ALL WELL. STILL ON WAY. LOVE TO YOU AND TWINS.

Barma Shah decided that the telegram told enough, yet not too much. He

smiled when Biff also showed him a postcard with a picture of the Taj

Mahal, which had the printed statement: _India’s most priceless jewel,

for you to hold in memory_. Under that, Biff had written, “And I really

am holding it, bag and all. Biff.” He had addressed the card to Likake

Mahenili at Darjeeling.

“Send it,” decided Barma Shah. “Only your Hawaiian friend will know that

you mean the ruby rather than the Taj Mahal.”

After dinner at a restaurant in Agra, they drove back to view the Taj by

moonlight, when its graceful marble dome and slender minarets were

softened into an incomparable silvery whiteness, a striking contrast to

its splendor by day.

They were still talking about the Taj when they arrived back at the rest

house, where they reduced their tones to whispers rather than rouse the

monkeys, which apparently had gone to sleep in the trees. But when Biff

himself was dozing off, he heard occasional patter on the roof and

scratchy sounds outside his window, indicating that some of the

creatures were about.

In his dreams, Biff could see monkeys swarming over everything, even the

Taj Mahal, until oddly, they seemed to be clambering over the cot

itself. Still half asleep, yet aware of where he was, Biff could feel

their breath on his face, their pesky hands clutching at the bag

containing the ruby.

Then Biff’s eyes came open. He made a convulsive grab with both hands.

In the filtering moonlight from the window, he saw a face that was human

in size and form, yet leering like a monkey’s. He caught hands that were

human, too, but long, thin-fingered, and as writhing in their touch as a

snake’s coils.

Swiftly, expertly, those hands had grabbed the pouch that contained the

great ruby and were twisting its chain around Biff’s neck like a

strangle cord!

XII

A Double Surprise

The struggle that followed was frantic but brief. It couldn’t have

lasted long, for Biff was unable to wrench the attacker’s hands from the

chain that they so cruelly twisted. It was already cutting off Biff’s

breath and blood supply, so that his eyes were seeing black spots in the

moonlight.

Biff shifted his grip to his attacker’s throat, but it didn’t help. If

anything, it made him twist the chain harder. Biff couldn’t call for

help, though the walls of the bungalow were thin enough for even a

gargly cry to be heard. But there was a way to make people hear.

As he lashed about, Biff managed to shove the cot away from the wall.

Then, wrenching himself to a new position, he began kicking the wall

with his feet, pounding a terrific drum beat. There was a muffled,

excited cry from the next room, then answering shouts above the din that

Biff was raising. The whole dak bungalow was aroused.

Right then, Biff was hoping to jab his attacker’s neck nerves, judo

style, which would have turned the tables completely. But his squirmy

foe didn’t wait. He managed to yank the ruby bag clear from its chain.

Gripping his prize, he twisted away, turned, and bounded for the window.

Biff beat him there, by rolling over on his hands and knees, then

blocking the fugitive with a headlong dive. The squirmy man turned and

darted toward the door, just as it burst open and Barma Shah came

driving in. He met the attacker and snatched for the bag, which came

open, spilling out the ruby. By then, Biff was piling into the fray. He

and Barma Shah both grabbed for the gleaming gem, while the squirmy man

took off empty-handed.

It was Barma Shah who saved the ruby with one hand, while he held Biff

back with the other. Chandra and Kamuka were already taking up the chase

from their rooms, as were other guests. Coolly, Barma Shah told Biff:

“Leave it to them. We don’t want people to know what the fellow was

after. Here is the ruby, so put it away again.”

The advice was good, so Biff accepted it. For the moment, he wondered if

they’d really regained the ruby, for it looked as dull as a lump of

coal, there in Barma Shah’s hand. But as Biff took it, all the gem’s

luster returned and it scintillated in the moonlight with a vivid fire

that seemed to throw off living sparks. Satisfied, Biff put the ruby

back in its bag.

The excitement roused hundreds of monkeys from their tree bunks, and

with all their jumping and chatter, no one was able to catch up with

Biff’s attacker. The _khansama_ who kept the dak bungalow was all

apologies when an examination showed that Biff’s window screen had been

loosened—by whom, no one knew. Barma Shah, as spokesman for the boys,

dismissed it as a trifling matter.

But in the morning, Barma Shah went into Agra to talk to the police. He

returned in time for an early lunch which the khansama, who was cook as

well as innkeeper, had specially prepared. It consisted of _dalmoth_, or

fried lentils with thin shavings of lentil paste; and it was followed by

a dish of _petha_, a crystallized melon served in slices.

When Barma Shah and the boys pulled away in the jeep, he had made no

further mention of the near-robbery of the night before. But as they

rode along the highway toward Delhi, Barma Shah discussed the matter

with the boys.

“The police weren’t impressed,” Barma Shah declared. “They say there is

nothing to this talk of _thugee_ coming back in the form of a Kali cult.

People are simply confusing them with roving bands of thieves, like the

old _pindaris_. Other countries have gangsters, why not India?”

“But we saw the Kali statue—” Biff began.

“I know. Well,” declared Barma Shah, “whether that man last night was a

petty thief or a thug playing a lone hand to deceive us, we won’t take

more chances.”

Barma Shah’s method was simple. They drove on to Delhi and pulled into

the old city after dark. There, Barma Shah let the boys off on a quiet

street and continued on alone in the jeep toward Simla. He had given

them an address where they could find him.

Only a block from where they were dropped off, the boys came to a

rooming house that Barma Shah had mentioned. They stayed there overnight

and began planning their next step, which was to reach the American

Embassy without attracting special notice.

“See what you can find out, Chandra,” suggested Biff. “Say that you’re a

student who would like to know about the United States. Remember, there

are a lot of American nations, so be sure to specify the United States.

Maybe we can slide you in there to pave the way for me.”

All this was in keeping with advice from Diwan Chand in Calcutta, which

Barma Shah in his turn had stressed even more; namely, that spies might

be watching every move that Biff made. Events along the line had

definitely underlined the need for caution. So Chandra, still wearing

his European clothes, set out on a hired bicycle, the most popular type

of transportation in India’s capital city of New Delhi, which adjoined

the old Mogul capital of Delhi.

A few hours later, Chandra rejoined the other boys in a colorful bazaar

where he had left them.

“I have good news,” he exclaimed. “Every week, students go by special

bus to meet and talk with ambassadors from other countries.”

“That sounds like a United Nations proposition,” commented Biff.

“No, no,” returned Chandra. “I checked that. They go to a different

country’s embassy every week. So I look at the list, and what do you

think is next? United States! Tomorrow!”

“Nice work,” approved Biff. “That sounds like our ticket, all right.”

“It is our ticket, all right.” Chandra grinned. “Three tickets for bus

tomorrow. I ask and I get them. So we go along with big crowd, and

nobody will guess who we are.”

Since the students were all from Indian schools located in New Delhi and

elsewhere, Chandra and Kamuka decided to stay in their European clothes;

but Biff, somewhat to his annoyance, had to switch back to his Sikh

costume. Otherwise he would be spotted for an American and perhaps for

himself, Biff Brewster, if some keen observer happened to be looking for

him.

“I suppose any Sikh students will be wearing their native garb, too,”

commented Biff, “like the railroad guards on the train. So don’t let

them spot me for a phony the way that man with the fake beard did on the

Howrah bus.”

“Funny thing,” said Chandra, “I keep thinking about him every now and

then, I don’t know just why. But don’t worry. Kamuka and I will talk to

people so they won’t bother you.”

The bus tickets were simply cards that said _Student_ in English and its

equivalent in Hindi characters. They were accepted without question, and

the boys took seats well back in the bus, which was nearly full when it

started. All was fine until they stopped at a building where Biff looked

up and saw a flag with three vertical stripes—red, white, and green.

“You’ve made a mistake, Chandra,” Biff groaned. “This can’t be the

American Embassy. That’s not the United States flag.”

“It must be,” argued Chandra. “Lots of countries change their flags.

Maybe your country changes its flag, too.”

“No, we don’t change the United States flag.”

From the bus window, Biff saw the flag flutter slightly, and now he

noticed the emblem of an eagle on the white stripe.

“That’s the Mexican flag,” exclaimed Biff. As a sudden thought struck

him, he asked, “Just what did that list say, Chandra?”

“It said students would pay visit to the embassy of the United States

of—of—”

“The United States of Mexico!”

“Yes, that was it.”

“It’s my fault, Chandra,” conceded Biff. “I forgot that Mexico is

officially known as the United States of Mexico. I should have told you

the United States of America. Then you’d have checked on the American

Embassy.” He turned to Kamuka. “Dumb of me, wasn’t it?”

“Maybe I was dumb, too,” returned Kamuka. “If I had told Chandra to look

for United States of Brazil, he would have brought us to the Brazilian

Embassy. I could tell our story there.”

“You’re right, Kamuka,” acknowledged Biff. “We had two chances out of

three and we missed. Well, we can’t sit here. We will have to follow the

crowd.” Follow the crowd they did. As the last three off the bus, Biff

and his companions tagged on into the Mexican Embassy and slid into a

rear corner of the reception room where the students were seated.

Members of the Mexican diplomatic corps proceeded to hold open forum

with the students of New India, exchanging views on their respective

countries. After an hour’s session was completed, the students started

out, shaking hands with the Embassy staff as they went.

