Sing Lam-chiong dug heels into the flanks of his mule and trotted back to where Zircon, Scotty, and Rick were jogging along on their respective mounts.

“Good place to make lunch, in about ten minutes.”

“Fine, Sing,” Zircon said. “We could use lunch.” The scientist looked down with distaste at his horse, a big hammerheaded black with the lines of a plow beast. “This creature is about as comfortable as a wooden sled.”

Rick sympathized. His own nag, a pin-eared Chinese pony of a peculiar mouse-gray color, had no particular gait. He just waddled along, swaying from side to side and making his rider saddle sore.

Sing saluted and went back to the head of the column, which was made up of pack mules, each led by a Chinese bearer. There were four of the pack animals, each laden with the party’s gear.

“He certainly knows this trail,” Scotty commented.

“A good thing,” Rick said. “The camping places are few and far between. I wish Korse Lenken were nearer.”

The party was ten days out of Hong Kong, high in the mountain ranges that formed the backbone of south Asia. Since leaving the more civilized part of China they had trekked through alternate valleys and mountain passes, making good time in the valleys, but slowing to a snail’s pace in the mountains. Sometimes the trail was wide enough for the three of them to ride abreast. Sometimes it clung to the mountainside with scarcely room for a single horse or mule. But Sing, leading the way, had a knack of picking the easiest route.

The Chinese guide was a gift from heaven. The Spindrifters had checked in at the American Consulate at Chungking, as Bradley had instructed them, and the consul had offered the loan of one of his own staff. Sing, normally a clerk at the consulate, had been born and brought up in the western reaches of outer Sinkiang Province, and he knew the area from wide travels with his father, a Chinese border police officer. Although he had never been to Korse Lenken, he had been close to it.

In a short while Sing called out in Chinese to the bearers and they followed him into a sort of pocket in the mountainside. Scotty, who was slightly ahead of Rick and Zircon, turned. “We’ve got company for lunch. There’s another party already here.”

In a moment the three Americans were greeting a portly Chinese who rose to greet them.

“Howdy, Mr. Ko,” Rick said cordially. “We were wondering when we would catch up with you again.”

Worthington Ko smiled and bowed. “We will doubtless meet many times until our paths separate. Please dismount and join me. My bearers have a good cooking fire you are welcome to use.”

Ko was a textile merchant they had overtaken on the trail a short distance out of Chungking. Since then the two parties had passed and repassed each other several times. Ko had three mules, in addition to the one he rode, and two bearers. The mules carried only light packs. On the return trip, he had told them, they would be laden with Tibetan textiles. He was heading for the famous monastery of Rangan Lo to buy embroidery from the Buddhist monks. Eventually, the embroidery would find a market in Europe.

The three Spindrifters got down stiffly from their horses and found seats among the rocks next to the merchant. He smiled sympathetically. “You are stiff? These trails are very poor and one must travel them many times before one gets used to them.” He took off his thick, horn-rimmed glasses and polished them on a scrap of silk. “After twenty years of it, I still find myself bent with weariness at the end of the day.”

Sing busied himself with getting food ready. The Spindrift bearers unpacked utensils and their own rations of rice and dried meat.

Ko rose from his rocky seat and rearranged the long, flowing silk coat he wore. “I must be off. With your permission, I will proceed slowly, however, so that you will overtake me before nightfall.”

“Of course,” Zircon said. “But may I ask why?”

Ko’s nearsighted eyes peered at the rifles carried in saddle sheaths on each of the three horses, and at Sing’s shotgun. “I hope to take advantage of your weapons,” he explained. “By nightfall we should reach Llhan Huang, which is a sort of crossroad. It marks the start of the Lenken country. The Lenkens are unlikely to attack a well-armed party of eight. But they delight in robbing a small party such as mine. For that reason, I usually manage to find a larger group to which to attach myself when entering the Llhan region.” He smiled. “The armament you carry for hunting bharals will serve admirably to keep the Lenkens at a distance.”

