Chapter 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 were halted by a big rock until the boys probed the underbrush around it and found stone steps leading downward.

Soon, the whole procession was following a dizzy trail chiseled in the canyon wall. Barma Shah had been right regarding its depth: it was at least a mile and perhaps more. The vast gulch followed a zigzag as shown on the map, and as they steadily descended, the brim of the gorge was totally lost from view, due to the narrowing of the walls.

Then, the zigzag sharpened, and on their own side of the gorge, they saw a fascinating sight. Through an opening in the granite poured what looked like a mammoth waterfall, except that it was utterly motionless. At the bottom, half a mile beneath, was a vast, glassy mass, pock-marked by thousands of huge stones.

“An icefall!” exclaimed Charles Keene. “A stream of water, frozen solid, pouring down to a glacier below!”

As he spoke, they saw a chunk of ice and rock drop from the brink and slide out along the graceful, frozen curve until it dropped straight down and struck the glacier. Then came a rising echo that reverberated through the gorge like a long roll of thunder. When the sound finally died away, Barma Shah said coolly:

“That is why they call it the Place of Living Thunder. People have heard that roar from the brink above, but we are the first to see what caused it—except for those who live in the valley.”

Their course brought them to the huge icefall. This time Charles Keene and Barma Shah led the way together, followed by Hurdu and the Tibetan bearers, with Biff and the boys bringing up the rear. The path seemed a very safe one, being hewn in the solid rock. Granite steps took them upward to the overhanging curve of the giant icefall. Above that, a bridge of large steppingstones crossed the whitish flowing mass.

Biff, in the lead, leaped to the first stone and felt it quiver. He should have turned back, but instead, he tried to jump on to the next. The first stone suddenly went from under him, spilling Biff backward. Mike, who had reached the top of the steps, grabbed for Biff’s hand and caught it with both of his own. Then Mike was swept off balance by the force of Biff’s slide. Both would have gone skimming over the brink, except that Chuba and Kamuka, coming next, were in time to catch Mike’s ankles and hold them.

They hadn’t the strength to pull the pair back, and Biff, from his precarious position, realized why. That curving brink of perpetual ice was so smooth that it offered nothing in the way of a hold, not even the slightest amount of friction. Slowly, surely, the drag would bring all four along, unless someone’s hold gave out.

In any case, Biff Brewster would be the first to slide out over that fatal curve and plunge the half mile to the glacier below!