Again, Biff and his companions held back. They were able to ease along

behind the students, who were so interested in exchanging their own

views that they did not notice the dragging trio. Biff particularly, was

glad to avoid the handshakes. The diplomats showed interest in a few

genuine Sikh students, and Biff was afraid he would be asked

embarrassing questions.

There was just one greeter they could not avoid. Outside the reception

room, a Mexican youth of about Biff’s age had come up to shake hands

with the students and was chatting briefly with them. Fortunately, his

back was partly turned, so Biff saw a way to avoid him.

“You shake hands with him first, Kamuka,” Biff whispered, “but keep

moving or he may guess that you are a Brazilian. You crowd in fast,

Chandra, and keep him talking while I slide by—”

They had reached the youth by then, and Kamuka’s handshake was over too

quickly. Chandra, caught off stride, could not think what to say, so the

young Mexican politely bowed him on with a brief shake; then turned with

perfect poise to meet the last departing visitor, Biff.

The Mexican’s expression was momentarily quizzical as he studied the

face beneath the Sikh turban. Chandra and Kamuka, glancing back, were

sure Biff was getting by with his disguise when, to their horror, Biff

himself gave the game away. As though suddenly gone crazy, Biff flung

away his turban, sprang forward, grabbed the Mexican boy’s shoulders,

and began shaking the poise right out of him.

The surprised youth gasped and grabbed at Biff as if in self-defense.

Chandra and Kamuka turned to ward off any students who might come back

to mix in the fray, only to see that they were all alone. That was when

they heard Biff shout:

“Mike Arista!”

Then Chandra and Kamuka realized that it wasn’t a fight at all, but just

a genuine, heartfelt form of mutual recognition, as the Mexican boy

exclaimed:

“Biff Brewster!”

XIII

Biff’s Mission

The excitement of the meeting over, Biff realized that introductions

were in order. He turned to Chandra and Kamuka.

“This is Miguel Arista—Mike to us,” Biff said. “He and I met in Mexico,

where we went hunting for a lost Aztec treasure. We had some tough

adventures together.” Biff turned to Mike.

“This is Kamuka,” Biff continued. “I told you once about the trip that I

took up the Amazon with him. And this is Chandra, the newest member of

the team. He steered us through a lot of trouble from Calcutta to New

Delhi.”

“And I am glad he did,” returned Mike. “We’ve been watching for you

everywhere, that is, for you and Kamuka, Biff. We hadn’t heard about

Chandra. We alerted the American and Brazilian Embassies in case you

turned up there. So, of all things, you walked into the Mexican Embassy,

the last place we expected to see you. How did that happen?”

“That,” replied Biff with a smile, “was Chandra’s idea.”

“It looks like I picked the right United States,” put in Chandra. He

turned to Biff and Kamuka. “You had chance number one and two. That gave

me chance number three. I hit it right.”

“You sure did,” Biff agreed. He turned to Mike. “But how do you come to

be in India? How do you know about all this?”

“You remember my uncle, the judge in Mexico City?”

“Of course.”

“I came here with him on a visit, and we happened to meet your father.

My uncle can tell you about it, better than I can.” Mike paused a

moment, then asked: “Do you have the ruby?”

For answer, Biff looked around and saw that he and his friends were

alone. Then he brought out the priceless packet, opened it, and

displayed the Light of the Lama. It took Mike’s breath away. Never

before, perhaps, had the rare gem flashed more vividly, more

dramatically, than at that moment. That was all Mike needed to see.

“Put it away,” he said. “We’ll go over to my uncle’s hotel and talk to

him.”

Mike arranged for a cab, and they went to the hotel. There they met

Judge Felix Arista, a quiet man with a white beard and flowing hair that

gave him a very austere expression. But the kindly welcome that he gave

to Biff put Chandra and Kamuka completely at their ease.

Then Judge Arista went further. He spoke to Kamuka in Portuguese, then

to Chandra in Hindi, so fluently that both boys were quite overwhelmed.

Judge Arista also assured Biff that all was well with his father, the

last they had heard from him. Next, Judge Arista introduced a

middle-aged man of military bearing named Colonel Gorak, who evidently

held some key position with the government of India. Both were keenly

interested in the ruby when Biff produced it. Then Judge Arista turned

to the boys and said, “Tell us all that has happened.”

Though Biff was eager to hear more about his father, he realized that

Judge Arista was following proper procedure—learning the facts so that

he and Colonel Gorak could weigh them. Biff related the events from the

time the _Northern Star_ had docked in Calcutta. Judge Arista encouraged

Kamuka and Chandra to add their impressions. Chandra, especially, came

in for questioning regarding Jinnah Jad, Diwan Chand, and Barma Shah.

All three boys had much to say about Barma Shah and their adventures

with him, including how he had saved Biff’s life during the tiger hunt

and had later responded to Biff’s call when a thug had tried to steal

the ruby at the dak bungalow. Judge Arista finally turned to Colonel

Gorak and said:

“I am sure that we can trust these other boys as well as Biff. So I

think they should all hear what you have to tell him about Señor

Brewster.”

Colonel Gorak bowed acknowledgment, then spoke to Biff in an even,

methodical tone.

“Your father came here to India to open some old gold mines,” related

Colonel Gorak. “We were hopeful that investors would supply money to

work them. Among these mines were some that once belonged to the Rajah

of Bildapore, a small domain that was absorbed by a larger princely

state, though the Rajah’s family still owned the mines until the Indian

government finally acquired them.

“When miners went down into the old shafts, they met with inexplicable

accidents. They claimed that the mines were haunted by ghosts and

demons, but we blamed it on outside factions. However, Mr. Brewster

found there was some basis for the superstition, as it was part of a

legend dating back five hundred years.”

As Colonel Gorak paused, Kamuka exclaimed despite himself, “Five hundred

years! That is a long, long time!”

“Not in India,” put in Chandra promptly. “Here it is very short.”

“Quite true,” agreed Colonel Gorak seriously. “Five hundred years ago,

the ruling Rajah of Bildapore received a magnificent ruby from the Grand

Lama of Chonsi, a lost city near the border of India and Tibet. The

saying was, ‘While the Light of the Lama shines, so will the Star of the

Rajah’—and that proved true, for the mines showed steady profits and

were finally sold at a good price.

“Part of those profits were invested in gems which the Rajah’s family

promised to give to the Chonsi Lama in return for the luck the ruby had

brought them. That was to be done if ever the Rajah’s descendants

disposed of their holdings, which they finally did. But Mr. Brewster

learned that the gems had been hidden by loyal servants of the Rajah’s

family, because outsiders were seeking them.”

As Colonel Gorak paused, Biff asked, “By outsiders, do you mean the Kali

cult, sir?”

“For one, yes. For another, there is an international spy ring, run by

an adventurer named Bela Kron. We know little about him, except that he

will sell out to the highest bidder. Fortunately, Mr. Brewster located

the gems and brought them here to New Delhi.”

“And as I was here,” added Judge Arista, “he came to see me first. I

realized that this was an international matter, so I pressed it through

proper channels, and Colonel Gorak was assigned to the case. He has done

admirably with it.”

Colonel Gorak shook his head to that.

“The real credit goes to Mr. Brewster,” he insisted. “His story was

fantastic, but he had the gems to prove it and Judge Arista to vouch for

him. So we had him go to Ladakh in Eastern Kashmir, where he contacted

secret messengers from the Grand Lama. They took him to Chonsi where he

delivered the jewels with the compliments of our government. There was

just one problem. The Light of the Lama was not among the gems.”

With that, Colonel Gorak gestured to the huge ruby that was glowing in

the sunlight as though its ruddy fire held all the secrets of the past

centuries. Never had its sparkle been more vivid. No one could wonder

why this was the most prized gem of all.

“We should have thought of that beforehand,” declared Judge Arista. “But

we had not then seen the Light of the Lama.” He studied the gem again,

then turned to Colonel Gorak. “I can understand why the Chonsi Lama

wants it,” he said.

Colonel Gorak nodded. “So can I!” he agreed.

“Then the Lama is keeping my father in Chonsi?” asked Biff anxiously.

“Until he gets the ruby—like a ransom?”

“Not exactly,” replied Colonel Gorak. “Your father is still in Chonsi,

yes—”

“Because they won’t let him go?”

“No, no.” It was Judge Arista who replied to Biff’s anxious question. “I

am sure that he could leave at any time, but his mission would not have

been completed.”

“He wants to deliver the ruby, too,” explained Colonel Gorak, “and he

was sure that Barma Shah would be able to locate it, because they had

been working on it together, your father and Barma Shah.”

That calmed Biff immediately. His mind flashed back to the tiger hunt,

when Barma Shah had delivered that perfect shot while the shikaris were

wondering what to do. Then he thought of the dak bungalow and the way

Barma Shah had rescued him there. Chandra must have realized what was in

Biff’s mind.

“It is all right, Biff,” Chandra said encouragingly. “Your father and

Barma Shah—they are a team.”

Biff brightened as he turned to Judge Arista.

“You mean that I’m to go with Barma Shah?” the boy asked. “That he will

be there, too, when we deliver the ruby?”

