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[Frontispiece: A Nomad of the Mongolian Plains]

ACROSS MONGOLIAN PLAINS

A Naturalist's Account of China's "Great Northwest"

BY

ROY CHAPMAN ANDREWS

ASSOCIATE CURATOR OF MAMMALS IN THE AMERICAN MUSEUM OF NATURALHISTORY, AND LEADER OF THE MUSEUM'S SECOND ASIATIC EXPEDITION. AUTHOR OF "WHALE HUNTING WITH GUN AND CAMERA, " "CAMPS AND TRAILS INCHINA, " ETC. 

PHOTOGRAPHS BY YVETTE BORUP ANDREWS

Photographer of the Second Asiatic Expedition

D. APPLETON AND COMPANYNEW YORK: LONDON: MCMXXI

COPYRIGHT, 1921, BYD. APPLETON AND COMPANYPRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

THIS BOOK IS AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATED TO

DR. J. A. ALLEN

WHO, THROUGH HIS PROFOUND KNOWLEDGE, UNSELFISH DEVOTION TO SCIENCE, AND NEVER-FAILING SYMPATHY WITH YOUNGER STUDENTS OF ZOÖLOGY HAS BEENAN EXAMPLE AND AN INSPIRATION DURING THE YEARS I HAVE WORKED AT HISSIDE. 

PREFACE

During 1916-1917 the First Asiatic Expedition of the American Museumof Natural History carried on zoölogical explorations along thefrontiers of Tibet and Burma in the little known province ofYün-nan, China. The narrative of that expedition has already beengiven to the public in the first book of this series "Camps and Trailsin China. " It was always the intention of the American Museum tocontinue the Asiatic investigations, and my presence in China onother work in 1918 gave the desired opportunity at the conclusion ofthe war. 

Having made extensive collections along the southeastern edge of thegreat central Asian plateau, it was especially desirable to obtain arepresentation of the fauna from the northeastern part inpreparation for the great expedition which, I am glad to say, is nowin course of preparation, and which will conduct work in variousother branches of science. Consequently, my wife and I spent one ofthe most delightful years of our lives in Mongolia and North Chinaon the Second Asiatic Expedition of the American Museum of NaturalHistory. 

The present book is the narrative of our work and travels. As in"Camps and Trails" I have written it entirely from the sportsman'sstandpoint and have purposely avoided scientific details which wouldprove uninteresting or wearisome to the general public. Full reportsof the expedition's results will appear in due course in theMuseum's scientific publications and to them I would refer thosereaders who wish further details of the Mongolian fauna. 

Asia is the most fascinating hunting ground in all the world, notbecause of the _quantity_ of game to be found there but because ofits _quality_, and scientific importance. Central Asia was the pointof origin and distribution for many mammals which inhabit otherparts of the earth to-day and the habits and relationships of someof its big game animals are almost unknown. Because of unceasingnative persecution, lack of protection, the continued destruction offorests and the ever increasing facilities for transportation to theremote districts of the interior, many of China's most interestingand important forms of wild life are doomed to extermination in thevery near future. 

Fortunately world museums are awakening to the necessity ofobtaining representative series of Asiatic mammals before it is toolate, and to the broad vision of the President and Board of Trusteesof the American Museum of Natural History my wife and I owe theexceptional opportunities which have been given us to carry onzoölogical explorations in Asia. 

We are especially grateful to President Henry Fairfield Osborn, whois ready, always, to support enthusiastically any plans which tendto increase knowledge of China or to strengthen cordial relationsbetween the United States and the Chinese Republic. 

Director F. A. Lucas and Assistant Secretary George H. Sherwood havenever failed in their attention to the needs of our expeditions whenin the field and to them I extend our best thanks. 

Mr. And Mrs. Charles L. Bernheimer, who have contributed to everyexpedition in which I have taken part, generously rendered financialaid for the Mongolian work. 

My wife, who is ever my best assistant in the field, was responsiblefor all the photographic work of the expedition and I have drawnmuch upon her daily "Journals" in the preparation of this book. 

