The camp at Nam-ka was a supremely happy one and we left it on March 7, with much regret. Its resources seemed to be almost exhausted and the Mohammedan hunter assured us that at a village called Ma-li-ling we would find excellent shooting. We asked him the distance and he replied, "About a long bamboo joint away." It required three days to get there!

Whether the man had ever been to Ma-li-ling we do not know but we eventually found it to be a tiny village built into the side of a hill in an absolutely barren country where there was not a vestige of cover. Our journey there was not uneventful. We left Nam-ka with high hopes which were somewhat dampened after a day's unsuccessful hunting at the spot where our caravan crossed the Nam-ting River.

With a Shan guide we traveled due north along a good trail which led through dense jungle where there was not a clearing or a sign of life. In the afternoon we noted that the trail bore strongly to the west and ascended rapidly. Soon we had left the jungle and emerged into an absolutely treeless valley between high barren hills. We knew that the Burma frontier could not be far away, and in a few moments we passed a large square "boundary stone"; a hundred yards on the other side the hills were covered with bright green stalks and here and there a field glistened with white poppy blossoms. The guide insisted that we were on the direct road to Ma-li-ling which for the first time he said was in Burma. On our map it was marked well over the border in Chinese territory and we were greatly puzzled.

About six o'clock the brown huts of a village were silhouetted against the sky on a tiny knoll in the midst of a grove of beautiful trees, and we camped at the edge of a water hole. The pool was almost liquid mud, but we were told that it was the only water supply of the village and its cattle. As though to prove the statement a dozen buffalos ambled slowly down the hill, and stood half submerged in the brown liquid, placidly chewing their cuds; meanwhile blue-clad Shan women with buckets in their hands were constantly arriving at the pond for their evening supply of water. We had no filter and it was nauseating to think of drinking the filthy liquid but there was no alternative and after repeated boiling and several strainings we settled it with alum and disguised its taste in tea and soup.

After dinner we questioned the few natives who spoke Chinese, but we became only more and more confused. They knew of no such place as Ma-li-ling and our Shan guide had discreetly disappeared. But they were familiar with the trail to Ma-li-pa, a village farther west in Burma and, moreover, they said that two hundred foreign soldiers were stationed there. We were quite certain that they must be native Indian troops but thought that a white officer might perhaps be in command.

We did not wish to cross the frontier because of possible political difficulties since we had no permits to shoot in Burma, but there seemed to be no alternative, for we were hopelessly bewildered by the mythical Ma-li-ling. We eventually discovered that there were two villages by that name - one in Burma, and the other in China, where it was correctly placed on the map which we were using.

While we were discussing the matter a tremendous altercation arose between the Chinese mafus and the servants. For some time Roy did not interfere, supposing it to be a personal quarrel, but the disturbance at last became unbearable. Calling Wu we learned that because we had been so careful to avoid English territory the mafus had conceived the idea that for some reason we were afraid to meet other foreigners. Since we had inadvertently crossed into Burma it appeared to them that it would be an opportune time to extort an increase of wages. They announced, therefore, that unless extra money was given them at once they would untie the loads and leave us.

They were hardly prepared for what followed, however. Taking his Mannlicher rifle, Roy called the mafus together and told them that if any man touched a load he would begin to shoot the mules and that if they made the slightest resistance the gun would be turned on them. A mafus' mules represent all his property and they did not relish the turn affairs had taken. They subsided at once, but we had the loads guarded during the night. In the morning the mafus were exceedingly surprised when they learned that we were going to Ma-li-pa and their change of front was laughable; they were as humble and anxious to please as they had been belligerent the night before.

The trail led over the same treeless rolling hills through which we had passed on the previous afternoon. There was only one village, but it was surrounded by poppy fields in full blossom. It must be a rather difficult matter for a native living in China near the border to understand why he should not be allowed to produce the lucrative opium while only a few yards away, over an imaginary line, it can be planted without restriction. Poppies seem to grow on hillsides better than on level ground. The plants begin to blossom in late February and the petals, when about to fall, are collected for the purpose of making "leaves" with which to cover the balls of opium. The seed pods which are left after the petals drop off are scarified vertically, at intervals of two or three days, by means of a sharp cutting instrument. The operation is usually performed about four o'clock in the afternoon, and the opium, in the form of dried juice, is collected the next morning. When China, in 1906, forbade the consumption of opium and the growing of poppies, it was estimated that there were from twenty-five to thirty millions of smokers in the Empire.

We reached Ma-li-pa about one o'clock in the afternoon and found it to be a straggling village built on two sides of a deep ravine, with a mixed population of Shans and Chinese. It happened to be the weekly market day and the "bazaar" was crowded. A number of Indian soldiers in khaki were standing about, and I called out to Roy, "I wonder if any of them speak English." Instantly a little fellow approached, with cap in hand, and said, "Yes, Madame, I speak English."

One cannot realize how strange it seemed to hear our own language from a native in this out-of-the-way spot! He was the "compounder," or medical assistant, and told us that the hundred native troops were in charge of a white officer whose house was on the opposite side of the river gorge. He guided us to a temple and, while the mules were being unloaded, in walked a tall, handsome young British officer who introduced himself as Captain Clive. He was almost speechless with surprise at seeing me, for he had not spoken a sentence in English or seen a white person since his arrival at this lonely post five months before.

He asked us at once to come to his quarters for tiffin and we accepted gladly. On the way he gave us our first news of the outside world, for we had been beyond communication of any sort for months, and we learned that the United States had severed diplomatic relations with Germany.

