On the Li-ti-ping 29 
One by one the landmarks came back, and I made good 
progress up the valley. Only one point troubled me. On 
the previous day I had burst into this valley after some two 
hours’ struggling in the brake, an experience I was not 
inclined to court a second time. But could I pick up a 
path which would lead me back to the plateau without 
retracing my footsteps? Nay, even if I attempted the 
brake again, could I retrace my footsteps ? 
To the latter question the answer was, obviously, no, 
and therefore the only course was to continue up the stream 
to its source, leaving out of account the tributaries I had 
followed through the brake. This scheme at all events 
promised as well as anything else. It was cruel fate that 
as I wandered along, laying plans to be observed after 
I reached my last landmark, I should flush a snow 
pheasant, the original source of all the trouble, and the 
only one I saw during my two days’ sojourn on the 
Li-ti-p'ing. Needless to say I did not put up my gun in 
time to shoot it, but it occurred to me that, as there were 
several birds about, I might as well shoot something ; and in 
order to make certain of my one remaining cartridge I fired 
point blank at an unfortunate little finch that was sitting on 
a bush. When I came to pick him up, I found that the 
No. 6 shot had not only killed him but very nearly plucked 
him as well, and with the exception of the feathers, entrails, 
and beak, I ate him entire. After a short rest I felt much 
better, and pushed on for the turning point, which I reached 
much sooner than I had expected, thanks to following a 
path all the way. 
And now occurred a temporary check, for I could find 
no continuation of the path, and after wading across several 
streams in an endeavour to follow up the main valley, I 
was once more faced by bamboo brake. 
Retracing my steps, I struck off into an open grass-land 
valley which promised an easier route—the presence of 
grass-land was a welcome hint of the high plateau—and 
plunging into more or less open fir forest higher up, I 
crossed a ridge, still bending my steps in what I conceived 
to be the direction of the pass. It was now, I thought, 
early afternoon. 
After having crossed the ridge, I emerged from the 