I wish to acknowledge the kindness of the Editors of _Harper'sMagazine_, _Natural History_, _Asia Magazine_ and the _Trans-PacificMagazine_ in whose publications parts of this book have alreadyappeared. 

We are indebted to a host of friends who gave assistance to theexpedition and to us personally in the field:

The Wai Chiao Pu (Ministry of Foreign Affairs) freely grantedpermits for the expedition to travel throughout China and extendedother courtesies for which I wish to express appreciation on behalfof the President and Board of Trustees of the American Museum ofNatural History. 

In Peking, His Excellency Paul S. Reinsch, formerly AmericanMinister to China, Dr. C. D. Tenney, Mr. Willys Peck, Mr. Ernest B. Price and other members of the Legation staff obtained importpermits and attended to many details connected with the ChineseGovernment. 

Mr. A. M. Guptil acted as our Peking representative while we were inthe field and assumed much annoying detail in forwarding andreceiving shipments of supplies and equipment. Other gentlemen inPeking who rendered us courtesies in various ways are Commanders I. V. Gillis and C. T. Hutchins, Dr. George D. Wilder, Dr. J. G. Anderson and Messrs. H. C. Faxon, E. G. Smith, C. R. Bennett, M. E. Weatherall and J. Kenrick. 

In Kalgan, Mr. Charles L. Coltman arranged for the transportation ofthe expedition to Mongolia and not only gratuitously acted as ouragent but was always ready to devote his own time and the use of hismotor cars to further the work of the party. 

In Urga, Mr. F. A. Larsen of Anderson, Meyer & Company, was ofinvaluable assistance in obtaining horses, carts and other equipmentfor the expedition as well as in giving us the benefit of his longand unique experience in Mongolia. 

Mr. E. V. Olufsen of Anderson, Meyer & Company, put himself, hishouse, and his servants at our disposal whenever we were in Urga andaided us in innumerable ways. 

Mr. And Mrs. Oscar Mamen often entertained us in their home. Mr. AndMrs. E. L. MacCallie, who accompanied us on one trip across Mongoliaand later resided temporarily in Urga, brought equipment for usacross Mongolia and entertained us while we were preparing to returnto Peking. 

Monsieur A. Orlow, Russian Diplomatic Agent in Urga, obtainedpermits from the Mongolian Government for our work in the Urgaregion and gave us much valuable advice. 

In south China, Reverend H. Castle of Tunglu, and Reverend LacyMoffet planned a delightful hunting trip for us in Che-kiangProvince. 

In Shanghai the Hon. E. S. Cunningham, American Consul-General, materially aided the expedition in the shipment of specimens. To Mr. G. M. Jackson, General Passenger Agent of the Canadian Pacific OceanServices, thanks are due for arranging for rapid transportation toAmerica of our valuable collections. 

ROY CHAPMAN ANDREWSAMERICAN MUSEUM OF NATURAL HISTORY, NEW YORK CITY, U. S. A. 

CONTENTS

PREFACE

Early conquests of the Mongols--Why their power was lost--Independenceof Outer Mongolia--China's opportunity to obtain her former power inMongolia--General Hsu Shu-tseng--Memorial to President ofChina--Cancellation of Outer Mongolia's autonomy

CHAPTER I

ENTERING THE LAND OF MYSTERY

Arrival in Kalgan--The Hutukhtu's motor car--Start for the greatplateau--Camel caravans--The pass--A motor car on the Mongolianplains--Start from Hei-ma-hou--Chinese cultivation--The Mongol not afarmer--The grass-lands of Inner Mongolia--The first Mongolvillage--Construction of a _yurt_--Bird life--The telegraph line

CHAPTER II

SPEED MARVELS OF THE GOBI DESERT

Wells in the desert--Panj-kiang--A lama monastery--A great herd ofantelope--A wild chase--Long range shooting--Amazing speed--Anexhibition of high-class running--Difficulties intraveling--Description of the northern Mongols--Love ofsport--Ude--Bustards--Great monastery at Turin--The rolling plains ofOuter Mongolia--Urga during the World War

