the valley we changed more often. The worst day we had in this respect was on the march between Minapin and Chalt, only about fifteen miles, but calling for six shifts. When we swapped transport at a village there was never much delay, and the porters swung along at a round gait which put them at their journey’s end in jig-time. The longest march we made was of twenty-six miles; but we kept up a good average, for with winter coming on we had no desire to delay in reaching the passes over into Kashmir. On the fifteen-mile stretch which I have mentioned, the multiplicity of shifts was further complicated by the fact that they took place at the most inconvenient places. Often the village where the coolies lived was some distance off up the mountainside. The men who had finished their turn would squat beside the loads and start upon a series of catcalls to summon their successors from hut and field. We needed a lot of small change to effect payment, for the coolies on the shorter hauls drew only an anna—about two cents—apiece. The Hunza men we found to be marked individualists; they rarely travelled in a long, sheep-like column. Usually they hove up in the early morning, shouldered their loads, and set off in groups of ones and twos. They were a cheerful, uncomplaining set of men.

In spite of its cumbersome size, I had toted with me my old copy of Knight’s “Where Three Empires Meet,” and the anticipated pleasure of rereading it while passing through the country about which so much of it had been written, more than repaid me for the space it had taken in the yakdan. It is unfortunately very rarely that books of travel and adventure are well enough written to hold the attention of any save those who are intimately acquainted with or deeply interested in the country with which they deal. Knight’s books have ever proved such a happy exception; and I have followed him to many parts of the world since my mother first gave me the “Voyage of the Falcon.” Among the Himalayan hunting-books my personal favorite remains Major Kennion’s “Sport in the Further Himalayas.” Rahima Loon in his younger days hunted with Kennion and had many a tale to tell of the remarkable stalks that the Major had made.

Between Misgar and Gilgit we passed through the countries ruled by the Mirs of Hunza and of Nagar. The account of the campaign in which they were brought to realize the advisability of allowing subjects of the British Raj to pass unharmed through their dominions is vividly told by Knight. Both rulers claim descent from Alexander the Great through a mountain spirit that Alexander is supposed to have met on the Hindu Koosh. The Hunza branch of the family is very European in feature; all of its members with whom we came in contact were red-headed. The present Mir dyes his red hair black, but his sons leave it its natural hue.

We noticed a good deal of change in the color and profiles of the inhabitants as we came on down the valley. In the upper part the men were whiter in color and more aquiline in feature than were those lower down. The Mir of Hunza’s subjects are usually known as Kanjutis, and the upper reaches of the Hunza River below the junction of the Killik and Mintaka streams is called the Kanjut River.

At Gircha, a short day’s march below Misgar, we were met by the Mir. His travelling orchestra came out to escort us into town. It was led by an old greybeard playing an abbreviated trumpet. There were two other trumpets, two kettledrums, and two large drums. On one side of the latter the drummer beat with his hand and on the other side with a stick.

The Mir is a fine-looking man and a pleasant companion. He speaks Hindustanee, so we could dispense with interpreters. He was on his way up to a favorite hunting nullah, and had with him three or four hawks which he used on chukor. He tried a few shots with my Springfield rifle and made excellent practice.

That evening we dined in state with him, and an excellent dinner we had, for although I have never known Rousslia’s superior as a Safari cook, still a change, when not for the worse, is always agreeable.

We had now cut down our equipment to the extent that we had only the clothes we stood in. The tuxedos which had served us so faithfully at many an Amban’s feast we had given away as baksheesh. The Mir presented each of us with a Hunza choga, a long, loose sort of wrapper; Ted’s was made from goat hair and embroidered with silk, mine was woven from ibex hair but unembroidered. These we slipped on over our worn hunting-clothes, and felt greatly bettered in appearance.

After dinner we adjourned to the garden to see some Kanjuti dances. There were various kinds, ranging from a slow and stately affair in which several men recited in Persian as they danced, to a wild performance where two men rushed about whirling their swords, and slashing the air so close to each other’s heads that it was a miracle that no ears parted company with their owners. The whole scene was lighted by a roaring bonfire; beside it were ranged the men who beat their tomtoms in accompaniment to the performers, and massed behind them were the wild-featured tribesmen. It was a savage picture lit by the flickering tongues of flame one instant, and the next only half discerned in the darkness. Now one of the swordsmen was rushing about the circle in feigned flight, closely followed by his victorious antagonist. The excitement mounted like strong wine to the heads of the spectators, and they shouted mad encouragement. It was easy to see that we were among a warlike people, who until recently had made the greater part of their livelihood through raiding the Leh and Yarkand caravans, and carrying off and selling as slaves such members of the neighboring tribes as they could overpower or capture by stealth.

Their warlike valor may be gauged by the fact that in the short campaign against them in which Knight took part, out of the handful of British officers engaged therein, no less than three won the coveted Victoria Cross.

