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0153 Tibet and Turkestan : vol.1
Tibet and Turkestan : vol.1 / Page 153 (Grayscale High Resolution Image)

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doi: 10.20676/00000231
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Then, remembering a crust of bread in my saddle-
bag, I providentially moved round the horse's head
to get it, when a flash—no sound, but an instant's
flash—struck through the black night. As we were
the only men for several hundreds of miles about,
that flash was conclusive evidence that the camp
was near. Now we need not fight the bitter night
through against hunger and the killing cold. I
sprang to the saddle and again urged forward the
over-worn horse. The signal he could not under-
stand, yet he forged on, dejectedly but patiently.
In less than half an hour we were splashing
through a good stream. Shot after shot guided us
on, then shout after shout, then hand-grasp after
hand-grasp, for even the men put aside the reserve
of station to welcome the lost sahib. But the poor
horse never recovered his spirit. He had endeav-
oured, yea, accomplished, too much. He could
scarce make the next day's march, and, though he
showed again a bit of energy, in a week he was
dead. Even when an enforced halt had come to the
caravan, and he had days of repose ahead of him, he
chose eternal rest. Our trouble had arisen, like
many others less serious, from a mirage. My long
absence from the caravan caused Anginieur to feel
that he must look out for water. A beautiful little
lake spread out to the left of our agreed line of
march. He veered over toward the vision, which
was n't water, but only the ghost of it. That ac-
counted for the long loop in the trail and my failure
to pick it up when I reached the line of the direction
peaks. Moral. When you have been long sepa-
rated from your friends, remember that they may