CHAPTER III

A CHAPTER OF ACCIDENTS

Return trip--The "agony box"--The first accident--My Czech and Cossackpassengers--The "agony box" breaks a wheel--A dry camp--More motortrouble--Meeting with Langdon Warner--Our game of hide-and-seek in theOrient--An accident near Panj-kiang--We use mutton fat for oil--Arrivalat Hei-ma-hou--A wet ride to Kalgan--Trouble at the gate

CHAPTER IV

NEW TRAVELS ON AN OLD TRAIL

Winter in Peking--We leave for Mongolia--Inner Mongolia inspring--Race with a camel--Geese and cranes--Gophers--An electric lightin the desert--Chinese motor companies--An antelope buck--A greatherd--Brilliant atmosphere of Mongolia--Notes on antelope speed

CHAPTER V

ANTELOPE MOVIE STARS

Moving pictures under difficulties--A lost opportunity--A zoölogicalgarden in the desert--Killing a wolf--Speed of a wolf--Antelope steakand _parfum de chameau_--A caravan--A wild wolf-hunt--Sulphuricacid--The Turin Plains

CHAPTER VI

THE SACRED CITY OF THE LIVING BUDDHA

A city of contrasts--The Chinese quarter like frontier America--Ahamlet of modern Russia--An indescribable mixture of Mongolia, Russiaand China in West Urga--Description of a Mongol woman--Urga like apageant on the stage of a theater--The sacred mountain--The palace ofthe "Living God"--Love for western inventions--A strange scene at theHutukhtu's palace--A bed for the Living Buddha--Lamaism--The LamaCity--Ceremony in the temple--Prayer wheels--Burial customs--Corpseseaten by dogs--The dogs ofMongolia--Cleanliness--Food--Morality--"H. C. L. " in Urga--A horribleprison--Mr. F. A. Larsen

CHAPTER VII

THE LONG TRAIL TO SAIN NOIN KHAN

Beginning work--Carts--Ponies--Our interpreter--Mongol tent--Nativeclothes best for work--Supplies--How to keep "fit" in thefield--Accidents--Sain Noin Khan--The first day--A night in a_yurt_--Cranes--We trade horses--Horse stealing--Nomammals--Birds--Breaking a cart horse--Mongol ponies

CHAPTER VIII

THE LURE OF THE PLAINS

Trapping marmots--Skins valuable as furs--Native methods of hunting--Amarmot dance--Habits--The first hunting-camp--Our Mongolneighbors--After antelope on horseback--The first buck--A pole-cat--Thesecond day's hunt--The vastness of the plains--Development of a "landsense"--Another antelope

CHAPTER IX

HUNTING ON THE TURIN PLAINS

Mongol hospitality--Camping on the Turin Plains--An enormous herd ofantelope--A wonderful ride--Three gazelle--A dry camp--My pony, KublaiKhan--Plains life about a well--Antelope babies--A wonderful provisionof nature--Habits--Species in Mongolia--The "goitre"--Speed--Work incamp--Small mammals

CHAPTER X

AN ADVENTURE IN THE LAMA CITY

An unexpected meeting with a river--Our new camp in Urga--"God'sBrother's House"--Photographing in the Lama City--A criticalmoment--Help from Mr. Olufsen--The motion picture camera an instrumentof magic--Floods in Urga--Duke Loobtseng Yangsen--TheDuchess--Vegetables in Urga

CHAPTER XI

MONGOLS AT HOME

The forests of Mongolia--A bad day's work--The Terelche River--TserinDorchy's family--A wild-wood romance--Evening in the valley--Doctoringthe natives--A clever lama--A popular magazine--Return of TserinDorchy--Independence--His hunt on the SacredMountain--Punishment--Hunting with the Mongols--_Tsamba_ and "butteredtea"--A splendid roebuck--The fortune of a naturalist--Eating the deer'sviscera--The field meet of the Terelche Valley--Horse races--Wrestling

