72 



RIFLE AND SPEAR WITH THE RAJPOOTS. 



but there is no water near, so we push on to the top, 

 where we find a little pond and a good spring bubbling 

 out of the ground. Near the summit, our only kettle 

 takes a roll down and is recovered, minus the spout. This 

 is a dreadful calamity, as it cannot be mended, and there 

 is no chance of getting another until we reach Chamba. 



We pitch our tents in a green hollow facing the south, 

 and on the top of the hill. All round there is a wonder- 

 ful panorama of brown 

 mountains backed by dazzl- 

 ing white snow peaks. Near 

 us are great detached groups 

 of cedars, closing together 

 into a thick forest below. 

 In front, across the narrow 

 valley, and seemingly almost 

 near enough to touch, is a 



" BROWN MOUNTAINS BACKED BY DAZZLING ° 



WHITE SNOW PEAKS." , , .,, ..-, 



bare, gaunt hill, with a gray 

 rocky crest. The sunset tint over all is too beautiful for 

 words. I tried to sketch, but the instant the sun dropped 

 out of sight the paints began to freeze on the palette, 

 and all my coats and wraps failed to keep me warm. 



November 7th. — Colder than ever, everything is frozen 

 hard. A hot water bottle in my tent is a block of ice, 

 so are my sponges, and the water left in the hand basin 

 is turned out in the morning a solid mass. Alan, with 



