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 Another Random Document on
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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 attache 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
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