Since leaving the Tian Shan we had passed through various seasons. Before coming over the Muzart Pass we had been in late autumn, in Turkestan we had found ourselves in late summer, and then in early fall. In the Pamirs it had been bleak winter, but now as we dropped farther down the Kanjut Valley we were once more in the fall of the year. The colors were particularly beautiful against the barren background of the sterile mountains. The maple and poplar leaves were yellow, and the apricot-trees were red; a few of the walnuts were still green. At first the oases were small, but they steadily increased in size; some, the larger, showed a perfect wealth of color, reminding us of fall days on Long Island, with the dogwood in full glory. We often watched the goatherds shaking a golden rain of leaves from the trees, while their flocks waited expectantly beneath to browse upon them.

The Kanjutis are far from rich; they lead a hand-to-mouth existence, and during the summer months some villages subsist entirely on ripe fruit. The wolf is never far from the door, even at the best of times, and one of the reasons why there are so few foreigners allowed in the Hunza country is that the use of the natives as porters takes them from their work in the fields, and still further limits the grain supply. Of course, there aren’t very many porters available, anyway.

The trail down the valley we found in excellent shape; the worst going we encountered was where it crossed the Batura glacier, and there for two or three miles it was hard work for the coolies and ponies.

At Gulmit the Mir has a house where he spends a couple of months each fall, and here we met his eldest son. We had passed another brother near Mukurshi. He was on his way to visit a wife who for some reason chose to live near Tashkurghan. With the Mir there was a third grown son and a small boy of five, a pretty dark-eyed little fellow, quite evidently the Benjamin of the family, for the Mir kept the child always beside him, and was obviously very proud of him. Old Daoud Beg at Payik and the graybeard Aksakal of Tashkurghan also had Benjamins. It seemed a common trait among these people to favor the child of their advanced years above his elder brothers and sisters. When we asked the Mir how many sons he had—in enumerating their progeny our friends here never counted in their girl children—he threw up his hands and said it was really impossible for him to say. In a fairly literal sense he is reputed to be the father of his country. I may add, however, that the sons whom we met all did him credit.

The capital of the kingdom is Baltit, the centre of a group of villages collectively known as Hunza. The Royal Palace overlooks the whole from the eminence of a small hill. It is a roomy, rambling patchwork Eastern affair, with no pretension to architecture of any sort. Below it fell tier after tier of terraced field and orchard. Deep lanes lined with high stone walls wove an intricate pattern through the whole. On the tops of some of the low stone houses heaps of golden red corn were lying, adding a glorious splash of color to the already brilliant effect of the turning leaves. The Kanjuti likes color, and many of them we passed on the road had yellow or red chrysanthemums stuck in their caps. As a whole, they seemed a cheerful lot, ever ready with a pleasant smile and a salaam. Many of them struck us as being easy to mistake for Italians, and, curiously enough, their language sounded much like Italian. In saying this, I hasten to add that I am not trying to suggest any kinship between the two peoples.

We rode on through Baltit and crossed the river over into the domains of the Mir of Nagar, spending the night at an attractive little town, Minapin. We were right beneath mighty Rakaposhi, towering above us with its altitude of 25,550 feet. Ten days before a terrific wind-storm had rushed down from its rugged slopes, cutting a swathe 400 yards wide through the edge of Minapin, but biting more deeply into the adjoining hamlet of Pisan. Two men, four horses, and many goats were killed, but more fatal than any loss of life had been the damage done to the fruit-trees, mercilessly mowed down in scores before the storm. Their loss meant that next summer starvation would stare the villages in the face.

[Illustration: BALTIT IN THE HUNZA VALLEY]

Bird life was abundant in the lower valley. At Mukurshi we had seen only a few finches, but near Misgar we met an old friend whom we had first seen in the Sind Valley, a lovely little water-bird, with a black head, white waistcoat, and red coat and tail. We came across our first magpie sitting on an ice rock in the middle of the Batura glacier, with not another live thing for miles around. Lower down magpies became very common, flitting about on every side, uttering their rusty chatter. Our best friends were the pigeons, but I doubt if they reciprocated the feeling, for many was the good meal we made from roasted pigeon. Chukor also helped supply the deficiencies of our larder. We had with us an old three-barrelled gun. At first it had a tendency to explode the shells whenever you snapped the breech shut. Cherrie set about remedying this, and was so successful that the gun would not go off even when you wished it to. Then the local gunsmiths in the larger towns where we halted tried a hand at it. After that it was “regularly irregular,” as Ted put it. Sometimes both barrels could be fired, sometimes one, sometimes none. At last it got so that Khalil was the only person who could coax a shot out of it, and for some weeks he alone used it. After Gilgit a rapid disintegration set in, and even Khalil had to abandon it.