“Exactly that,” acknowledged Judge Arista. “We are counting on both of

you. Your father said that he had arranged for you to receive the ruby

and that Barma Shah would do the rest.”

“I have arranged for our trip to Chonsi,” added Colonel Gorak. “We can

notify Barma Shah to meet us in Srinagar, the capital of Kashmir. From

there, we will fly to Leh, the capital of Ladakh, where our equipment

has been ordered and is waiting for us.”

Two thoughts swam through Biff’s mind. In flying anywhere, he would like

to be in a plane piloted by his uncle, Charles Keene, who—to Biff’s

thinking—was the greatest pilot ever. Next to his father, Uncle Charlie

was the man he would most like to see right now. The other thought

was—what was happening in Darjeeling? He felt concerned about his mother

and the twins. And he was worried about Li, who by now probably was

worried about him.

“Su Tio Carlos,” said Judge Arista, as though he had read Biff’s mind.

“Your Uncle Charles. We reached him in Burma and asked him to fly from

there to Darjeeling, so he would be ready to take off for Leh, to join

your party there. He is in Darjeeling now.”

With that, Judge Arista picked up the telephone and handed it to Biff,

adding with a kindly smile, “We have put in a long distance call to your

family in Darjeeling. You can talk to them right now.”

XIV

The Valley of Doom

Biff was right about Li being worried. From the time he had arrived in

Darjeeling, after a ride in from the airport at Bagdogra, Li’s worries

had begun and stayed with him. He was wondering constantly how much he

could tell the Brewsters if they asked him point-blank about Biff.

Biff’s mother, Martha Brewster, had met Likake Mahenili in Hawaii at the

time Biff and Li had gone on their thrilling sea hunt together. The

Brewster twins, eleven-year-old Ted and Monica, had met Li, too, and

they were bubbling with delight at seeing him again.

Of course, they wanted to see their big brother, too, so they peppered

Li with so many rapid-fire questions about Biff that Li hadn’t time to

answer any of them, which turned out for the best. In a slightly

reproving tone, Mrs. Brewster had suggested that the twins give their

guest a chance to speak for himself.

Thanks to that breather, as Biff would have termed it, Li was able to

state simply that Biff and Kamuka had gone directly to New Delhi in

response to a message from Mr. Brewster.

“We heard from New Delhi, too,” Mrs. Brewster said. “Mr. Brewster’s

company wired that he would be delayed and that Biff was being notified

what to do.”

“I’ll bet Dad has taken Biff to see some super-special gold mines!”

exclaimed Ted. “I wish he’d asked me along.”

“That must be it,” added Monica, “because Kamuka has been studying

mining in Brazil. I’d like to have gone, too.”

“It’s nice to hear you two agree on something,” was Mrs. Brewster’s

smiling comment, “but please notice that Likake isn’t sulking because he

wasn’t taken on the trip. That’s the way a real grownup would act.”

Li didn’t mention that Biff had also received a wire from the Ajax

Mining Company. He merely said that he was sure they would hear from

Biff as soon as he reached New Delhi. As the days passed, the twins had

a wonderful time with Li. Among other things, they went on a picnic to

Tiger Hill, where they viewed Mt. Everest, the world’s highest peak,

which towered more than 29,000 feet.

To Li, it was no more impressive than the 28,000-foot summit of

Kanchenjunga, which could be seen from Darjeeling. But he reserved

opinion on that and almost everything else, rather than start the twins

speculating on what their brother Biff might think about it. The next

step then would be—why hadn’t they heard from Biff, a question Li

couldn’t answer.

Li was relieved when Biff’s wire came from Agra, because he honestly

didn’t know why Biff had stopped there. But Li knew nothing yet of the

postcard, which was still on its way when Mrs. Brewster’s brother,

Charles Keene, flew in from Burma and stated that he had been summoned

to Darjeeling by an official call from New Delhi.

With Charles Keene in the twin-engine Cessna was a burly, red-haired

mechanic known as Muscles, who hailed from the State of Kentucky and was

proud of it. The plane also brought a Burmese boy named Chuba, who had

guided Biff across the border into China, to rescue Biff’s uncle when he

had been a prisoner there. Biff had detailed those adventures to Li, who

already regarded Chuba as an old friend.

So after a brief but hearty get-acquainted session, Li decided to

confide in Chuba. They had taken a stroll to look at Kanchenjunga, which

Li stated was the third highest mountain in the world. When Chuba asked

what two were bigger, Li told him: Everest and K 2—known as Mt.

Godwin-Austen—which was far north in Kashmir. Chuba shrugged at that.

“To me, Minya Konka looks bigger,” he asserted. “That’s the mountain

Biff and I saw in China. Perhaps that is because we got a look at it

from lower down.”

“Kamuka would say that about the Andes,” laughed Li. “To him, they would

look bigger.” Seriously, he added, “That was while you were hunting for

Biff’s Uncle Charlie?”

Chuba nodded.

“We may have to start a search for Biff’s father,” continued Li. “Biff

only heard from him indirectly.”

Noting Chuba’s keen interest, Li told him all that had happened in

Calcutta. He also mentioned his worry about whether or not he should

inform Biff’s family as to those facts, or wait until he received direct

word from Biff. Chuba promptly solved that problem.

“You have trouble,” Chuba told Li, “and Sahib Keene is trouble-shooter.

If you don’t hear from Biff by tomorrow, I’ll talk to Sahib Keene. Then

he will talk to you.”

They didn’t have to talk with Charles Keene the next day, for they

talked to Biff himself instead. That was when the long distance call

came from Judge Arista in New Delhi. Biff talked to his mother first,

explaining the situation briefly. Then Judge Arista came on the wire,

assuring Mrs. Brewster that all was probably well with her husband.

At the same time, Judge Arista stated that the trip to Chonsi was not

only urgent but dangerous. Colonel Gorak confirmed that when he spoke

both to Biff’s mother and his Uncle Charlie. But all agreed that the

mission was imperative, and since it was necessary for Biff to accompany

the party, the other boys should have their choice in the matter, too.

Their choice was unanimous. They all said they would go. Li and Chuba

talked to Biff and told him that. Then Biff introduced Kamuka and

Chandra to Chuba; and finally, he had Mike Arista on the line, having

him meet both Li and Chuba. It was Uncle Charlie who ended that round

robin.

“Let me get my instructions,” he insisted, taking the telephone from the

boys at his end, “before the Indian government has to dig another gold

mine to pay for this long distance call.”

Uncle Charlie not only took instructions; he was filled in on all the

details of the Rajah’s ruby, otherwise known as the Light of the Lama,

as well as Biff’s adventures since leaving Calcutta. Uncle Charlie went

into all that for the benefit of the breathless listeners, who included

his nephew Ted and his niece Monica. Then:

“We’re taking off today,” Charles Keene stated, “by way of Katmandu, the

capital of Nepal. Then a big hop over to Leh. If bad weather delays us,

we can meet the party somewhere between Leh and the Tibetan border.

They’ve given me a list of locations where they will stop. So let’s get

ready to go.”

That was meant for Li and Chuba, but Ted and Monica thought that they

were included, for they jumped up and were rushing off to pack when

their Uncle Charlie called them back.

“No, small fry!” he said. “You’re staying here!”

“Oh, no!” the twins wailed in one voice. “We both voted to go!”

“That vote was for teenagers only,” returned Uncle Charlie. “Somebody

has to stay here and look after your mother. Besides, the Cessna only

carries five passengers and we have four already: Li, Chuba, Muscles,

and myself.”

“But if we’re small fry,” argued Monica, “the two of us would only count

as one—”

“Or maybe you don’t want girls along,” interrupted Ted, “so in that case

you can take just me.”

Monica turned on Ted at that and was pounding him to show how tough her

fists could really be, when Uncle Charlie moved in and separated them as

he said:

“Break it up! Muscles is so big he counts for two, so that makes five

passengers already. Sorry, no more room!”

When they reached the airfield, Muscles had the plane all ready for the

flight. The massive mechanic was standing guard and glaring suspiciously

at any workers who came near the plane.

“That is Muscles’ way,” Charles Keene said approvingly. “With an

international spy ring haunting an old gold mine and thugs trying to

steal a ruby as a gift for the goddess Kali, almost anything could

happen to any of us, anywhere!”

Then, with Charles Keene at the controls, the plane was climbing from

the runway in the direction of the snow-capped Himalayas, where dozens

of magnificent peaks seemed to grow into sight, to match huge

Kanchenjunga and even more distant Everest.

The higher the plane rose, the more the mountains loomed above it.

Avoiding those vast peaks, Charles Keene worked the plane above valleys

and passes that formed openings in the massive barrier. The ranges rose

skyward like great steps until the plane reached the fertile Katmandu

Valley near the center of Nepal, a great green oasis in a vast desert of

rocky crags and the perpetual snow of the surrounding Himalayas.

Katmandu was a colorful city of temples, pagodas, and palaces that rose

from among lesser buildings and great open squares. The altitude was a

little more than four thousand feet, and Charles Keene made a landing at

the airfield to check on weather reports, while Muscles gave the plane

another going over. From there, the plane took off westward, passing

south of the great twin peaks of Annapurna and Dhaulagiri, gigantic

sentinels twenty miles apart, with a deep valley tapering down to a

river gorge between their five-mile summits.

