A STRUGGLE WITH GRASS-SHOES 65 



round my ankle with the remark, "Now they'll 

 keep ! " 



I make gallant attempts to walk. " My big toe, 

 my ankles ! And I am supposed to walk for miles 

 and climb mountains tied up like this ! Well, I'll 

 try ; but let the tiffin coolies take shoes and stockings 

 with them in case of emergency." I hobble on 

 somehow. 



The moon is shining in all her glory. " Good 

 old friend, do you sympathise with me ? Oh, these 

 awful fetters ! " 



" Be very careful," warn the shikaris, supporting 

 me on each side. 



And now we come to a steep decline. Sultana 

 and Samdu use their sticks as brakes, and plant 

 their feet with care and precision. The surface is 

 as shiny as glass and quite devoid of trees and 

 bushes not a thing to catch hold of or to stop one 

 from slipping. Ever steeper and more precipitous 

 does the path become. We slide and slip, and our 

 sticks are bent nearly double. I sway. But it is 

 wonderful how tightly my feet stick to the ground ; 

 they seem to be positively glued on, and they hold 

 my body upright and help me to recover my 

 balance. 



Most slippery of all are the grass-grown preci- 

 pices. Long grass, pressed down by the winter 

 snow, now thawed, covers the underlying ground 

 as if rolled in by a steam-roller. Even hobnailed 



5 



