CHAPTER XI.
ON THE ROAD TO PSAM-DAGONG.
I said nothing about it to the Doctor, but I told Maurice all.
I was almost sorry that Mirrikh had not stayed in his sheepskins, that the caravan had not made a miss of it and dropped him somewhere else, for the next day found us mounted upon our mules plodding over the mountains, with their noses pointing toward Lh’asa instead of Bootan.
Words cannot express the utter amazement of Philpot and Maurice when they awakened to find my friend Mr. Mirrikh alive and seated comfortably on the k’ang by my side.
“Gad! No! I say, no! It can’t be!”
The Doctor was first to wake.
“What is the matter?” Mr. Mirrikh asked with his accustomed calmness.
“The matter! Great heavens, he wants to know the matter! Why man, you are dead! If you ain’t you ought to be, or I’m in the first stages of softening of the brain.”
But Maurice was different.
Perhaps he was only half awake, though, at the time. It was after Ah Schow, who had been awakened by the Doctor’s racket, gave one yell of terror at the sight of our guest and went flying out of doors. Ah Schow, be it understood, was a firm believer in ghosts, and of course he took Mr. Mirrikh for one. Indeed, I was not quite certain on the subject myself!
I can see that dear boy now, just as he looked when he started up. His eyes rested on the Doctor first, then they passed to my adept.
“Mr. Mirrikh!”
“Yes.”
“Not dead?”
“I am here, my friend. I have kept my appointment!”
“I knew it! Doctor, I told you so! I knew he would not fail us!”
