Uncle Scrooge locked the great doors of his money bin. He left behind the zestful pleasures of splashing amongst his beloved coins and set out on the hopeful quest of far-off Khunza. The miles were long and rigorous. Khunza had no airports or taxi-cabs or even roads. By the time the ducks reached the fabled vale, Uncle Scrooge was tired and chilly and looking much older.
»It certainly is cold in these high mountains,« griped Donald.
»Could be that is why these natives live so long,« said Dewey. »They are refrigerated.«
In spite of his discomfort, Uncle Scrooge's hopes soared. He saw many remarkable specimens of healthy old age: herders in their nineties who could outrun goats and ancient hags who easily carried baskets of yak butter up perpendicular cliffs. The Vale of Khunza certainly showed promise.
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