We reached Gilgit on October 30, having come down from Misgar in seven days. Major Loch, the Political Agent,—Administrator of Native Affairs,—put us up at his most comfortable house, loaned us his clothes to enable us to appear a little less disreputable, and did everything to help us through to Kashmir. I think that what we appreciated most of all was the delicious ale with which he greeted us on our arrival. We objected only as much as bare politeness and our knowledge of the difficulty with which all transport reached Gilgit dictated, when he insisted in giving us some more for the trip down.

The little willow-shaded European graveyard at Gilgit is a résumé of what life on the far Asian frontier means. Among the few graves there were that of Hayward the explorer, murdered by the tribesmen, one of a young officer who had fallen over a precipice when hunting ibex, one of another officer killed in a punitive expedition in the mountains, still another of a political agent who had died of enteric. Last there was the pitiful little grave of a baby still born, with the mother so far from all comfort and assistance.

In front of Major Loch’s house stands a large cannon that was brought back after the capture of Baltit in 1893. The story runs that a Chinaman from Yarkand told the then Mir that he could cast him a cannon larger than that owned by any of his neighbors. The Mir accordingly confiscated all the metal pots and pans in his capital, and from them the cannon was cast. The Mir next prudently insured that none of his neighbors should possess a larger one by cutting off the Chinaman’s head. The piece was certainly a triumph when the rough facilities the maker had to hand are considered. It is far superior to several smaller pieces that stood near it. Major Loch told us that one of his predecessors had taken it out and used it on a punitive expedition against some of the near-by tribesmen.

We left Gilgit on October 31, and marched thirty-five miles to Bunji. The next day took us through what used to be the village of Ramghat, but a year ago a great rock avalanche swept down and levelled the greater part of the houses. Our march had taken us down the Gilgit River to where it empties into the Indus; it is here that the great bend of the Indus occurs, and this Haramosh country harbors on its wild, barren mountains the best markhor. It was tantalizing to be so near and yet be forced to hurry past. We soon left the Indus and turned off up the Astore River, which we would follow now until we came to the dreaded Burzil Pass.

At the little village of Astore we saw the solitary grave of Lieutenant Davison, who had taken part with Knight in the Hunza campaign.

Ted and I still had with us our faithful riding ponies that we had brought from the Tian Shan. We had spared them wherever possible, but they were fairly fagged, so we walked the greater part of each day’s march. We were so hard by now that a fifteen-mile trek did no more than give us a good appetite!

In the Astore Valley we were once more in the land of trees; that is to say, what might be called wild trees, in contradistinction to those that could grow only where man had through irrigation builded an oasis. It was sad in the deserted oases to see the trees standing gaunt and bare and dead. Now, for the first time since leaving the Tian Shan, the hillsides were covered with evergreens—tall pines and gnarled cedars. The smell of the cedar berries at one leap took me back to childhood days in the Fairy Apple Orchard of Sagamore.

On November 5 we faced the Burzil Pass. The previous evening we had reached the wind-swept Dak Bungalow at Chillum Chauki. It had been snowing all afternoon, and the men shook their heads gloomily at our chances for getting over the pass on the morrow. The Burzil used annually to take a very considerable toll of human life, but since the British took over the administration of the Srinagar-Gilgit route, substantial rest-houses have been built at intervals along it, and on the summit of each of the two passes stone shelters have been set up. It is the peculiarly savage wind that is particularly feared on the Burzil crossing; when this is accompanied by blinding snow, it is a dangerous combination to take on. Add to both the constant dread of avalanches.

[Illustration: CROSSING THE BURZIL IN WINTER]

At quarter to three in the morning I awoke and went out to look at the weather. The snow had temporarily stopped, so we lost no time in stirring up our men. The new ponies we had hoped to get at Godai were not forthcoming, so we found ourselves dependent upon a troop of unladen ponies which by a fortunate chance we met here, awaiting a good opportunity to return to Gurez. Major Loch had instructed Jemadar Jan Mohammed to go with us from Astore across the Burzil. He proved invaluable in helping us rout out the pony men and persuade them to try the pass. Even so, it was half past seven before we got the first reluctant lot of ponies started. By then it had once more started to snow, and before we had gone far on our way to the little stone hut marking the first stage, the dreaded wind had risen, and we could readily appreciate our followers’ feelings toward the Burzil. Fortunately, the storm abated when we reached Sardar Chauki, so after a slight demur we got the caravan under way to face the last stiff ascent up the pass.

We had six local men with us to break trail and see that we did not lose our way. They took turns in leading, and it was no light task. We could not help thinking how invaluable web snow-shoes would have been as we watched our guides plunge waist-deep into the snow. The ponies struggled pluckily in their wake. We were shod in grass shoes; failing snow-shoes there is nothing to compare with them for this sort of work.

