Part 8

“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.