CHAPTER XII

NOMADS OF THE FOREST

An ideal camp--The first wapiti--A roebuck--Currants andberries--Catching fish--Enormous trout--A rainy day in camp--A wapitiseen from camp--Mongolian weather--Flowers--Beautiful country--A muskdeer--Habits and commercial value--A wild boar--Success and failure inhunting--We kill two wapiti--Return to Urga--Mr. And Mrs. MacCallie--Packing the collections--Across the plains to Peking

CHAPTER XIII

THE PASSING OF MONGOLIAN MYSTERY

Importance of Far East--Desert, plain, and water in Mongolia--The GobiDesert--Agriculture--Pastoral products--Treatment of wool and camelhair--Marmots as a valuable asset--Urga a growing fur market--Chinesemerchants--Labor--Gold mines--Transportation--Motor trucks--Passengermotor service--Forests--Aeroplanes--Wireless telegraph

CHAPTER XIV

THE GREAT RAM OF THE SHANSI MOUNTAINS

Brigands, Chinese soldiers and "battles"--The Mongolian sheep--HarryCaldwell--Difference between North and South China--The "dust age" inChina--Inns--Brigand scouts--The Tai Hai Lake--Splendid shooting--Thesheep mountains--An awe-inspiring gorge--An introduction to the_argali_--Caldwell's big ram--A herd of sheep--My first ram--A secondsheep--The end of a perfect day

CHAPTER XV

MONGOLIAN "ARGALI"

A long climb--Roebuck--An unsuspecting ram--My Mongol hunter--Donkeysinstead of sheep--Two fine rams--The big one lost--A lecture onhunting--A night walk in the cañon--Commander Hutchins and MajorBarker--Tom and I get a ram--The end of the sheep hunt

CHAPTER XVI

THE HORSE-DEER OF SHANSI

Wu Tai Hai--The "American Legation"--Interior of a North Shansihouse--North China villages--The people--"Horse-deer"--The names"wapiti" and "elk"--A great gorge--A rock temple--The hunting groundsfurnish a surprise--A huge bull wapiti

CHAPTER XVII

WAPITI, ROEBUCK AND GORAL

Our camp in a new village--Game at our door--Concentration of animallife--Chinese roebuck--A splendid hunt--Goral--Difficultclimbing--"Hide and seek" with a goral--The second wapiti--A happyending to a cold day

CHAPTER XVIII

WILD PIGS--ANIMAL AND HUMAN

Shansi Province famous for wild boar--Flesh delicious--When tohunt--Where to go--Inns and coal gas--Kao-chia-chuang--A longshot--Our camp at Tziloa--Native hunters--A young pig--A hardchase--Pheasants--Another pig--Smith runs down a big sow--Chinesesteal our game--A wounded boar

CHAPTER XIX

THE HUNTING PARK OF THE EASTERN TOMBS

A visit to Duke Tsai Tse--A "personality"--The _Tung Ling_--The roadto the tombs--A country inn--The front view of the _Tung Ling_--Thetombs of the Empress Dowager and Ch'ien Lung--The "hinterland"--Anarea of desolation--Our camp in the forest--Reeves's pheasant--Themost beautiful Chinese deer--"Blood horns" as medicine--Goral--Animalsand birds of the _Tung Ling_--A new method of catching trout--A forestfire--Native stupidity--Wanton destruction--China's great opportunity

INDEX

ILLUSTRATIONS

A Nomad of the Mongolian Plains (Frontispiece)

Roy Chapman Andrews on "Kublai Khan"

Yvette Borup Andrews, Photographer of the Expedition

At the End of the Long Trail from Outer Mongolia

Women of Southern Mongolia

The Middle Ages and the Twentieth Century

A Mongolian Antelope Killed from Our Motor Car

Watering Camels at a Well in the Gobi Desert

The Water Carrier for a Caravan

A Thirty-five Pound Bustard

Young Mongolia

Mongol Horsemen on the Streets of Urga

The Prison at Urga

A Criminal in a Coffin with Hands Manacled

The Great Temple at Urga

A Prayer Wheel and a Mongol Lama

Lamas Calling the Gods at a Temple in Urga

Mongol Praying at a Shrine in Urga

Mongol Women Beside a _Yurt_

The Headdress of a Mongol Married Woman

The Framework of a _Yurt_

Mongol Women and a Lama

The Traffic Policeman on Urga's "Broadway"

