in numbers of camels, horses and men. We entered a long, winding valley
among the mountains covered with deep snow and here and there with
groves of the black wood of the larch. About halfway to Kobdo we came
across the yurta of a shepherd on the shore of the small Lake of Baga
Nor, where evening and a strong wind whirling gusts of snow in our faces
easily persuaded us to stop. By the yurta stood a splendid bay horse
with a saddle richly ornamerited with silver and coral. As we turned
in from the road, two Mongols left the yurta very hastily; one of them
jumped into the saddle and quickly disappeared in the plain behind the
snowy hillocks. We clearly made out the flashing folds of his yellow
robe under the great outer coat and saw his large knife sheathed in a
green leather scabbard and handled with horn and ivory. The other man
was the host of the yurta, the shepherd of a local prince, Novontziran.
He gave signs of great pleasure at seeing us and receiving us in his
yurta.

"Who was the rider on the bay horse?" we asked.

He dropped his eyes and was silent.

"Tell us," we insisted. "If you do not wish to speak his name, it means
that you are dealing with a bad character."

"No! No!" he remonstrated, flourishing his hands. "He is a good, great
man; but the law does not permit me to speak his name."

We at once understood that the man was either the chief of the shepherd
or some high Lama. Consequently we did not further insist and began
making our sleeping arrangements. Our host set three legs of mutton to
boil for us, skillfully cutting out the bones with his heavy knife. We