Just before we reached the top we came upon two mail-runners floundering down toward us, and much surprised to see a pony-train tackling the pass in such weather. At length we caught sight of the stone hut that marks the summit. Here our trail-breakers used every effort to prevail upon us to let them turn back, but by dint of much persuasion and the thrusting of additional baksheesh into their hands, we got them started down the other side. The snow was once more falling thickly, and it was becoming colder every minute. Ted caught a glimpse of a solitary marmot. Some of the ponies began to show signs that they had gone far enough. One white horse in

## particular kept floundering off the trail into drifts and evincing

every desire to remain where it lay. However, we were getting down; we had passed a pill-box house built up on stilts twenty-five feet above the ground. This was a landmark to the men. They explained that the snow-drifts piled up level with its floor. A mile or so on, to our surprise, we came upon a few lightly laden ponies attempting to get over to Sardar Chauki. One of the trail-breakers glanced at me out of the tail of his eye, and began groaning and humping his back; as we reached the oncoming ponies he threw himself down beside the trail in a dismal heap. It was really wasted histrionics, for on seeing the approaching caravan, we had decided that we might as well send our six voorloopers back with it. Upon being told of this, the sick man made a most rapid recovery. They were all afraid that the pass would now be closed for many days.

We now had an easy trail to follow and made the rest of the distance without trouble. At the Dak Bungalow of Burzil Chauki we stopped at half past five and made a cup of tea. We had breakfasted at five in the morning, so we were very hungry. Then we pushed on down the valley, another five miles to Minamarg, completing a twenty-four-mile march, with every one in excellent spirits at having the Burzil Pass behind us.

It was snowing hard next morning, and though we could look back toward the Burzil with satisfaction, we could not but feel a certain apprehension about the Raj-diangan. We rode down along a rushing stream, with steep hills rising on either hand. Sometimes the trail wound through fine forests; elsewhere there were open grass-covered stretches. Sheltering beneath the tufts of grass were myriads of finches; as they rose it seemed as if the hillside had in some miraculous fashion started to life.

Two easy marches took us to the foot of the Raj-diangan Pass over to Tragbal. This was the last barrier that separated us from Kashmir, and the Weather Gods were kind. A brilliant frosty morning saw us across. It was a long, easy ascent, but the ride along the ridge that forms the summit proved bitterly cold. The strong wind that drove the snow along, obliterating the trail under deep drifts, convinced one of with what ease the pass could collect its toll from the caravan rash enough to attempt the crossing in the face of a blizzard.

As we descended we could see stretched out beneath us the Vale of Kashmir. Wular Lake was largely hidden by billowy clouds. At our feet the men pointed out the village of Bandipur, and each showed us the little hamlet in the valley where his house lay. We left the pack-train and took a short cut down the mountainside; it was steep and slippery, but we swung along, grabbing at branches and bushes, jumping from rock to rock, and taking many of the falls that we risked. Once in the valley we had a four-mile walk to the cluster of houses where Rahima and Khalil lived. As we cut through the villages the inmates hurried out to greet Rahima and ask him news of our success. It was his triumphal homecoming, and, though enjoying it to the full, he maintained a stoical and expressionless impressive dignity throughout.

That afternoon the kitchens at Rahima’s and Khalil’s saw no idle moment. There was no pause in the clatter of pots and pans, and no halt in the roasting and boiling and basting and all the intricacies of preparation of a Kashmir feast. That evening at dinner course succeeded course, each complicated pilaff or roast or stew more delicious than the last. All our stored energy and the physique built by months of mountain-climbing were called upon to enable us to survive the effects of such feasting.

Next morning we were ferried across the lake in dugouts. After seven months we were back in the land of motor transport, but to us it seemed outlandish to make in an hour what had been for so long the distance of a long day’s march. That evening our wives met us at Srinagar, and our expedition into central Asia was a closed chapter; a memory of glorious days on the high Himalayas, of long stalks, some successful, some otherwise, of bitter-cold days and snug evenings in Kirghiz yourts; a kaleidoscope of toil and achievement that only experience can purchase.