Captain Clive's bungalow was a two-room bamboo house with a broad veranda and thatched with straw. It was delightfully cool and dark after the glare of the yellow sun-baked plains about us, and in perfect order. The care which Britishers take to keep from "letting down" while guarding the frontiers of their vast empire is proverbial, and Captain Clive was a splendid example of the Indian officer. He was as clean-shaved and well-groomed as though he had been expecting us for days and the tiffin to which we sat down was as dainty and well served as it could have been in the midst of civilization.

The great Lord Clive of India was an ancestor of our young officer who had been temporarily detached from his regiment, the 129th Baluchis, and sent on border duty. He was very unhappy, for his brother officers were in active service in East Africa, and he had cried to resign several times, but the Indian government would not release him. When we reached Rangoon some months later we were glad to learn that he had rejoined his regiment and was at the front. Ma-li-pa was a recently established "winter station" and in May would be abandoned when the troop returned to Lashio, ten days' journey away. Comfortable barracks, cook houses, and a hospital had been erected beside a large space which had been cleaned of turf for a parade ground.

Captain Clive was in communication by heliograph with Lashio, at the end of the railroad, and received a resume of world news two or three times a week. With mirrors during the day and lanterns at night messages were flashed from one mountain top to another and, under favorable conditions, reached Lashio in seven or eight hours.

We pitched our tents a short distance from the barracks in an open field, for there was no available shade. Although Captain Clive was perfectly satisfied with our passports and credentials he could not let us proceed until he had communicated with the Indian government by heliograph. The border was being guarded very closely to prevent German sympathizers from crossing into Burma from China and inciting the native tribes to rebellion.

In December, 1915, a rather serious uprising among the Kachins in the Myitkyina district on the upper waters of the Irawadi River had been incited by a foreigner, I believe, and Clive had assisted in suppressing it. The Indian government was taking no further chances and had given strict orders to arrest and hold anyone, other than a native, who crossed the border from China.

Very fortunately H.B.M. Consul-General Goffe at Yuen-nan Fu had communicated with the Lieutenant-Governor of Burma concerning our Expedition and we consequently expected no trouble, but Captain Clive could not let us proceed until he had orders to do so from the Superintendent of the Northern Shan States. Through a delayed message this permission did not reach him for five days and in the meantime we made the most of the limited collecting resources which Ma-li-pa afforded.

Clive ordered his day like all the residents of Burma. He rose at six o'clock and after coffee and rolls had drill for two hours. At half past ten a heavy meal took the place of breakfast and tiffin; tea, with sandwiches and toast, was served at three o'clock, and dinner at eight. His company was composed of several different native tribes, and each religious caste had its own cook and water carrier, for a man of one caste could not prepare meals for men of another. It is an extraordinary system but one which appears to operate perfectly well under the adaptable English government. Certainly one of the great elements in the success of the British as colonizers is their respect for native customs and superstitions!

The company drilled splendidly and we were surprised to hear all commands given in English although none of the men could understand that language. This is done to enable British and Indian troops to maneuver together. Captain Clive, himself, spoke Hindustani to his officers. In the evening the men played football on the parade ground and it seemed as though we had suddenly been transported into civilization on the magic carpet of the Arabian Nights.

Every morning we went shooting at daylight and returned about nine o'clock. Conditions were not favorable for small mammals and although we could undoubtedly have caught a few civets, mongooses, and cats we did not set a line of steel traps for we expected to leave at any time. Our attention was mostly devoted to bird collecting and we obtained about two hundred interesting specimens.

We had our mid-morning meal each day with Captain Clive and he dined with us in the evening. He had brought with him from Lashio a large quantity of supplies and lived almost as well as he could have done at home. Although the days were very warm, the nights were cold and a camp fire was most acceptable.

Captain Clive was on excellent terms with the Chinese authorities and, while we were there, a very old mandarin, blind and infirm, called to present his compliments. He had been an ardent sportsman and was especially interested in our guns; had we been willing to accept the commission he would have paid us the money then and there to purchase for him a Savage .250-.300 rifle like the one we were carrying. The old gentleman always had been very loyal to the British and had received several decorations for his services.

A few days after our arrival a half dead Chinaman crawled into camp with his throat terribly cut. He had been attacked by brigands only a few miles over the border and had just been able to reach Ma-li-pa. The company "compounder" took him in charge and, when Clive asked him about the patient, his evasive answers were most amusing; like all Orientals he would not commit himself to any definite statement because he might "lose face" if his opinion proved to be wrong.

Captain Clive said to him, "Do you think the Chinaman will die?" Looking very judicial the native replied, "Sir, he may die, and yet, he may live." "But," said Clive, "he will probably die, won't he?" "Yes," was the answer, "and yet perhaps he will live." That was all the satisfaction he was able to get.

Clive told us of another native who formerly had been in his company. He had been transferred and one day the Captain met him in Rangoon. When asked if his pay was satisfactory the answer was typical, "Sir, it is good, but not s-o-o good!"

On the afternoon of our fourth day in Ma-li-pa a heliograph from Rangoon announced that "The Asiatic Zooelogical Expedition of the American Museum of Natural History is especially commended to His Majesty's Indian Government and permission is hereby granted to carry on its work in Burma wherever it may desire." This was only one of the many courtesies which we received from the British.

The morning following the receipt of the heliogram we broke camp at daylight. When the last mule of the caravan had disappeared over the brown hills toward China we regretfully said farewell and rode away. If we are ever again made "prisoners of war" we hope our captor will be as delightful a gentleman as Captain Clive.