The Spindrift party had been warned that the tribe known as Lenkens were dangerous to travelers.

“We’ll be delighted to have you join us,” Zircon assured him.

Rick was about to suggest that the portly Chinese merchant wait until after the Spindrifters had eaten so they could all travel together, but he thought better of it. Ko had been cordial, but he had shown little interest in the American “hunting” party and Rick thought he probably preferred to travel at his own speed and in his own way.

Sing called that lunch was ready and they took mess kits to the fire and loaded them up with rice covered with a savory sauce, canned beef, and hot, crisp water chestnuts. As Rick sighed with gratitude over the first tasty mouthful, Scotty looked at the vanishing Ko party and mused, “Wonder how come he speaks English so perfectly?”

Sing overheard. He grinned. “No reason for surprise. Many Chinese are educated in American and English colleges both in China and in other countries. Like myself. I am a graduate of Oberlin.”

“Guess that’s right,” Scotty admitted.

“Worthington is a rather strange name for a Chinese, Sing,” Rick remarked.

The guide nodded. “It is. But I don’t think it is his real one. Many Chinese take western first names, especially those who trade with westerners. That is because our own names are often too hard to say or remember.”

“Have you ever met Ko before?” Zircon asked. “Since you’ve traveled widely in this region, I thought you might have come across him before.”

“I don’t think so,” Sing replied. “But this is a very big country and there are many travelers like him.”

Sing was certainly right in saying that there were many travelers, although the merchants like Ko were a minority. There were families of Tibetans walking along the trail, laden with their possessions, heading for goodness knew where. There were groups of horsemen, dressed in the quilted clothes of the mountain country and with peaked felt hats. Such men usually were armed with old-fashioned muskets and carried forked rests in which to lay the musket barrels for support while firing. There were parties of Chinese, sometimes on foot and sometimes with trains of mules or yaks, the oxlike Tibetan beasts of burden.

Frequently, especially in valley country, small villages lay near the trail. Often there were herders with their large flocks of sheep.

Although the trail slanted up and down, from valley to mountain pass and back down again, the way led constantly higher toward the white-capped peaks that have been called “The Backbone of the World.” Beyond them, many hundreds of miles away, lay Népal and India.

It was always cool now, and the Americans and Sing wore windbreakers and woolen sweaters. The bearers donned padded long coats. At night, the sleeping bags were comfortable; without them the Americans would have been chilled through and through.

“Make a guess, Sing,” Rick requested. “How many more days to Korse Lenken?”

Sing counted on his fingers. “With fortune, maybe we’ll get there late day after tomorrow. Depends on the trails.”

Zircon sipped steaming tea standing up. He was too saddle sore to sit down. “Where do we camp tonight?”

“A mile or two past Llhan Huang. I know a good water supply there.”

The bearers were standing around waiting patiently, already finished with cleaning up and packing, except for the Americans’ teacups. They downed the last swallows of tea and handed the cups to Sing, then swung into the saddle again.

“I hope Sing is right about getting there day after tomorrow,” Rick said as he shifted uncomfortably in the “chafing seat,” as he called it. “This hay-burner is no luxury liner.”

“Ditto,” Scotty agreed. “Besides, I’m anxious to see Chahda.”

Hobart Zircon nodded. “I hope whatever we find is worth the discomfort of this trip.” He grinned. “At any rate, it’s a new experience for all of us.”

“I don’t think I’ll thank Bradley for it, though,” Rick added. “Well, let’s get moving.”

He dug his heels into the pony’s flanks and moved into position behind Sing. Scotty and Zircon fell back to bring up the rear. Although they were reasonably sure no one would attack them, Zircon felt it was best to have a rear guard and they had taken turns at the end of the column.

In spite of saddle soreness, Rick looked at the view with appreciation as the trail suddenly topped a rise. Far below spread a lush valley. Beyond were the last peaks they would have to cross before they came to Korse Lenken.