“It’s too soon to head north,” decided Charles Keene, “even though that

gap does look inviting. It would take us into Tibet, and we might have

problems picking a course over into Kashmir. We’ll do better this way.”

This way took them out of Nepal, and soon they were flying over India

again. There, Biff’s uncle finally swung to the north, and again the

Himalayas loomed ahead. Then they were knifing through fleecy clouds at

two hundred and fifty miles an hour, straight toward the disputed

Tibetan border.

“This course will bring us into Leh,” Charles Keene declared, as the

clouds began to thicken, “but we’d better get more altitude.”

A gigantic mass of solid, snowy white rose through a rift in the clouds.

As the plane skimmed over it, they all drew a relieved breath.

“We nearly scraped frosting off cake,” Chuba said.

Charles Keene smiled, but a bit grimly, as he studied his chart again.

Then:

“If that was Nanda Devi,” he declared, “we are away off course.” He

turned to Muscles. “Is the altimeter right?” he asked.

“It was when I checked it last.”

“Then we aren’t climbing as we should.”

The plane droned on, in and out of cloud banks, above valleys filled

with mist. Fortunately, no more mountains rose into their path, but

clouds were thickening up ahead and the plane was not responding

properly.

“We’re almost over the northern range,” Uncle Charlie said. “But

tackling those cloud banks would be risky, and turning back would be

worse. We’ll do better making a forced landing in one of those forgotten

valleys.”

“Provided the visibility is good enough at landing level,” put in

Muscles. “We may encounter ground fog.”

“That’s the chance we take,” Uncle Charlie conceded. “But I don’t think

it has settled deeply yet.”

Coolly, Charles Keene zoomed over two low-lying mountain ranges, then

banked his plane toward a wide space where a trace of green showed deep

beneath the gathering mist. The white blanket thickened as he approached

it, and the plane, as it descended, was swallowed completely in those

swirling folds. The roar of the motor was muffled; then it, too, faded

entirely.

Silence reigned again above the mist-filled valleys of the Himalayas,

the strange, mysterious stillness that the mightiest of mountains had

known since the dawn of time.

XV

The Caravan Halts

“So this is Srinagar!”

Biff Brewster spoke from the bow of a narrow, rakish craft known as a

_shikara_, as two turbaned oarsmen propelled it along the River Jhelum

through the heart of Kashmir’s capital city. Between Biff and the stern,

where both paddlers were seated, was a large canopy mounted on

ornamental poles. Reclining beneath it were Chandra, Kamuka, and Mike

Arista.

The front of the canopy bore the boat’s name, _Happy Daze_, for these

gondolas of the Himalayan Venice were particularly popular with American

visitors. As they swept along beneath the ancient wooden bridges that

spanned the Jhelum, the boys waved to passengers in passing shikaras

with signs bearing such varied titles as _Hot Dog_, _The Big Mo_, and

_Chattanooga Choo Choo_.

Picturesque buildings flanked both sides of the waterway, and beneath

their balconies were native craft called _dungas_, on which whole

families lived. Far more pretentious were the lavish houseboats occupied

by Europeans and Americans. These were more in evidence after the

shikara brought them to the Dal Gate, the outlet for Dal Lake.

From there, they followed more canals to the lake itself, where they

wove among actual floating gardens to the five-mile stretch of open

water beyond. Sunset was tingeing Dal Lake with a deep crimson that

purpled the blue lake and its surrounding foliage against the

magnificent backdrop of the snow-clad Himalayas.

“Fine sunset,” Kamuka appraised it. “Much better than on the Hooghly.”

“And all we need,” commented Biff, studying the mirrored sunset in the

placid water, “is for a bore to come roaring down the lake. This water

buggy would really wind up in a happy daze.”

Even that imaginary menace was ended when they reached their

destination, a houseboat named _Pride of the Deodars_. This was a stout

ship in its own right, measuring 120 feet from “stem to stern” as Biff

put it, with a width or beam of 16 feet. Before taking off from New

Delhi, Colonel Gorak had engaged the _Pride of the Deodars_ for their

overnight stay in Srinagar and had come directly here while the boys

were taking their river trip.

Smilingly, the colonel showed them through an actual floating mansion,

for the _Pride_, as the boys promptly called it, had a huge living room

and a sizable dining room, each with a fireplace, plus three bedrooms

with private baths. A native chef served a tasty dinner from the ample

kitchen. After the meal, the boys went to the living room. They were

seated in front of the fireplace, when a light glimmered cautiously from

the water close by, and they heard a shikara scrape alongside the

_Pride_.

“Barma Shah,” stated Colonel Gorak. “I contacted him at the address in

Simla.” Gorak turned to Biff. “I have never met him, so you can

introduce us.”

[Illustration: Boat on river, passing a town]

When Barma Shah entered, he was wearing his beret and tinted glasses, as

excellent a disguise as ever, for when he removed them, his complexion

changed in color and his face seemed to broaden, probably because of his

widespread ears. His high forehead and short-clipped hair were

deceptive, too, for the beret had hidden them well. Colonel Gorak nodded

his approval.

“I can understand why you have managed to stay undercover,” Gorak

declared. “I have dozens of reports from men who have contacted you at

one time or another”—the colonel gestured to an attaché case on the

table—“but not one could give more than a vague description of you.”

“Unfortunately, most of those who knew me best are gone,” returned Barma

Shah, in a regretful tone. “They were marked for death, as I have been.”

“I know that,” nodded Colonel Gorak. “All of you were in constant danger

from all sides when you tried to quell those riots between rival

factions, especially in Calcutta.”

“The danger still is great,” declared Barma Shah, “and that is why I

show myself so seldom. During the past year or more, only two men really

met me face to face, so far as learning my identity. One was Diwan

Chand; the other, Thomas Brewster. Recently, of course”—he gestured

toward Biff and his companions—“I told these boys who I was, because

once I was clear of Calcutta, I felt the need for secrecy was gone. So

now”—Barma Shah finished with a bow—“we meet at last, Colonel Gorak.”

“And the meeting is a timely one,” returned Gorak, “because you are the

man who can help us most.”

The colonel spread a large map of Kashmir on the table, ran his finger

from Srinagar eastward to Leh, the principal city of Ladakh. Then he

inched it, zig-zag fashion, toward the boundary between India and Tibet,

which was marked with a dotted line, indicating its uncertainty.

“Charles Keene will meet you in Leh,” explained Colonel Gorak, “or at

one of your later stopping points. When you reach the vicinity of

Chonsi—wherever it may be—you will be contacted and guided to that lost

city.”

Barma Shah looked up, slightly puzzled. “You aren’t coming with us,

Colonel Gorak?” he asked.

“No. This is not a military mission, nor even an official expedition.

Mr. Brewster went there on his own and personally promised to deliver

the Rajah’s ruby to the Chonsi Lama, once the gem was found. Since the

descendants of the Rajah were supposed to deliver it to the successor of

the Lama, tradition demands that Mr. Brewster’s promise be fulfilled by

his son.

“Again, in keeping with tradition, the boy should be accompanied by

someone close of kin, so we have chosen his Uncle Charles for that

purpose. And since you, Barma Shah, played the vital part in recovering

the lost ruby, you are entitled to go along as its temporary guardian.”

As Colonel Gorak finished, Barma Shah smiled.

“You should have picked Diwan Chand for my job,” he said, “but as for

going along, I don’t think Diwan Chand would have. So I guess I’ll have

to do.”

“You will do very well. Any more questions?”

“Just one, Colonel. What about the Chonsi Lama? Have you any reports on

him?”

“Nearly twenty years ago,” stated Colonel Gorak, “the Chonsi Lama

visited Leh and received a tremendous ovation. He was then a man in his

early thirties and impressed all who met him with his great vigor and

his keen mind. In the years since, the Chonsi Lama has preserved the

balance of the border. He has refused to listen to the demands of

dictators who have tried to curb his power. They are unable to oust him

because they cannot find him.”

“And all the while his influence has increased?” Barma Shah inquired.

“Yes. Today, the Chonsi Lama is regarded as one of the wisest men in the

East and, without a doubt, the most mysterious. No one has seen him

since that time in Leh, but he has been heard from often, and his

well-weighed decisions have increased his fame. Now in his early

fifties, he is probably at the peak of his career—that is, if Lamas have

careers. When one dies, his spirit is supposed to be reincarnated in an

infant born at that same time, who then continues on as a Living

Buddha.”

Biff and the other boys wanted to hear more on that intriguing subject,

but Barma Shah asked:

“Will anyone block us between Leh and Chonsi?”

“One man will if he can,” returned Gorak grimly. “That is Bela Kron, who

heads the international spy ring. Have you ever run across him here in

India?”

“No, but I would like to.” Barma Shah gritted his teeth and clenched his

fists. “I would repay him in kind for the way he tortured some of my

friends.”

“I know.” Colonel Gorak tapped the attaché case significantly. “The

reports are all in here. But would you recognize Bela Kron if you saw

him?”

“No, because I could not possibly have met him. Brewster may have,

around those mines in Bildapore, but Bela Kron would have been very

wary, any time he came to Calcutta.”

That ended the conference for the evening. Tingling with excitement, the

boys found it difficult to go to sleep, even in the luxurious houseboat.