[Illustration: TERRITORY COVERED IN THE COURSE OF THE EXPEDITION]

APPENDIX

A SERAI

BY THEODORE ROOSEVELT

(SUGGESTED BY KERMIT SAYING TO ME WHILE WE SAT IN THE SERAI AT SHAMBA BAZAAR THAT PERHAPS MARCO POLO HAD BEEN THERE)

The day is gently drawing to a close; The caravan, slow-plodding through the dusk, With tinkling bells and creaking leather, Leaves the rough jungle by the broad brown river And turns into the cultivated land. It jogs along by fields, bright green, mud-walled And fringed with shimmering willows, Which look to be embroidered on the landscape Like figures in some ancient tapestry. At length the dusty column sights a village Whose rough gray walls are set in lofty poplars Which seem to stroke the sky with slender fingers. Down the long street it jingles, Through the bazaar where ill-wove matting roofs Add to the gathering gloom; Where smells of every sort hang in the air, And bare, brown babies splash in muddy gutters. At last the dingy old serai is reached. The tired ponies pass its battered gate, Then packs are stripped and all is wild confusion; Shouted commands and loud and shrill abuse, And stallions neighing, blend in one great babble. And now the horses fed, the baggage piled, The fires begin to glow, and round them gather Dim half-seen figures in the flickering light, Who squat and eat and puff their gurgling hookahs. Now in a near-by stall a singer twangs On some stringed instrument of old design, And drones an endless plaintive melody. Out on the near-by roofs the women steal,— Black silent figures ’gainst the flat gray sky. So comes the night, and so has come the night Through dim unreckoned countless generations To those who travel the old trails of Asia. In this same way old Marco the Venetian travelled, And even then the trails were very old. So Asia does, so she has done since time, And when our great hotels are piles of stones And all our railroads briar-grown embankment, So Asia still will do.

APPENDIX

The following is an itinerary of the expedition from the time we arrived at Srinagar to the day we returned. The mileage is necessarily only approximate, for we had to depend upon information from the natives of the country and check it up roughly with our estimated speed and the number of hours spent in marching. The place names are in general spelled as they sounded when repeated to us, so they are, of course, subject to revision upon the opinion of any hearer.

MILES DATE Srinagar 12 Gandabal May 19 17 Camp (near Gund) ” 20 12 Camp (near Sonamurg) ” 21 18 Baltal ” 22 (Zoji Pass) 14 Camp ” 24 18 Draz ” 25 22 Shimsa Kharbu ” 26 16 Kargil ” 27 22 Mulbekh ” 28 15 Bod Kharbu ” 29 15 Lamayuru ” 30 17 Nurla June 1 25 Nimoo ” 2 12 Leh ” 3 10 Camp near Pass ” 6 (Khardong Pass) 18 Khardong ” 7 14 Karsar ” 8 14 Taghar ” 9 15 Panamik ” 10 14 Choong Loong ” 13 12 Tutyalak ” 14 13 Camp at foot of Saser Glacier ” 17 (Saser Pass) 10 Brangza Saser ” 18 16 Remo Glacier ” 19 24 Murgu ” 20 20 Kizil Tash ” 21 23 Daulat Beg Oldi ” 22 (Karakoram Pass) 22 Brangsa ” 23 12 Camp ” 24 24 Chibra ” 25 (Suget Pass) 25 Camp ” 26 6 Suget Karaul ” 27 16 Ulbek (Kara Kash River) ” 28 22 Camp at foot of Bostan Valley ” 29 20 Ali Nazar Khurgan ” 30 (Sanju Pass) 20 Ayalak July 1 18 Akas Aghzi ” 3 12 Kivas ” 4 16 Sanju Bazar ” 5 24 Kosh Tagh ” 6 31 Bora ” 7 18 Karghalik ” 8 35 Posgam ” 10 24 Yarkand ” 11 26 Tograghi ” 14 25 Merket ” 15 25 Akadong ” 16 21 Khandi ” 17 28 Beyond Aksak Maral ” 18 27 Maralbashi ” 19 16 Char Bagh ” 20 21 Akh Tam ” 21 23 Yakka Kudak ” 22 28 Chillam ” 23 22 Hangoon ” 24 28 Yangi Shahr ” 25 4 Aksu ” 26 27 Jom ” 29 16 Arbat ” 30 22 Khurgan ” 31 18 Camp Aug. 1 22 Tango Tash ” 2 (Muzart Pass) 20 Khan Ayalak ” 3 25 Shutta ” 6 25 Agyas ” 7 30 Moin Tai ” 8 18 Kukteruk ” 9 17 Kooksu ” 10 18 Chungtai ” 11 16 Chin Bulak ” 12 20 Camp at head of Jilgalong Valley ” 13 20 Kargaitash ” 14 15 Camp on upper Kooksu ” 17 6 Kargaitash Creek ” 20 15 Muzdumas Creek ” 21 10 Camp ” 23 14 Kensu ” 24 12 Wapiti Camp ” 29 8 Camp at junction of Kensu and Kooksu Sept. 1 18 Camp ” 2 20 Lower Torotai Valley ” 3 25 Chilukteruk ” 4 22 Camp ” 5 16 Moin Tai ” 6 30 Agyas ” 9 8 Camp ” 10 33 Shutta ” 11 25 Khan Ayalak ” 12 (Muzart Pass) 20 Tango Tash ” 14 18 Khailak ” 15 20 Kizil Bulak ” 16 18 Jom ” 17 27 Aksu ” 19 20 Aikul ” 20 40 Chillam ” 21 28 Yakka Kudak ” 22 30 Toum Shouk ” 23 30 Maralbashi ” 24 30 Karakuchin ” 25 40 Kara Youlgoun ” 26 34 Faizabad ” 27 45 Kashgar ” 28 16 Tashmalik Oct. 3 15 Tookoi ” 4 20 Beyond Gezkaraul ” 5 25 Bulun Kul ” 6 15 Kichik Kara Kul ” 7 15 Subashi Nullah ” 9 16 Kara Su ” 12 24 Tagharma ” 14 17 Tashkurghan ” 15 20 Jurgal Gumbaz ” 16 20 Atjayloo ” 17 20 Payik Nullah ” 18 34 Khush Bel ” 21 (Killian Pass) 14 Mukurshi ” 22 16 Misgar ” 28 12 Gircha ” 24 25 Passu ” 25 22 Attabad ” 26 26 Minapin ” 27 17 Chalt ” 28 15 Nomal ” 29 17 Gilgit ” 30 35 Bunji ” 31 19 Mushkin Nov. 1 17 Astore ” 2 17 Gudai ” 3 16 Chillum Chauki ” 4 (Burzil Pass) 23 Minamarg ” 5 20 Gurez ” 6 13 Karagbal ” 7 (Tragbal or 27 Bandipur ” 8 Raj-diangan Pass) Srinagar ” 9