A Mongol Lama

The Grasslands of Outer Mongolia

Mongol Herdsmen Carrying Lassos

A Lone Camp on the Desert

Tibetan Yaks

Our Caravan Crossing the Terelche River

Our Base Camp at the Edge of the Forest

The Mongol Village of the Terelche Valley

Wrestlers at Terelche Valley Field Meet

Women Spectators at the Field Meet

Cave Dwellings in North Shansi Province

An Asiatic Wapiti

Harry R. Caldwell and a Mongolian Bighorn

Where the Bighorn Sheep Are Found

A Mongolian Roebuck

The Head of the Record Ram

Map of Mongolia and China, Showing Route of Second AsiaticExpedition in Broken Lines

INTRODUCTION

The romantic story of the Mongols and their achievements has beenwritten so completely that it is unnecessary to repeat it here eventhough it is as fascinating as a tale from the _Arabian Nights_. Thepresent status of the country, however, is but little known to thewestern world. In a few words I will endeavor to sketch the recentpolitical developments, some of which occurred while we were inMongolia. 

In the twelfth and thirteenth centuries the great Genghiz Khan andhis illustrious successor Kublai Khan "almost in a night" erectedthe greatest empire the world has ever seen. Not only did theyconquer all of Asia, but they advanced in Europe as far as theDnieper leaving behind a trail of blood and slaughter. 

All Europe rose against them, but what could not be accomplished byforce of arms was wrought in the Mongols themselves by an excess ofluxury. In their victorious advance great stores of treasure fellinto their hands and they gave themselves to a life of ease andindulgence. 

By nature the Mongols were hard riding, hard living warriors, accustomed to privation and fatigue. The poison of luxury ate intothe very fibers of their being and gradually they lost thecharacteristics which had made them great. The ruin of the race wascompleted by the introduction of Lamaism, a religion which carriesonly moral destruction where it enters, and eventually the Mongolspassed under the rule of the once conquered Chinese and then underthe Manchus. 

Until the overthrow of the Manchu regime in China in 1911, and theestablishment of the present republic, there were no particularlysignificant events in Mongolian history. But at that time theRussians, wishing to create a buffer state between themselves andChina as well as to obtain special commercial privileges inMongolia, aided the Mongols in rebellion, furnished them with armsand ammunition and with officers to train their men. 

A somewhat tentative proclamation of independence for Outer Mongoliawas issued in December, 1911, by the Hutukhtu and nobles of Urga, and the Chinese were driven out of the country with littledifficulty. Beset with internal troubles, the Chinese paid but scantattention to Mongolian affairs until news was received in Peking inOctober, 1912, that M. Korostovetz, formerly Russian Minister toChina, had arrived secretly in Urga and on November 3, 1912, hadrecognized the independence of Outer Mongolia on behalf of hisGovernment. 

It then became incumbent upon China to take official note of thesituation, especially as foreign complications could not be faced inview of her domestic embarrassments. 

Consequently on November 5, 1913, there was concluded aRusso-Chinese agreement wherein Russia recognized that Outer Mongoliawas under the suzerainty of China, and China, on her part, admittedthe autonomy of Outer Mongolia. The essential element in thesituation was the fact that Russia stood behind the Mongols with moneyand arms and China's hand was forced at a time when she was powerlessto resist. 

Quite naturally, Mongolia's political status has been a sore pointwith China and it is hardly surprising that she should have awaitedan opportunity to reclaim what she considered to be her own. 

This opportunity arrived with the collapse of Russia and the spreadof Bolshevism, for the Mongols were dependent upon Russia formaterial assistance in anything resembling military operations, although, as early as 1914, they had begun to realize that they werecultivating a dangerous friend. The Mongolian army, at the most, numbered only two or three thousand poorly equipped andundisciplined troops who would require money and organization beforethey could become an effective fighting force. 