When they finally did drop off, the night seemed very short indeed, for

Colonel Gorak woke them early for their morning flight to Leh.

The five-hundred-mile trip was interesting, for below, the boys saw

samples of the rugged terrain that they would have to cover later on.

The nearest thing to a road was a crude trail that led through mountain

passes twelve thousand feet in altitude, where the plane flew low

between the hemming Himalaya ranges. There were occasional squatty

villages and Buddhist monasteries perched high upon the mountainsides.

These gave an idea of what Chonsi would be like if ever they found the

place.

The immediate objective was Leh, and it proved interesting when they

landed there. Though a town of only a few thousand inhabitants, its

bazaars showed a mingling of many races including tribes in outlandish

costumes, for this was the trade center where goods came in from Tibet

by caravan. Biff and his companions found the equipment ready and the

arrangements all made for their trek to the border. But Charles Keene

and his Cessna had not yet arrived.

For two full days they waited, with the strain continually increasing.

The only news was a roundabout report from Katmandu, stating that the

Cessna had put down there and then resumed its flight, on the very day

that Biff and his companions had flown from New Delhi up to Srinagar. On

the third day, Colonel Gorak, who had come along this far, decided that

the caravan must start. Barma Shah agreed.

“There is still a chance that your uncle’s plane made a safe landing,”

Gorak told Biff. “But by now he will suppose that you have left Leh, so

there is no need of staying here.”

“In fact, it would be a mistake,” declared Barma Shah, “for your uncle

has our schedule and may be expecting us at one of the stopping posts.

We are already a day late, but the first two stages are short, so we can

make them in a single day.”

Paced by plodding, heavily laden yaks, they made the required distance

by nightfall. Their course was toward the glistening mountains to the

south, but the whiteness that worried Biff was not the snow upon the

Himalayan summits. The thick clouds surrounding the lower levels were

the menace. They filled the passes and the valleys beyond, the only

places where the plane could have made a landing.

By morning the clouds were heavier still, and Barma Shah was anxious to

make an early start because of the threatening snow. Biff pleaded with

him to wait, so they did for another hour, studying the increasing snow

clouds.

“It’s no use,” Barma Shah decided finally. “We can hardly see the slopes

now. Anyone coming through those passes would have to turn back.”

Biff nodded hopelessly. But as he took one last look through a pair of

field glasses, he was sure he detected motion in the distant haze. Then,

against the snowy background, he saw three figures. One paused as they

struggled forward and waved his arms in a characteristic gesture.

Excitedly, Biff exclaimed, “Uncle Charlie!”

XVI

The Bamboo Bridge

Biff and the three boys with him started forward on the run to meet

Charles Keene and his companions. They soon saw that one of the pair was

Li, and since the other was about his size, it only took one guess for

Biff to name him: “Chuba!” But by the time the two groups met, Biff had

another name in mind as well. The first words he put were:

“Where’s Muscles? Wasn’t he along with you?”

“Muscles is all right,” Charles Keene assured him. “We are, too, but we

had to speed up our pace the last few miles, otherwise we wouldn’t have

made it. When I get a cup of hot coffee, I’ll tell you all about it.”

Li and Chuba were just too winded to talk at all. When they reached the

caravan, Barma Shah decided to delay the start until they had rested.

That gave Charles Keene time to tell their story. He related how clouds

had enveloped their plane high in the Himalayas.

“Rather than hit a mountain,” he said, “we chanced a landing in a

valley. Fortunately it was a deep one, and the fog hadn’t fully settled.

All of a sudden, green fields smacked right up at us. We banged up the

plane some, but not too badly. What happened next was the odd part.”

Charles Keene paused to drink half his cup of coffee in one long,

grateful swallow. Meanwhile, Li and Chuba couldn’t wait to pick the

story up from there.

“A lot of natives wearing goat skins came rushing up to the plane,”

declared Li. “We thought they were going to mob us.”

“They were shouting ‘_Yeti! Yeti!_’ over and over,” put in Chuba, “but

before we could find out what they meant, Muscles went after them. You

should have seen them run.”

Charles Keene laid aside his empty cup.

“Later, they came creeping back,” he said, “and we made friends with

them. So we didn’t ask what they meant by shouting—”

He stopped suddenly, as Barma Shah made frantic gestures for silence. A

Ladakhi porter was standing by, staring with dark, narrowed eyes. Barma

Shah told the man to bring some more hot coffee. Then, when he was gone,

Barma Shah confided:

“Don’t mention the word Yeti to these people. You have heard of the

giant ape-man of the Himalayas, haven’t you? The creature they call the

Abominable Snowman? That’s their name for it: Yeti—”

“I remember now!” exclaimed Charles Keene. “I was sure I’d heard the

word before. But I thought that yarn was spiked long ago.”

“Not in these mountains,” rejoined Barma Shah. “Here in Ladakh, as well

as Kashmir, Sikkim, Bhutan, Nepal, Tibet, and even as far away as

Yarkand, the Yeti is very real. The natives will run away if they even

think such a creature is around.”

“And we thought they meant the plane!” exclaimed Li.

“Yes, because we came down from the sky like a big bird,” added Chuba.

“Bigger than they ever saw before.”

“They may have blamed the Yeti for bringing such a monster,” commented

Barma Shah. “But here comes the porter with the coffee. So let us avoid

the word from now on.”

“But where is Muscles?” queried Biff.

“Back in the valley, looking after the plane,” explained his uncle.

“Some of the tribesmen—_Sherpas_ they call themselves—guided us over to

the mountain pass and then returned to their valley. We miscalculated

slightly or we would have been here sooner.”

Despite the delay, the caravan completed its next stage ahead of the

impending snowstorm. The patient yaks, creatures that resemble both the

ox and the American buffalo, with long hair like the fleece of a sheep,

responded to continued prodding as though they recognized the need for

hurry. Tikse, the chief porter and head yak driver, had a comment on

that score.

“Listen and you hear yak grunt,” he told the boys. “That means two

things.”

“And what are those?” asked Biff.

“One thing, yak like what happen, yes. Other thing, yak do not like what

happen, no.”

“And how,” queried Mike, “do you tell the grunts apart?”

“No way to tell,” replied Tikse. “Yak grunt the same exactly, whichever

way he feel. But it is important just the same.”

“And what makes it so important,” demanded Li, “if you don’t know the

difference?”

“You do know the difference,” returned Tikse. “When yak give grunt, he

feel one way or other, maybe both. When yak do not give grunt, yak do

not care.”

“But why,” asked Chuba, “should yaks feel both good and bad?”

“These yaks feel good,” explained Tikse, “because they know they get to

shelter ahead of snow. They feel bad because we make them hurry. So they

say both things with one grunt. Simple.”

It looked simple indeed when they reached the day’s goal, a small patch

of grazing ground where dried grass spread to the foot of rocky slopes.

There were stone huts for the members of the party and similar shelters

for the yaks. The reason stones had been used in the construction was

because there were plenty of them lying around; and nothing else. The

roofs of the buildings were made of rough boards, covered with thatched

leaves. They weren’t nailed down because they didn’t have to be. The

builders had simply placed big stones on the roofs.

The boys turned in early and slept late, snug in their sleeping bags and

shoulder to shoulder in their huts. In the morning it took three of them

to ram the door open, the snow was so deep. But the yaks were up, ready

and grunting—some because they liked snow; others because they hated it.

The yaks pulled the party through. They bulldozed their way through the

snow, chest deep, clearing it like living snowplows, so that the people

had no difficulty following them. Oddly, as the trail climbed higher, it

led to barren ground, totally free from snow. Apparently, the storm

clouds hadn’t managed to gain that altitude.

Early that afternoon, the party halted at a roaring mountain stream and

stared at the remnants of a crude wooden bridge that had been washed

away by the flood. Sadly, Tikse petted one yak after another, while the

porters relieved the stolid beasts of their burdens. The boys watched

Tikse turn the yaks over to two other Ladakhis, who promptly drove them

off along the trail. Barma Shah explained the situation.

“We’ll have to make a footbridge,” he stated, “before the water rises

too high. So Tikse is sending the yaks on to another shelter. From now

on, the porters will carry our packs.”

All the while, Biff could hear a chopping sound from a short way up the

narrow, turbulent stream. There was a sudden crash, and a tree came

toppling down to bridge the raging torrent. Chandra appeared from the

brush, carrying a heavy hand-axe.

“Bridge already set,” reported Chandra. “It just needs one thing more—”

[Illustration: _A dozen steps and Biff was over_]

“It needs much more.” The interruption came from a squatty, broadly

built porter named Hurdu, as he tested the tree with a clumsy foot. “We

need ten more trees like this.”

“We need a rail for the bridge,” declared Chandra calmly. “Can somebody

bring me a rope?”

Biff supplied a rope, and Chandra hitched one end around a tree. Like a

monkey, he scrambled across the fallen tree, carrying the free end of

the rope with him. A single slip and Chandra would have gone into the

flood, which probably would have pleased Hurdu, who was watching

intently. But Chandra was across in no time and promptly hitched the

rope to a tree on the opposite bank, drawing it taut as he did.

“Now, walk across log bridge,” called Chandra, “and hold on to rope

rail.”

