backs were sound, but was told by both missionaries and
Chinese that they could not be had, especially in summer, as
the swaying and jerking of the shendza and the sweat and
dust under the heavy pack-saddle always make sores. It was
all too true. I examined scores of mules and every one had
raw and bleeding abrasions and, in some cases, suppurating
ulcers. For a Chinese, our head muleteer was careful of his
animals and washed them occasionally, but no practicable care
apparently can prevent a shendza from making a sore back.
The only solace I had was the evident indifference of the
mules themselves. They had never known anything better,
and seemed to take misery as a matter of course.

Our party, with the goods we had to carry, for my missionary
friends were returning to their stations with the expectation
of remaining, included three shendzas, two carts and a
pack-mule for our provisions. But the ``mule'' turned out to
be a donkey and unable to carry all we had planned for a larger
animal. While wondering how we were to get our supplies
carried, we learned that a construction train was about to start
for the end of the track, which was said to be Kaomi, fifty-
five li[14] beyond Kiao-chou. We got permission to ride on the
flat car. In the hope that we might be able to secure a mule or
another donkey in Kaomi, we got aboard, leaving our shendzas
and carts to follow. After a lovely ride of an hour through
wheat-fields interspersed with villages, our train stopped twelve
li from Kaomi, an unfinished culvert making further progress
impossible. As our caravan had gone by a different route and
as no coolies could be hired where we were, the question was
how to get our goods transported. Fortunately, a German