In sight of the Throne
the group is composed. I think it is called the Orfan's moun-
tain, latim Kuh, though I have only the shikari's word for it.
The central summit, with precipitous sides and flattened top
like a natural keep, recognizable from its peculiar shape far
away in the Shah Rud country, now appeared between the
other two over a long shoulder of snowfield, and justified by
contrasting blackness its name of Siah Kaman, the Black
Carder's Bow. On the left and nearer to us, the Throne itself
rose to a gende point, a pyramid shape like the Weisshorn,
most beautiful of mountains, only not detached as that is
from the landscape around it, since the great wall we had to
climb runs up and joins it by a north-eastern spur.
The desolate valley led towards this peak, and drew its
waters from the snowfield or glacier which fills the deep
corrie between the Throne and the Black Carder. Though
there appeared no difficulty for an able-bodied mountaineer
it was a depressing sight as far as I was concerned, still weak
from my illness.
It meant first a steep descent and long march up the valley,
where no path appeared for a mule to follow: and then, instead
of a crest, there was nothing to climb but the dreary black face
of the mountain, an endless grind of scree rill one comes to
the actual rocky peak. Looking it over, I judged the thing
to be a ten hours' effort. Mian Rud, the last place where my
aneroid could prove itself useful, was 9,300 feet: the valley
below us I judged to be anything over 10,000, and the Throne
itself, after much weighing of evidence and very doubtfully, I
estimated at about 15,300. Six thousand feet, mostly over
scree, was not a thing even the most optimistic of convalescents
could contemplate: I still hoped, however, that the shikari,
when tired of hunting with my field-glasses, might reveal a
way for mules along the valley or an alternative way round
the mountain from the south-east. Meanwhile there was
[297]