a favorable gust of wind threw up into high staccato.

As we lay by the fire, the Soyot came over to me and said: "Noyon, come
with me to the obo. I want to show you something."

We went there and began to ascend the mountain. At the bottom of a very
steep slope was laid up a large pile of stones and tree trunks, making
a cone of some three metres in height. These obo are the Lamaite sacred
signs set up at dangerous places, the altars to the bad demons, rulers
of these places. Passing Soyots and Mongols pay tribute to the spirits
by hanging on the branches of the trees in the obo hatyk, long streamers
of blue silk, shreds torn from the lining of their coats or simply tufts
of hair cut from their horses' manes; or by placing on the stones lumps
of meat or cups of tea and salt.

"Look at it," said the Soyot. "The hatyks are torn off. The demons are
angry, they will not allow us to pass, Noyon. . . ."

He caught my hand and with supplicating voice whispered: "Let us go
back, Noyon; let us! The demons do not wish us to pass their mountains.
For twenty years no one has dared to pass these mountains and all bold
men who have tried have perished here. The demons fell upon them with
snowstorm and cold. Look! It is beginning already. . . . Go back to our
Noyon, wait for the warmer days and then. . . ."

I did not listen further to the Soyot but turned back to the fire, which
I could hardly see through the blinding snow. Fearing our guide might
run away, I ordered a sentry to be stationed for the night to watch him.
Later in the night I was awakened by the sentry, who said to me: "Maybe
I am mistaken, but I think I heard a rifle."