INDEX

Afghanistan route, the, 9

Agyas, 123

Aksu, 164, 197; the start for, 82, 94 ff.; departure from, 202

Akyas, journey to, 186; arrival at, 187; return to, 192

Ali-Nazar-Kurgan, 66, 67

Amban, the, of Karghalik, 76 ff.

Andrews, Roy Chapman, expeditions in Asia, 2, 3, 7

Antelope, the Tibetan, description of, 63

Arbat, 199

Arkal, herd of, spotted in the Russian Pamirs, 250

Asboe, Doctor and Mrs., 48

Asia, central, Mongol tribes in, 2

Astore, grave of Lieutenant Davison in, 269

Avalanches, in Baltal, 29, 34, 35

Ayalik, arrival at, 72, 79, 132

Azak-Karaul, Kalmuks in, 122

Bahadur Khan, the, 47, 48

Bai, Tula, 129 ff.; 164, 180

Bakker, Bob, 14

Baltal, avalanches in, 29, 34, 35

Baltistan, 36; Rajah of, 35, 36

Baltit, 265 ff.

Bam-i-Dunya, 252

Bandipur, 273

Barr, 23

Bear, the great brown, 5, 34; sighted by Khalil Loon, 149; shot by Kermit Roosevelt, 150; skinning of, 151

Bey, Ishmael, 104, 113, 198, 199

Bighorn, Rocky Mountain, 38

Birds of prey, 57

Blacker, Major, 24, 25

Bokharan, the, 114

Bombay, landing at, 22, 23

Bombay Natural History Museum, the, 22

Bulun, 219

Bulun Lake, arrival at, 219

Bunji, 268

Burden, Douglas, 25

Burrhel 53 ff.; capture of, 55

Burroughs, John, 2

Burzil Pass, 269; marmot spotted in the, 271

Butterflies, 29

Camels, 62

Chalt, 259

Cherrie, George K., 6, 11, 13, 17, 23, 28, 45, 49, 52, 56, 66, 67, 69, 82, 83, 94, 170, 182, 183, 184, 185, 186, 193, 195, 199, 204, 212; illness of, 183

Chillum Chauki, 270

Chin Ballak, 127

Chukors, red-legged, in Maralbashi, 91

Cock, black, collected, by Theodore Roosevelt, 186

Cutting, Suydam, 6, 17, 18, 26, 45, 49, 52, 56, 66, 76, 81, 82, 84, 89, 166, 182, 184, 185, 186, 187, 188, 194, 199, 204, 212; photography done by, 183

Daulat Beg Oldi, 62

Davies, Mr., 5

Deer, Siberian roe, 26

Depsang Plain, the, 67; ducks in, 68

Dotai, the, 95, 96

Ducks, in Depsang Plain, 68

Faizabad, 206

Feroze, 25, 27, 82

Ferrets, glimpse of, 147

Fezildin, in charge of dogs, 59, 165

Field, Stanley, 5

Field Museum of Natural History in Chicago, 5, 28

Finches, purple, at the oases, 33; in Maralbashi, 91

Foxes, large red, 138

Foxie, death of, 75

Ganderbal, 27

Gazelle, search for, 94

Gilgit, 256; departure from, 268

Gillan, Major, aid of, 211

Gircha, 261

Godai, 270

Goitre belt, in Aksu, 95

Gulmit, 264

Gunjabat Nullah, ibex and sheep seen in, 254

Hawk, different species of, shot by Mr. Cherrie, 28, 33, 139

Hindustanee, 19, 26

Hounds cougar, 14 ff., 34; method of shipping the, 17; in the snow, 31, 32

Hunza route, the, 8, 26

Hunza Valley, passes into the, 256

Ibex, 5, 26, 113 ff., 139, 145, 155, 182; first glimpse of, 107 ff.; Gunjabat Nullah, 254; collected, by Kermit Roosevelt, 160, 161; by Theodore Roosevelt, 144; female collected, 140

