THE ROAD TO CHACOTI 13 



the trumpeter of Pindi. He passes on the word, 

 and in the twinkling of an eye the poor, skinny 

 horses are going at a much sharper trot towards the 

 Dak Bungalow. 



Long caravans of camels and broad, heavily laden 

 oxen-carts are always getting in our way. 



" Backshish, backshish," I cry ; but the dull-witted 

 camels and oxen cannot understand, and, in spite of 

 all the tonga-driver's howling and swearing, they 

 refuse to move. We are obliged to drive into them 

 and force our way through in order to get on. 



" I insist on getting to Uri," I say doggedly. 

 But I did not succeed in doing so after all, for a 

 landslip had blocked up the road. 



"The Count Sahib must pass the night at 

 Chacoti," says Paul, by way of comfort. 