Biff shouldered a pack and followed instructions, keeping his eyes fixed

straight ahead, not on the furious current, which would have distracted

him. With one hand on the rope, it was simple to steady himself while he

advanced one foot, then the other. A dozen steps and he was over. Now

the other boys were following his example. That was all the porters

needed. They hoisted their full burdens, eighty pounds to a man, and

stalked across Chandra’s simple bridge in regular procession.

Charles Keene and Barma Shah followed, as did Tikse and Hurdu, though

the last two exchanged glares before they started and after they had

crossed. Now that the yaks had gone their way, a dispute appeared to be

in the making as to who was the chief guide of the party. Both Tikse and

Hurdu wanted that honor.

The narrow path made a steep ascent up the side of a high cliff, and

before the porters were out of sight of Chandra’s crude bridge, they saw

the surging stream carry it away. Time had been the all-important

factor, where that crossing was concerned. But an hour later, the party

came to something much more formidable.

The trail swung along the fringe of a tremendous, steep-walled gorge a

thousand feet in depth and a hundred or more across. Down below, a river

thundered like a hungry dragon, ready to devour any human prey. Chandra

was pleased to see that this chasm was already bridged, for he could

have done nothing with his hand-axe.

The bridge was of a suspension type, so crude and flimsy of construction

that it seemed to hover in midair. Yet it evidently was strong enough,

for Barma Shah, who was up in front, started across without hesitation.

Tikse and Hurdu were close behind him, followed by the long procession

of porters with their heavy packs. As Biff paused to look for the other

boys, he found Chuba close beside him. As usual, Chuba had a saying to

fit the situation.

“Tikse and Hurdu agree on something at last,” declared Chuba. “Wise man

never argue when it prove another man right.”

“You’ve got something there,” laughed Biff, as he watched Tikse and

Hurdu practically crowd each other across the bridge. “Neither could

afford to hesitate, or he’d be admitting that the other was boss.”

“From the look of that bridge,” observed Li, “both were lucky to get

across. The same goes for us—if we make it.”

Considering that the bridge’s cables were composed of twisted strands of

bamboo and rattan, with hanging vines dangling like ropes to support the

roadway, Li had a point. But the other boys didn’t agree. They had seen

and crossed many such primitive bridges: Chuba in Burma, Chandra in

India, Kamuka in Brazil, and Mike in Mexico. Though the porters crossed

at a safe distance apart, they didn’t begin to tax the bridge to its

capacity.

That was proven when the boys reached the bridge and saw that its

runway, fashioned from strips of bamboo laid crosswise, was wide enough

to drive a yak across. As the boys crossed the bridge two abreast, Biff

spoke to Chandra, who was beside him.

“Now I see why Hurdu wanted to chop down more trees back at the little

stream. We could have brought the yaks along. Why wasn’t Tikse in favor

of that?”

“I saw Tikse pet the yaks and say good-by,” returned Chandra. “He made

grunts, like yak, saying he was both glad and sorry. Sorry because yaks

had to go. Glad because it gave jobs to porters instead.”

“You’re right!” exclaimed Biff. “Colonel Gorak said the bearers were not

to receive full pay until they actually took over.”

The tremendous roar of water echoed up from the steep-walled gorge,

drowning further conversation until the boys were across. It might have

been imagination, but Biff felt that the bridge quivered as he left it,

so he turned to look back while Chandra, still beside him, was laying

his pack on solid ground. They had come between a pair of upright posts

that served as tower for the bridge; now they were close by the big

stakes to which the rope cables were moored. There, porters were

stacking their packs by dozens and sitting down to rest.

There were still several porters on the bridge, all well spaced. Behind

them came Li and Chuba, for those two boys had stayed back to wait for

Charles Keene, who was bringing up the rear. Biff’s uncle had taken on

that duty to “keep the parade moving” as he styled it, which meant that

he had been encouraging straggling porters in his own cheery, breezy

way.

Li and Chuba were past the halfway mark and Uncle Charlie was almost

there when Biff saw the swaying bridge give a sudden shudder. Biff

thought for an instant that it was an earth tremor. Then he noticed that

the porters near him were chatting, quite unconcerned. Biff gave a

warning shout, too late.

With a snap like a rifle report, the rope parted from the stake at

Biff’s right. With it, the entire cable slipped on that side of the

bridge, tilting the runway downward. In a single second, Charles Keene,

Li, Chuba, and a pair of porters were sprawling on the slippery bamboo

slats, which had suddenly become a chute to certain doom in the abyss

below!

XVII

The Monster of the Mountains

In the harrowing moments that followed, Biff saw two shapes go

slithering off the slanted bridge and continue spinning, tumbling in

huddled helpless fashion into the gaping jaws of the roaring gorge. Biff

shut his eyes as they disappeared, and his mind flashed back to those

tiny figures that he had seen against the snowy background of the

mountain pass.

Uncle Charlie, Li, and Chuba. The boys were two of a size, like those

two forms that had just plunged from the collapsing bridge. So they must

be Li and Chuba—or else the two porters. But no, not the porters; those

somersaulting shapes weren’t big enough. Biff tightened his fists grimly

as he opened his eyes for one last hopeless look.

Biff was right: It wasn’t the porters.

At the first warning quiver of the bridge, they had dropped their heavy

burdens and made a desperate dive for safety. Nearly across, first one,

then the other, had managed to grab the high edge of the canted runway

and scramble to the ground beyond. But as Biff looked past them, his

eyes opened really wide.

It wasn’t Li or Chuba either!

Both boys were still there, near the center of the bridge, with Uncle

Charlie!

The moment the bridge had tilted one way and they had felt themselves

sliding with it, all three had made a frantic grab in the other

direction. Instinctively, they had gripped the upper side and the

slender grass ropes that supported it. They were still hanging on.

What Biff had seen tumble into the gorge were the bulky packs that the

porters had flung aside. Those bulging burdens, when falling, had looked

exactly like a pair of huddled humans. Now, Uncle Charlie and the two

boys were lightening weight by letting their own packs follow the path

of the others.

That still didn’t guarantee them safety. The whole weight of the bridge

was now swaying on a single rope cable. Sooner or later it was sure to

snap; then all hope of rescue would be gone. Now, chunks of the runway

were breaking loose from the dangling ropes, which no longer bore their

proportionate shares of the weight. That produced a new dilemma.

It was impossible for Uncle Charlie, Li, and Chuba to work their way

along that upper edge, because of the gaps. They would have to reach the

one remaining cable, climb it to the top of the tower post and come down

to the ground. Li and Chuba might manage it; but not Charles Keene, with

all his weight.

Chandra had the answer. He had brought along the rope from his log

bridge. He tossed one end to Biff, saying, “Hang on tight!” Then,

carrying the other end, Chandra scrambled up the lone cable and

practically slid from the post top out to where Li and Chuba clung.

There, Chandra, Li, and Chuba tied their rope end to the cable; while

Biff, Mike, and Kamuka hauled the rope taut and hitched the other end

around the tower post.

That filled the gaps along the level route to safety. Chandra went

first, pausing to tie dangling liana strands to the new rope to keep it

from sagging. Li and Chuba followed, stopping to wait for Charles Keene,

even when he twisted one arm in the rope and waved them on with his

other hand. If Biff’s uncle tired, they hoped to help him; but what

Uncle Charlie lacked in agility, he made up for in endurance.

After minutes that proved long and nerve-racking for Biff and his

watching companions, the other boys reached solid ground with Charles

Keene right behind them. A moment later, Biff and the rest were swarming

around Uncle Charlie and congratulating him, while Barma Shah spoke

approvingly.

“That was very good, indeed. And just in time, too. The wind is getting

brisker from the gorge. What is left of the bridge will soon be gone.”

At a combined order from Tikse and Hurdu, the bearers gathered their

packs. Then they were on their way again. As they veered away from the

gorge, Biff took a last look back. The remains of the bridge were

swinging like a hammock now, its single strand due to snap at any

moment.

Chandra, who was walking beside Biff, touched his arm. “The rope, Biff,”

he said in a low voice. “Somebody cut it!”

Biff stared at him. “Are you sure?” he gasped. When Chandra nodded, Biff

said soberly, “Then that means there’s an enemy right in our own party.”

That evening, when they pitched their tents in the shelter of some trees

on the rim of a rugged valley, Charles Keene remarked:

“Losing a few packs didn’t hurt us, because we were short on porters

anyway.”

“Short on porters?” inquired Barma Shah. “How?”

“We had sixty yesterday morning, but there were only fifty-four when I

counted them as they crossed the log bridge. That’s why I brought up the

rear, to see that no more of them skipped.”

That news brought a grim expression to Barma Shah’s face. In response,

he said:

“They may have heard our talk of Yeti. What is more, I saw some big

tracks in the snow before we broke camp yesterday. I obliterated them,

but perhaps some of the porters saw them first.”

That night it snowed again, though only lightly. In the morning, Biff

awoke to hear the camp babbling with excitement. He crawled from his

sleeping bag and emerged from the tent, where he promptly ran into

Chandra, who told him:

“Yeti tracks again. Hurdu found them on the hill.”

Biff joined Charles Keene and Barma Shah up near some barren rocks. The

tracks were much larger than a man’s foot, but clumsy and roughly

formed. They led in from the rocks, then back again, as though some

creature had come down from the craggy hill toward the camp, only to

return to its lair.

