74 JOURNEY TO THE PAMIRS. 



I could count every stone at the bottom. As 

 night was coming on, we set to work to collect 

 burtsa, and soon had a goodly pile ready for Mr 

 Rahimadar, the Kashmiri cook, so that soon 

 after the caravan came in our dinner was ready. 



These Kashmiri servants (and this one in 

 particular) are excellent people for this sort of 

 work. They go anywhere with you, ask no 

 questions, and follow like dogs. They will walk 

 the whole day, and as soon as they arrive in 

 camp, wet or dry, sun or snow, they set to work 

 to light your fire and make you a dinner, how- 

 ever scarce may be the fuel or the victuals. 

 To-day I reckoned our march at twenty miles. 



The next morning we found our tents frozen 

 stiff as a board from having been packed wet 

 the previous day, so we had to wait for the sun 

 to get up and thaw them before resuming our 

 march. All down the valley we had showers of 

 sleet and snow, and after going about fifteen 

 miles, we camped near a group of Kirghiz yiirts, 

 the people very civilly bringing us milk, dahi 

 (butter-milk), and clotted cream a great addi- 

 tion to our usual fare. 



Crossing a tributary stream, we followed the 

 main river to an old fort called Kurgaon-i-Ujad- 