Illik, or Siberian roe, 112; female bagged by Theodore Roosevelt, 186; glimpse of, 189

James Simpson-Roosevelts-Field Museum Expedition, origin of the, 6, 7; determination of route of, 8; selection of literature for, 13; selection of equipment for, 12, 13

Jayloo, 249

Jurgal Gumbaz, 249

Kadi, 57

Kalmuks, the, 115, 123, 128, 129, 130, 131, 171

Kanjut Valley, the, 263

Karachi, landing of equipment at, 23

Karakash River, the, 66

Karakoram Pass, the, 5, 6, 26, 68; approach to, 62

Kara Su, 236; inhabitants of, 237; ovis poli spotted in valley of, 237

Karelini, search for, 155

Kargaitash, 124, 128, 130, 163; female ibex collected in, 140

Karghalik, 74 ff.

Kargil, loss of a companion caravan at, 35

Karthar, meeting at, 52

Kashgar, 215,256; desire to reach, 205; arrival at, 207, 208, 210; surplus equipment carried from, 247

Kashmir, 185, 210, 246, 259, 273

Kashmiri, friction with the Punjabi, and, 183

Kazaks, the, 115, 122, 123, 128, 129, 130, 160, 171, 186, 187

Kensu, the, 114 ff.

Khailak, 197

Khan Ayalik, 186, 193, 194, 198

Khardong, 50

Khardong Pass, the, the start for, 49

Khurgan, camping at, 101

Khush Bel, poli rams seen near, 256

Killik Pass, the, 256, 257

Kirghiz, 122, 123, 161, 187, 229, 234, 238

Kizil Bulak, 197

Kooksu, the, 124, 128, 171

Kunick, Doctor and Mrs., 48

Ladakhis, the, 32, 33

Lama, red, land of the, 34, 35

Lamayuru, 35

Lammergeyer, 33, 62, 141; capture of a, 162

Larks, desert, in Maralbashi, 91

Leh, 43 ff., 257; entrance into, 44, 45, 52; the Moravian Mission in, 48

Leh-Karakoram route, the, 9

Little Kara Kul, 221, 236

Loon, Khalil, 25, 27, 54, 55, 82, 87, 112, 113, 115, 117, 118, 131, 132, 133, 136, 140, 141, 142, 143, 144, 147, 148, 149, 150, 151, 153, 160, 167, 188, 194, 223, 229, 234, 238, 240, 242, 250, 252, 274

Loon, Rahima, 25, 27, 38, 51, 54, 59, 69, 82, 83, 84, 87, 105, 107, 113, 114, 116, 117, 119, 128, 129, 131, 137, 141, 146, 155, 156, 160, 161, 162, 164, 167, 170, 173, 177, 178, 180, 185, 189, 191, 194, 224, 229, 234, 238, 243, 248, 252, 258, 260, 274

McHenry, Tom, 14

Maralbashi, 195, 202, 204, 212; animal expedition at, 90; bazaar of, 91; red-legged chukors in, 91; quail in, 91; desert larks in, 91; finches in, 91

Marmot, 132, 142

Minamarg, 272

Minapin, 259, 266

Mintaka Pass, the, 256

Misgar, 249; arrival at, 259

Moon Tai River, arrival at the, 182

Moravian Mission, the, in Leh, 48

Mountain-rabbit, killed by Kermit Roosevelt, 51

Mountain-sheep, 26, 145

Muharram, festival at Ayalik, 72

Mukurshi, 258, 264

Murree, 23

Mustagh Ata, 236

Muzart Pass, the, 263; crossing of, 196

Muzart River, the, 197

Nanga Parbat, 30

Nurla, Buddhist service in, 38 ff.