Some of the Ladakhi bearers were gabbing among themselves and repeating,

“Yeti—Yeti,” much too often, as they walked along beside the big

footprints and compared them with their own smaller tracks. Back at

camp, Barma Shah conferred with Tikse, who gave the porters a pep-talk

in a mixture of Hindi and Ladakhi. They responded in grunts of

half-agreement as they gathered up their packs.

“Those sound like yak grunts,” declared Chuba. “Good and bad. They don’t

want to go along, but anyway, they go.”

“That is right,” stated Chandra, who had caught the meaning of the

speech. “Tikse says they have to go along because they can’t go back, as

there is no bridge across the gorge.”

That night, the porters pitched their tents much closer together when

they camped. There was another light snow, and in the morning Hurdu

found new Yeti tracks beside a rocky slope nearby. Charles Keene was

frankly skeptical about them.

“Anybody could have made them with a piece of brushwood,” Biff’s uncle

declared, “or in half a dozen other ways. But I guess Tikse can’t

convince his crowd of that.”

“Tikse thinks they are Yeti tracks himself,” returned Barma Shah. “That

is the real trouble.”

All day the Ladakhi porters kept watching the barren ground above the

tree line, for that was the high altitude at which the Yeti supposedly

dwelled. They quickened their pace and reached the next campsite well

before dusk. There, trouble seemed over, for this was a valley where two

trails crossed, and already a nomadic tribe was camped there. They

greeted the party from Leh and gladly sold them fresh provisions.

That night, there was music and mirth around the campfires. The morning

dawned crisp but pleasant, for there was no sign of any snow. Nor was

there any sign of Tikse and his Ladakhi porters. They had pulled out at

dawn, taking the other trail the long way back to Leh, leaving only

Hurdu and a dozen others who were not Ladakhi.

That automatically promoted Hurdu to chief guide, and when he suggested

hiring some of the nomad tribesmen as porters, Barma Shah favored the

idea, but asked for approval from Charles Keene, as joint leader of the

expedition. Biff’s uncle was all for Hurdu’s suggestion.

“They look to me like Sherpas,” he declared. “Like those friendly chaps

we met in the valley where we landed our plane.”

“They are not Sherpas,” put in Chuba politely. “I listen to their talk,

Sahib Keene. They call themselves _Changpas_. They do not come from the

south, but from the north.”

“That means that they are not Nepalese,” stated Barma Shah, “but

Tibetans. They are accustomed to these high altitudes perhaps better

than those who live in Ladakh or Nepal. What is more”—he lowered his

voice—“they have probably heard less about the Yeti.”

“Then let’s hire them quickly,” returned Charles Keene, with a knowing

smile, “before they can change their minds.”

Hurdu hired the Changpa bearers, and the march was resumed. But the

nomads, though sturdier than the old crew from Leh, lacked their

steady-going qualities. They paused frequently to rest and eat, even

hinting that they might drop their packs and quit. So Barma Shah told

Hurdu to cut the day’s trek short as soon as they reached a suitable

campsite.

That went on for three days, which pleased Biff and the other boys, as

it gave them more time to roam at large. They had found little to talk

about with the porters from Leh, but this Changpa crew were mostly

hunters. They had brought throwing spears as well as bows and arrows,

and at every halt, they let the boys try the weapons.

On the fourth morning, Biff awoke to find more snow on the ground.

Nobody else was up, for the carefree Changpas were late risers. Glancing

off beyond the camp, Biff saw something that riveted him. Going back

into the tent, Biff wakened the nearest boy, who happened to be Chandra.

Motioning for silence, Biff whispered: “Yeti tracks! Come on!”

Chandra came, bringing his trusty hand-axe. Biff nodded approval and

promptly “borrowed” a throwing spear that was standing outside a Changpa

tent. He then led Chandra to the first of the marks that he had noticed

in the snow. They looked like footprints and big ones, half the size of

snowshoe tracks. Breathless, Chandra gestured back toward the camp.

“Maybe we better call others?”

“Not yet,” returned Biff. “Let’s see where these lead. Then we can plan

ahead, before everybody gets excited.”

The tracks led up the slope, but instead of ending there, they followed

a snow-covered ledge. Beyond that was a huge, chunky rock, and as Biff

glanced in that direction, he saw a great tawny figure with a shock of

thick, black hair, as it bounded from cover.

Then it was gone, among another cluster of rocks. Biff was after it,

beckoning Chandra along, and they saw the thing again, as it sprang to

another snowy ledge. There it dropped to all fours, and by the time the

boys reached the ledge, it was gone again, but its footprints showed in

the patchy snow. The two boys passed a slight turn where the rocks rose

like jagged steps, tufted with snow. As Chandra started in that

direction, Biff noticed an arched gap in the jagged wall that rose

beside the ledge itself.

Biff turned and called, “Wait, Chandra. There’s a cave here—maybe that’s

where he went—”

Chandra looked back, and his face froze with horror. He was too startled

even to shout a warning, but the look in his eyes, which were staring

straight past Biff, told enough. Instinctively, Biff wheeled about, then

recoiled as he turned his eyes upward.

From the cleft in the rocky wall loomed a tremendous hulk of reddish

brown. Tiny eyes were glaring above wide-open, long-toothed jaws, while

massive, sharp-clawed paws clamped downward, inward, toward the boy’s

dodging form.

Biff Brewster was all but in the grip of a gigantic Tibetan bear, one of

the most dangerous creatures that roved those rocky heights!

XVIII

The Frozen Waterfall

All that saved Biff at that moment was the Changpa spear that he had

snatched from outside a tent. He had the weapon in his hand, and as he

dodged, he jabbed the spear point at the creature from the cave. It was

puny compared to the bear’s bulk, but it bothered the big beast.

Clumsily, the bear batted aside the jabs, and that diverted its action.

Biff now had time to dive away. He flung the spear as he went, but it

flew wide. Hardly had it clattered on the rocks before another weapon

whizzed past the bear’s head: Chandra’s hand-axe. Like Biff, Chandra

timed his throw too late. The bear was already dropping on all fours,

about to lope after Biff. Biff saw that in a glance and began thinking

fast.

Bears, though clumsy, could move swiftly and would attack if angered,

which this one evidently was. Tibetan bears were death on yaks and

sheep; that Biff had also heard. Maybe they’d keep coming after them on

ledges like this, so there was no use acting like a sheep or a yak. Biff

halted suddenly and flattened himself against the rocky wall, ready to

reverse direction if the bear came bounding past.

On the contrary, if it reared, Biff intended to be off again; and while

waiting that moment of decision, he took a quick look down toward the

campsite. That proved smart indeed. Instead of the area being all but

deserted, with everyone asleep, it literally teemed with action. Uncle

Charlie and Barma Shah were coming up the slope armed with rifles and

followed by half a dozen Changpa tribesmen, all with bows and arrows.

All the other boys were coming, too, apparently shouting as loudly as

they could, but the wind was against them, which was why Biff hadn’t

heard them. They were gesturing, though, and that he understood. Wildly,

all were waving for him to keep going along the ledge. That Biff would

have done anyway, for just now, the bear had arrived and was rearing for

another lunge. So Biff took off again, hoping that the ledge would lead

somewhere.

That wasn’t necessary. From behind him came the _ping_ of bullets as

they hit the ledge, followed by the boom of the actual gunshots from

below. Biff darted another quick look and saw arrows coming down from

the sky, with the rearing bear as their target. The bear hadn’t budged

from its last position, except to set itself up for the marksmen.

Suddenly bristling with arrows, it toppled, rolled sideways, and fell

from sight over the ledge.

Everybody took credit for the kill, which they had a right to do. Uncle

Charlie had fired half a dozen shots and was sure that at least two had

landed. Barma Shah quietly showed Biff his rifle, which still had a

special gadget fitted above the barrel.

“This time,” Barma Shah confided, “it _was_ a telescopic sight. I only

use the flashlight beam at night.”

As for the Changpa marksmen, there were six of them, and there were six

arrows in the dead bear. They knew which arrow was whose, because all

had identifying marks. They chattered among themselves, each claiming

that his shaft had been the best. They were still at it after their

comrades had carved the bear into steaks for the evening dinner at the

next campsite.

That pleased Barma Shah, because nobody was interested in the Yeti

tracks any more. He mentioned this fact to Hurdu, who interpreted it to

the Changpas thus:

“You see what fools the Ladakhi are? Day after day, they see tracks in

the snow and think they are Yeti footprints. Instead, they are just bear

tracks. The big bear followed, hoping people have yaks that bear can

kill and eat. Instead, people kill bear and eat it. But people who kill

bear are Changpas, not Ladakhi!”

When they stopped for a noonday meal, the Changpa bowmen were still

arguing whose arrow had killed the big bear. While the other boys were

watching and quietly getting a wallop out of the pantomime, Chandra drew

Biff aside and asked:

“Who do you think really killed the bear?”

“Uncle Charlie fired a lot of shots,” replied Biff, “And he may have

made some hits. After all, we didn’t dig the bullets out of the carcass.

But I know—and you know—that Barma Shah is a terrific marksman—”

“This is true,” interposed Chandra. “But Barma Shah did not kill the

bear. The Yeti did.”

Biff stared amazed.

“We saw Yeti,” said Chandra. “Didn’t we?”

