Lhamo’s husband, Trinle, and Lokesh watched from the doorway of the smaller house where they now lived, each of the old men casting anxious glances at Shan. Pike threw up his own arms in exasperation and Lokesh groaned, but then the American leaned close to the old Tibetan woman and spoke in a lower voice, as if confiding a secret. Lhamo reacted with surprise, then after Pike unfolded a piece of paper from his pocket she listened to him closely, then nodded. She shook Pike’s hand vigorously, pinched the American’s cheek with her other hand, then gave him a cigar, which she lit from the end of the cigar stub she clenched in her own mouth. As the American walked away, she stuffed the paper into her gau.

Pike grinned, puffing on the cigar, as he reported to Shan. “A tough old vulture,” he proclaimed, “but I like her. An astute observer of the human condition. She said the constable has the most stubborn spirit of any person she has ever known.”

“We knew that,” Meng said. “And?”

“She will accept Shan’s boots and binoculars. And a hundred dollars.”

“A hundred dollars?” Shan gasped in alarm. “I don’t have a hundred dollars.”

“My gift to you. She’s never had American currency, it seems. Not sure she knows what a dollar’s value is, but it was worth the gleam in her eyes when she saw the bill. I’m afraid,” Pike sheepishly admitted, “that she may have the impression that Benjamin Franklin is the American Dalai Lama.” He shrugged. “I had to close the deal.” He glanced over at the old woman, who stared at them expectantly. “Oh, and the merchandise is to be delivered immediately.”

Shan called over Yara’s son, who was playing with a much-subdued Kami, and whispered in his ear. The boy grabbed Kami’s hand and they ran toward the big house. The two were back moments later, laughing, and clutching Shan’s boots and binoculars. Meng took the worn boots and the battered binoculars and, with a ceremonial air, set them in a basket that had been adorned with red yarn. As the makeshift matchmaker, Pike escorted them with the gifts to Lhamo, who watched with a wary air until she confirmed the contents of the basket. With a whoop of joy, she pulled out the boots.

“I don’t know if they are Trinle’s size,” Shan cautioned.

“Trinle? Who said anything about my husband?” the old woman asked, then kicked off one of her own shoes and pulled the boot on. She stomped her foot down with a satisfied gleam. “Milk price is paid!” she shouted for all in the courtyard to hear. She had not noticed that her granddaughter and Ko had been listening from a second-story window, and Shan watched as they joyfully embraced.