Ovis ammon karelini, the, 5

Ovis ammon littledalei, the, 5

Ovis karelini, 141

Ovis karelenyi, 128

Ovis poli, home of, 3; discovery of, 3, 4, 18, 180, 188, 211; first glimpse of, 223; spotted in the Russian Pamirs, 231; heading for the Chinese Pamirs, 231; two of the largest collected, 235; spotted by a Kirghiz in valley of Kara Su, 237; skinned by Khalil Loon, 238

Pamirs, the, 3, 4, 171, 180, 188, 257, 263; desire to reach, 191; the Chinese, 231; the Russian, 9, 18, 226, 236; ovis poli spotted in, 231; herd of arkal spotted in, 250; the Sarikol, 244

Panamik, 52; arrangement for ponies at, 53

Partridge, chukor, at Lind, 67; in Aksu Valley, 103

Partridges, 139

Payik Karaul, 249, 253, 255, 256

Pig, wild, 141

Pigeons, blue, at the oases, 33

Pim, Captain, of Mesopotamia, 26

Pisan, 266

Poli rams, seen in Gunjabat Nullah, 254; in Khush Bel, 256

Prater, S. H., 22

Punjabi, friction with the Kashmiri, 183

Quail, in Maralbashi, 11

Rabbits, crop-eared, 54

Rajah of Baltistan, 35, 36

Raj-diangan Pass, the, 273

Rakaposhi, 266

Raleigh, the black hound from Mississippi, 59

Ram, a small, 132; capture of, 134

Ramchukor, 139, 142, 146, 159, 243

Ramghat, 268

Rams, 38; Karelini, 133, 138; seen by Palang, 251

Ravens, 28; in Zoji La Pass, 33; coal-black, 62

Rawal Pindi, 25

Reading, Lord, 9

Rifles, 12, 13

Rock-pigeons, large blue, shot by Mr. Cherrie, 49; at Sind, 67

Roe, the Siberian, 5, 112; capture of a female, 140

Roe-deer, 132

Roosevelt, Kermit, 1, 2, 11, 14, 17, 18, 45, 49, 50, 51, 53, 55, 58, 60, 62, 66, 68, 105, 106, 107, 112, 113, 114, 117, 119, 125, 127, 157, 158, 160, 166, 167, 168, 169, 172, 178, 179, 180, 223, 224, 229, 234, 238, 241, 242

Roosevelt, Theodore, 1, 26, 29, 34, 82, 93, 129, 131, 136, 137, 139, 141, 146, 148, 184, 185, 186, 188, 191, 192, 194, 195, 247, 252, 254, 255, 269, 271

Russian Trade Delegation, the, 18

Sanju Bazaar, entrance into oasis, 74

Sanju Pass, the, 68, 71

Sardar Chauki, 271

Sasser, the start for the, 56

Sevenoaks, Captain, 27

Sharpu, pursuit of, 38

Sheep, spotted in Gunjabat Nullah, 254

Shirin Maidan, 257

Shrew, a, trapped by Mr. Cherrie, 67

Shutta, 121, 193, 197

Simpson, James, 5, 6, 11

Sind Valley, the, 27; beauty of, 28

Snake, brown, captured by native, 87

Snow-leopards, 5, 57, 64

Sparrow-hawk, shot by Mr. Cherrie, 49

Srinagar, 24, 25, 43, 256, 274

Stag, Yarkand, 5

Subashi, 215; arrival at, 225

Suget, the, 63, 64

Suget Karaul, 65

Sze, Minister, 9

Tagdum-Bash Pamirs, the, 8, 67

Taghar, 52

Tagharma, 244, 245

Tango Tash, camping at, 107

Tashkurgan, 215, 245, 264

Tekkes, the, 65, 193

Tekkes River, the, 124

Tekkes Valley, the, 120, 124; population of, 122; species of birds in, 125, 126

Tian Shan, 129, 171, 173, 180, 183, 198, 263, 269; range, the, 128

Tiger, rare, in Central Asia, 14

Tika-illik, 132

Tragbal, 273

Turkestan, 213 ff, 263; abundance of fruit in, 203, 204

Vale of Kashmir, the famous, 24, 273

Van der Byl, P. B., 196

Vissers, the, 8, 9

Wagtail, the, along streams, 33

Wapiti, 26, 130, 145, 171; season for the, 186; shot by Theodore Roosevelt, 177; shot by Kermit Roosevelt, 190; skinning of the, 179, 191

Warbler, a, black and rusty brown, at Sind, 6, 7

Water-ouzels, 29

Water-wagtail, the little, 29

Wolves, gray, 57, 64

Wood, Lady, 27

Wood, Lieutenant John, 4

Wood, Sir John, hospitality of, 27

Wular Lake, 273

Yaks, 50, 51, 53, 57

Yangi Shahr, 94 ff.

Yarkand, 79 ff., 84, 257; epidemic of goitre in, 80; splitting of expedition at, 81, 82

Yarkandi, the, 59, 66

Zoji La Pass, the, 30, 35, 44; bird life in, 33

TRANSCRIBER’S NOTE Obvious typographical errors and punctuation errors have been corrected after careful comparison with other occurrences within the text and consultation of external sources.

Except for those changes noted below, all misspellings in the text, and inconsistent or archaic usage, have been retained.

Page 219: “placque” changed to “plaque”