Our guide thought we might see all that was worth seeing of the Buddhist monasteries, and Sir Ivor thought we should have fairly escaped the dreaded wet season.
"What do you make of our guide ?" I asked of Hilda on our fourth day out.
I began somehow to distrust him.
"Oh, he seems all right," Hilda answered, carelessly--and her voice reassured me.

"He's a rogue, of course; all guides and interpreters, and dragomans and the like, in out-of-the-way places, always ARE rogues.

If they were honest men, they would share the ordinary prejudices of their countrymen, and would have nothing to do with the hated stranger.

But in this case our friend, Ram Das, has no end to gain by getting us into mischief.

If he had, he wouldn't scruple for a second to cut our throats; but then, there are too many of us.