“We saw something go hopping up to the ledge,” conceded Biff, “but when

we got there, out popped the big bear.”

“From the cave, yes, but I saw Yeti keep going up by rocks above.”

“So you said, Chandra. But are you sure?”

“Sure I am sure. Because the number one shot that killed the bear, it

came from up there. Afterward, there was much shooting. But first, the

bear had gone like this.”

Chandra gave a perfect imitation of the way the bear had stiffened on

the cliff. So Biff decided not to argue it.

“You may be right,” he told Chandra, “but let’s keep it to ourselves.

The Yeti is supposed to be right smart, maybe more man than ape. But to

class him as a expert rifleman, well, people just wouldn’t go for it.”

“You go for it, Biff?”

“I might go for anything, Chandra.”

Biff let it go at that, because his own recollections of what had

happened on the ledge were somewhat confused, so he could allow for a

few mistakes on Chandra’s part. Besides, there were more important

things to think about. The most important of all was brought up in an

odd way when they pitched camp late that same afternoon. Biff heard Li

and Kamuka begin one of their old arguments, while the other boys

gleefully listened in.

“Well, Kamuka,” commented Li in an indulgent tone, “now that you’re high

in the Himalayas, how do the Andes stack up?”

“Still bigger,” returned Kamuka. “Anyway, they look bigger. That’s

what’s most important.”

Kamuka looked for someone to agree, and he received an approving nod

from Chuba.

“But there are things here that you won’t find in the Andes,” Li went

on. “For instance”—he caught himself when Biff gave him a warning

glance. Instead of mentioning Yetis, Li made a quick switch. “For

instance, we have Lamas. You don’t have people like that in the Andes.”

“Sure we do,” rejoined Kamuka. “Only they don’t look like people. They

look like yaks.”

That brought a laugh from Biff, in which Mike joined. Chandra and Chuba

were still puzzled, so Biff explained:

“Li means a Lama, spelled with one ‘L’ like Li. The Lamas are important

people. We are on our way to see one now. But Kamuka is talking about

llamas, spelled with a double ‘l.’ They are animals that carry packs in

the Andes, as yaks do here.”

Biff left it to Mike to go into further details on the subject while he

went over to talk to Uncle Charlie and Barma Shah. Biff put a simple

question.

“How are we going to find Chonsi?” Biff asked them. “When will we hear

from the Grand Lama, the wisest man in the East?”

“I don’t know,” began Barma Shah, “unless—”

His eyes narrowed as he spoke. He was looking off toward the nearest

mountain pass, and Biff, following his gaze, saw a tiny figure coming

toward them at a jog-trot.

“What is it?” Biff asked anxiously. “Not—not a Yeti?”

“No, no.” Barma Shah had raised a pair of binoculars and was studying

the approaching man. “It is a _longompa_, a special kind of runner, who

carries messages from one Lama to another. A longompa can keep up that

pace all day.”

“And he may have a message for us?”

“Very possibly.”

The rangy longompa never slackened speed until he pulled into the camp.

There, in some uncanny fashion, he picked out the leaders of the party.

But when he approached Barma Shah and Charles Keene, he did not hand

them the envelope he carried. Instead, he gave it to Biff. Then, with a

faraway stare, the runner started off again, oblivious to

everything—including the weather, for despite the freezing temperature,

he wore only a simple goat skin and a pair of open sandals.

Biff opened the envelope and brought out a sheet of parchment which

proved to be a map. He showed it to Uncle Charlie and Barma Shah.

Together, they studied it in the firelight, for it was now dusk. The map

puzzled them completely until Charles Keene declared: “I don’t get it.

Somebody has drawn what looks like a streak of lightning—”

“That’s it! The Place of Living Thunder!” Barma Shah exclaimed.

He brought out another map and spread it in the firelight. It showed the

whole course that the party had followed. Near the present campsite was

a zig-zag line, exactly like the one on the parchment, but on a smaller

scale.

“It is a chasm a mile deep,” explained Barma Shah, “but only half that

distance across. Nobody has ever gone there, because it is supposed to

be impassable.” He traced a dotted line on the longompa’s chart. “It

must lead to the Lost City of Chonsi. No wonder no one has ever found

it! We’ll start for there tomorrow.”

They were off to an early start the next morning and soon were among

scenes of grandeur that surpassed any so far encountered. Narrow valleys

filled with odd, colorful flowers formed a contrast to the snow-topped

peaks that loomed high above. Then, abruptly, the trail reached the brim

of a deep, granite-walled canyon. Nearby was a cluster of trees

indicated on the parchment map. A dotted line began from there, so the

party moved into the grove. There they were halted by a big rock until

the boys probed the underbrush around it and found stone steps leading

downward.

Soon, the whole procession was following a dizzy trail chiseled in the

canyon wall. Barma Shah had been right regarding its depth: it was at

least a mile and perhaps more. The vast gulch followed a zigzag as shown

on the map, and as they steadily descended, the brim of the gorge was

totally lost from view, due to the narrowing of the walls.

Then, the zigzag sharpened, and on their own side of the gorge, they saw

a fascinating sight. Through an opening in the granite poured what

looked like a mammoth waterfall, except that it was utterly motionless.

At the bottom, half a mile beneath, was a vast, glassy mass, pock-marked

by thousands of huge stones.

“An icefall!” exclaimed Charles Keene. “A stream of water, frozen solid,

pouring down to a glacier below!”

As he spoke, they saw a chunk of ice and rock drop from the brink and

slide out along the graceful, frozen curve until it dropped straight

down and struck the glacier. Then came a rising echo that reverberated

through the gorge like a long roll of thunder. When the sound finally

died away, Barma Shah said coolly:

“That is why they call it the Place of Living Thunder. People have heard

that roar from the brink above, but we are the first to see what caused

it—except for those who live in the valley.”

Their course brought them to the huge icefall. This time Charles Keene

and Barma Shah led the way together, followed by Hurdu and the Tibetan

bearers, with Biff and the boys bringing up the rear. The path seemed a

very safe one, being hewn in the solid rock. Granite steps took them

upward to the overhanging curve of the giant icefall. Above that, a

bridge of large steppingstones crossed the whitish flowing mass.

Biff, in the lead, leaped to the first stone and felt it quiver. He

should have turned back, but instead, he tried to jump on to the next.

The first stone suddenly went from under him, spilling Biff backward.

Mike, who had reached the top of the steps, grabbed for Biff’s hand and

caught it with both of his own. Then Mike was swept off balance by the

force of Biff’s slide. Both would have gone skimming over the brink,

except that Chuba and Kamuka, coming next, were in time to catch Mike’s

ankles and hold them.

They hadn’t the strength to pull the pair back, and Biff, from his

precarious position, realized why. That curving brink of perpetual ice

was so smooth that it offered nothing in the way of a hold, not even the

slightest amount of friction. Slowly, surely, the drag would bring all

four along, unless someone’s hold gave out.

In any case, Biff Brewster would be the first to slide out over that

fatal curve and plunge the half mile to the glacier below!

XIX

The Lost City

From his hopeless perch, Biff heard Kamuka and Chuba shouting up above.

“Come on, you fellows!” they yelled. “Lend a hand!” They were calling to

Li and Chandra, who were still coming up the granite steps, but it was

useless. Biff and Mike represented too much dead weight, even for all

four.

Mike had Biff’s wrist in a powerful grip. They were face to face as Biff

looked up and said, “You’ll have to let go, Mike. They may be able to

haul you back, but not both of us.”

“It’s both,” gritted Mike, “or neither!”

“But you’ll only be dragging the others along, too. Can’t you

understand?”

“No.” Mike grinned grimly as he was jolted upward. Then, as he slipped

back downward, he added, “Yes.”

Mike realized that Li had joined Chuba and Kamuka; that with Li’s

helping hand, they had managed a temporary lift, only to lose what

little they had gained. But Mike still gripped Biff.

“Chandra will be helping them next,” Mike said reassuringly. “With four

pulling, it will make a difference.”

“Yes, they’ll manage to hold on a little longer,” groaned Biff, “but it

can’t change things, Mike. They still can haul you up, if you’ll only

let go.”

“Only I _won’t_ let go!”

A sharp sound was beating through Biff’s brain. It came,

“Crack—crack—crack—” in deadly monotone. He imagined he heard a new

voice too, Chandra’s voice, saying, “I’ll be there, Biff!” Then came the

“Crack—crack—” and again, “I’ll be there—” closer, it seemed, and just

below. For the first time, Biff steeled his nerve and looked down.

Chandra _was_ there! On the curving brink itself, hanging to the ice

where it was steeper than the spot where Biff himself was stretched. In

his hand, Chandra held his axe, which he had retrieved after hurling it

at the bear. With it, he was chopping into the ice, making those

“Crack—crack—” sounds. Chandra hadn’t gone up the steps to join the boys

above. Instead, he had hacked steps of his own into the fringe of the

icefall!

He’d made enough to gain hand and toeholds for himself. Working up from

those at an outward angle, he had literally chopped a slanted ladder,

climbing it as he did. Now he was denting the ice beside Biff’s right

ankle. That done, he shoved Biff’s right foot into place. Biff shifted

his weight in that direction. Instantly the strain on Mike lessened just

enough for him to open his half-closed eyes and stare downward in

wonder.