"That horse will not go further. His brain is dried out." So we had to
leave him.

That evening we came to a beautiful change in scene when we topped a
rise and found ourselves on a broad plateau covered with larch. On it we
discovered the yurtas of some Soyot hunters, covered with bark instead
of the usual felt. Out of these ten men with rifles rushed toward us as
we approached. They informed us that the Prince of Soldjak did not
allow anyone to pass this way, as he feared the coming of murderers and
robbers into his dominions.

"Go back to the place from which you came," they advised us with fear in
their eyes.

I did not answer but I stopped the beginnings of a quarrel between an
old Soyot and one of my officers. I pointed to the small stream in the
valley ahead of us and asked him its name.

"Oyna," replied the Soyot. "It is the border of the principality and the
passage of it is forbidden."

"All right," I said, "but you will allow us to warm and rest ourselves a
little."

"Yes, yes!" exclaimed the hospitable Soyots, and led us into their
tepees.

On our way there I took the opportunity to hand to the old Soyot a
cigarette and to another a box of matches. We were all walking along