"It"s not another ambush," Rick panted. He held out the skin. "It"s this. Professor, what is this transparent stuff inside?"
Zircon took the skin and ran his finger tips over the lining. He held it up so that it caught the light, then looked at Rick curiously. "That"s odd," he muttered. "This is certainly a goatskin. And almost surely, this is a plastic lining. I can"t be sure, of course, but I"ve never seen anything like this in nature."
"It"s a goatskin water bag," Rick said excitedly. He pointed to Ko. "He had a dozen of them."
Zircon bellowed, "So! Then if this is plastic...."
"It was a clever stunt," Rick finished. "No one would suspect coolies toting goatskin water bags. And even if anyone did suspect, he wouldn"t be able to tell anything by a casual examination."
Sing scratched his head. "Forgive my stupidity," he said. "The suspicious one wouldn"t be able to tell what? If this lining is plastic, it is a senseless waste. Water keeps cool in a goatskin bag because of evaporation through the pores. It certainly couldn"t evaporate through plastic."
"No," Zircon agreed. "That is the idea. They don"t want evaporation.
Also, the plastic guarantees the water"s purity."
Sing said no more, but he was obviously puzzled. Nor could the Americans tell him what had excited them, that they had found the means by which the substance they sought was carried to the coast.
Rick had a quick vision of Chinese coolies making their slow way through the countryside, unnoticed because water-bearers were so commonplace.
But the coolies in this case carried bags lined with plastic, and the stuff that made the legs thrust out stiffly and that swelled the bag was not ordinary water! It was the stuff which had brought them halfway across the world.
CHAPTER XII
The Buddhist Monk
The party topped a high rise and stopped, spellbound at the scene that spread before them. They were on the rim of a great valley. Far on the other side of the valley stood the high peaks of the Himalayas, a mighty screen between them and India.
Below, a lush green path marked the course of a wide river. On either side of it, sloping up to the mountains, was the lighter green of gra.s.slands.
Sing pointed. "There is Korse Lenken."
Rick had to look hard before he saw it. Then he began to make it out.
The monastery was built under a great cliff on one side of the valley.
At first glance it seemed like part of the cliff itself. It was huge, with tier after tier of gray stone buildings rising in piled ma.s.ses from the valley floor. Around it, like tiny mounds of earth, were the hair tents of the Tibetans.
"Magnificent," Zircon rumbled. "Well worth coming to see, even if we find nothing at the end of the trail."
"We"ll find Chahda," Scotty said. "I"m sure we will. And the sooner the better."
Rick felt the same way. Now that the end of the trail was in sight, excitement was rising within him. He was anxious to find his Hindu friend and to find at the same time answers to some of the mysteries they had encountered.
"Let"s hurry," he said impatiently.
Sing shouted at the bearers and the party took a narrow trail that dipped into the valley. Scotty rode ahead with Sing, and his rifle was ready for instant use. Rick and Zircon brought up the rear, their own rifles held ready. They had taken no chances since the fight on the hilltop. Worthington Ko had been left afoot far behind them, but there was no a.s.surance his friends hadn"t come to the rescue with horses. Rick kept glancing behind him, just in case of an attack from the rear.
They had reached the rim of the valley by midmorning. All through the day they made their way down the mountain, reaching the valley floor about three in the afternoon. Another two hours of steady travel took them past the yurts of Tibetan herders--conical tents made of horsehair felt. The stolid Tibetans watched them pa.s.s, no interest in their beady eyes.
Then, as darkness began to set in, they reached the monastery. Korse Lenken towered above them, already shaded in twilight. From somewhere within the great pile they heard the tinkle of bells, then the deep tones of a mighty gong. Lamas, priests in yellow robes, walked past with bowed heads. Some of them spun their prayer wheels and intoned the Buddhist ritual.
_Om Mani Padme Hum. Hail, the jewel in the lotus!_
The jewel, of course, was the Lord Buddha.
They watched the pageant for a few moments, enthralled. Then Zircon commanded Sing. "Find someone you can talk to. We"ll want to see the High Lama."
Sing nodded. "I will go into the monastery. The bearers will find a place to camp." He issued orders in Chinese.
The bearers scattered at once, searching for a suitable place to pitch camp. The three Americans sat their horses and watched the activities around the great monastery, too interested even to talk.
Rick saw countless yellow robes on the various balconies. There must be thousands of monks, he thought. And there were an equal number of Tibetans, many of them already busy at cooking fires near the base of the gray stone buildings. He smelled mutton cooking, and the acrid, unpleasant odor he had learned to identify with yak b.u.t.ter. Hot b.u.t.tered tea was a Tibetan staple. He had tried it on the trail, because he was interested in everything, even yak b.u.t.ter. But he didn"t think it would ever take the place of ice cream in his affections.
One of the bearers came back and motioned to them. They followed as he led the pack mules to a place in the shelter of a great rock. The other bearers were foraging for wood. In a few moments a fire was going and camp was being set up.
Sing returned. "No one may see the High Lama," he reported. "He is in the middle of some kind of ceremony that takes a month. But I talked with an important priest. He was friendly. He said he would send one of the lamas to be our guide and to help us find your friend."
"Good," Zircon said. "Now, let"s have some dinner. I"m famished."
The boys echoed his sentiments.
It was fully dark before they ended their meal. They were squatting around the fire, sipping coffee and listening to Zircon"s description of the Buddhist ritual when one of the bearers suddenly called out. The three Americans and Sing reached for their weapons as a yellow-robed lama shuffled out of the darkness.
This, evidently, was their guide. He was of less than medium height, but that was all Rick could tell about him. His loose robe draped around his body and his cowl was pulled up, hiding his face.
"Welcome," Zircon boomed. "Sing, speak to him and tell him we are grateful for his coming."
Sing spoke to the monk in Chinese.
The robed lama stood immobile, just within range of the firelight. The yellow flames made shadows across his cowled figure. Rick felt a little shudder run through him. The quiet figure was somehow weird.
Sing shifted to another language, but the lama made no reply. Then, slowly, he brought his hands up level, outstretched toward them. He chanted slowly, his voice m.u.f.fled under the cowl. Then the chant died and his hands were lowered once more.
Sing turned to the group. "I don"t know what he said. It"s not in a language I understand." He spoke to the apparition. The monk stood motionless.
"Wish they"d sent us someone we could talk with," Scotty grumbled. "A lot of use this joker will be!"
The monk"s cowl turned slowly toward Scotty. The figure moved majestically toward the boy, then the hands lifted again. From under the cowl a sepulchral voice issued.
"Could be more use than you think, muttonhead."
For an instant there was stunned silence, then Rick and Scotty leaped for the robed figure with yells of delight. Rick hit him high and Scotty hit him low. They held him down and pulled the cowl from him, then pommeled him unmercifully, while Zircon cheered them on.
Only when the monk begged for mercy did they let him up. He tossed the robe aside and grinned at them.
"Okay," Chahda said. "You win. But it took you plenty time to get here!
Why you take so long?"
The slim Hindu boy hugged them solemnly, one at a time, and shook hands with Sing. "Now," he announced, "I eat. Got plenty sick of sheep meat, you bet!"