Shivering on the backs of our ponies, we surveyed this awesome scene. I also took the precaution of examining the various details of the surrounding topography with my small telescope.
'Well, Mr Holmes,' said I cheerfully, removing the instrument from my eye, 'it seems that your insistence on speed has paid dividends. We have certainly arriyed here before Professor Moriarty and his Chinese chums. I can see no sign of any human presence around here.'
'But that is not as it should be,' said the Lama Yonten, worriedly.
'What do you mean, Sir?' asked Sherlock Holmes.
'Two monks, the "Watchers of the Ice Temple ", live here, in a cave at the side of that ridge.' The Lama pointed to the mountain to our right. 'Besides their main task of reporting the opening of the temple entrance, it is one of their duties to prevent travellers from crossing that bridge and inadvertently profaning sacred ground. But where are they?'
'They may be in their cave. They may not have heard us coming.'
'That is not possible. The surrounding mountains funnel all sounds from the valley towards their cave. That is why it was chosen. They should have heard our arriving at least an hour ago, and come to receive us.'
'Humm. It would be well if we were cautious,' said Holmes grimly, his brows knitting with concern, 'Let me have that spyglass of yours for a minute, Hurree.'
'Certainly, Sir.'
He clapped the instrument to his eyes and made a systematic survey of the surroundings. The rest of us waited silently, A little chill of fear crept into me as I realised that I may have spoken too soon.
'The small wooden door to the "Watchers" cave is open and swinging about in the wind,' said Holmes anxiously. 'On the opposite ridge aflightof snow pigeons is circling nervously above its nests. Wherever they are, they are well-hidden.'
'We have to go between those two ridges to get to the ice bridge,' said Tsering gravely. 'I think they may be waiting behind them.'
'When do you think they will attack?'
'Probably when we get near the ice bridge and descend from our ponies to walk across. That would be the most dangerous moment. We would be trapped like bugs between the claws of a scorpion.'
'Well, we shall see,' said Holmes calmly. Turning towards us he addressed us in a firm, measured tone. 'We will ride single file, with His Holiness and the Lama Yonten in the centre. Tsering and I will ride in front with five soldiers. Kintup and the other five soldiers will follow the Lamas. You, Hurree, will bring up the rear. On the first sign of an attack we will race straight to the bridge and ride across it. It may seem a foolhardy thing to do, but it is the only chance we have against a large enemy force. Over here the valley is too flat and bare. Once we cross the ice bridge you, Tsering, will position the soldiers behind those large blocks of ice and hold off all pursuers. It will not be too difficult since they will only be able to cross the bridge single file. The Lama Yonten and I will take His Holiness inside the temple. Now remember, don't hesitate at the bridge. Ride straight across it. They will not be expecting us to do that, and it may provide us the necessary element of surprise for the success of our plan. Good Luck.'
It was the measure of the man's great personality, and the cool confidence and calm authority with which he outlined his plans, that not one of us raised a single objection or question, but prepared ourselves to carry out his orders. We rode single file across the vale. I rode in the rear, not feeling too happy with my position but prepared to take on the worst. I extracted the revolver, issued to me from the guard's armoury at the Jewel Park, from within the folds of my robe, and, throwing off the safety catch, stuck it in my belt in front of me. As we passed between the end of the two ridges, I noticed the flock of snow pigeons (Columba leuconota) fluttering above their nests, exactly as Mr Holmes had described; but I did not see any signs of the enemy. Maybe it was just a snow leopard (Felis uncia) that had disturbed the birds, I thought. Maybe there were no attackers after all. This happy inspiration greatly raised my spirits, for I had not looked forward to galloping across that ice bridge which was, at most, only a couple of yards wide, and probably slippery as the Devil as well. Just as I was feeling a bit relieved Mr Holmes raised a cry of alarm.
'They're coming! Ride on.'
I did not bother to look around but whipped my steed and got it moving at a rapid trot. I had just covered about a hundred feet when I saw a company of soldiers, all of them dressed in black, riding towards us from behind the ridge where the snow pigeons had been disturbed. I turned to look at the opposite ridge, hoping I would not see what I expected to see, but I did. Another company of riders came out from behind the mountainside and charged straight towards us.
For a moment both groups of attackers reined in their horses and looked around confusedly. They were obviously surprised at the way we were unhesitatingly racing towards the bridge. But they immediately recovered, and, shouting blood-curdling Chinese war cries, 'Sha! Sha!' (Kill! Kill!) galloped towards us. By now our column of horsemen was proceeding at fiill speed, but the attackers began to gain on us. To make matters worse, they were closing in on our rear, where I was riding. I kicked my pony hard in the flanks to coax some more speed out of it.
As the animal accelerated forward I turned around in my saddle to observe my pursuers. There must have been at least sixty of the blighters in toto. They were wearing black uniforms and had black turbans wrapped around their heads. Belts of ammunition were slung across their chests, while on their backs were modern repeating rifles and large executioner's swords – or da dao, as the Chinese call them – just like the one that had featured so prominently in my near execution in Shigatse, on my previous visit to Thibet. By Jove. These were definitely Imperial Manchu troopers, not just the Amban's bodyguards.
Looking before me I saw that Tsering had reached the ice bridge. He did not hesitate – brave fellow – but spurred his mount on. The bridge curved up a bit towards the middle in an arch, so that a clear view was afforded me of his crossing. His pony's hooves scrabbled desperately to get a purchase on the icy surface, and somehow it managed to keep moving and soon got to the other side. Five of our soldiers followed without any problems, as did Mr Holmes, the Grand Lama and the Lama Yonten. The remainder were successfully making the crossing until the last Thibetan soldier in the column got to the bridge.
His pony scrambled up to the middle with no problem, but just when it was descending, its rear hooves slipped on the ice and it fell heavily on its side. Its legs desperately kicking and pawing the air in a vain attempt to right itself, the animal slid to the edge of the bridge. Then with a last pitiful whinny it fell into the chasm. The rider had tried to throw himself clear when the pony fell, but his feet had become entangled in the stirrups, and he was dragged over as well. He gave an awful cry as he plunged slowly into that bottomless gorge of ice, and the echoes of this human and animal terror reverberated through the mountains like a pronouncement of doom.