The Chinese were not slow to appreciate these conditions and GeneralHsu Shu-tseng, popularly known as "Little Hsu, " by a clever bit ofOriental intrigue sent four thousand soldiers to Urga with theexcuse of protecting the Mongols from a so-called threatenedinvasion of Buriats and brigands. A little later he himself arrivedin a motor car and, when the stage was set, brought such pressure tobear upon the Hutukhtu and his Cabinet that they had no recourseexcept to cancel Mongolia's autonomy and ask to return to theirformer place under Chinese rule. 

This they did on November 17, 1919, in a formal Memorial addressedto the President of the Chinese Republic, which is quoted below asit appeared in the Peking press, under date of November 24, 1919:

"We, the Ministers and Vice-Ministers [here follow their names andranks] of all the departments of the autonomous Government of OuterMongolia, and all the princes, dukes, hutukhtus and lamas and othersresident at Urga, hereby jointly and severally submit the followingpetition for the esteemed perusal of His Excellency the President ofthe Republic of China:--

"Outer Mongolia has been a dependency of China since the reign ofthe Emperor Kang Hsi, remaining loyal for over two hundred years, the entire population, from princes and dukes down to the commonpeople having enjoyed the blessings of peace. During the reign ofthe Emperor Tao Kwang changes in the established institutions, whichwere opposed to Mongolian sentiment, caused dissatisfaction whichwas aggravated by the corruption of the administration during thelast days of the Manchu Dynasty. Taking advantage of this Mongoliandissatisfaction, foreigners instigated and assisted the independencemovement. Upon the Kiakhta Convention, being signed the autonomy ofOuter Mongolia was held a _fait accompli_, China retaining an emptysuzerainty while the officials and people of Outer Mongolia lostmany of their old rights and privileges. Since the establishment ofthis autonomous government no progress whatsoever has beenchronicled, the affairs of government being indeed plunged in astate of chaos, causing deep pessimism. 

"Lately, chaotic conditions have also reigned supreme in Russia, reports of revolutionary elements threatening our frontiers havingbeen frequently received. Moreover, since the Russians have nounited government it is only natural that they are powerless tocarry out the provisions of the treaties, and now that they have nocontrol over their subjects the Buriat tribes have constantlyconspired and cooperated with bandits, and repeatedly sent delegatesto Urga urging our Government to join with them and form aPan-Mongolian nation. That this propaganda work, so varied and sopersistent, which aims at usurping Chinese suzerainty andundermining the autonomy of Outer Mongolia, does more harm than goodto Outer Mongolia, our Government is well aware. The Buriats, withtheir bandit Allies, now considering us unwilling to espouse theircause, contemplate dispatching troops to violate our frontiers andto compel our submission. Furthermore, forces from the so-calledWhite Army have forcibly occupied Tanu Ulianghai, an old possessionof Outer Mongolia, and attacked both Chinese and Mongolian troops, this being followed by the entry of the Red Army, thus making thesituation impossible. 

"Now that both our internal and external affairs have reached such aclimax, we, the members of the Government, in view of the presentsituation, have assembled all the princes, dukes, lamas and othersand have held frequent meetings to discuss the question of ourfuture welfare. Those present have been unanimously of the opinionthat the old bonds of friendship having been restored our autonomyshould be canceled, since Chinese and Mongolians are filled with acommon purpose and ideal. 

"The result of our decision has been duly reported to His Holinessthe Bogdo Jetsun Dampa Hutukhtu Khan and has received his approvaland support. Such being the position we now unanimously petition HisExcellency the President that the old order of affairs be restored. "

(Signed)

"Premier and Acting Minister of the Interior, Prince Lama BatmaTorgoo. 

"Vice-Minister, Prince of Tarkhan Puntzuk Cheilin. 

"Vice-Minister, Great Lama of Beliktu, Prince Puntzuk Torgoo. 

"Minister of Foreign Affairs, Duke Cheilin Torgoo. 

"Vice-Minister, Dalai Prince Cheitantnun Lomour. 

"Vice-Minister, Prince of Ochi, Kaotzuktanba. 

"Minister of War, Prince of Eltoni Jamuyen Torgoo. 

"Vice-Minister, Prince of Eltoni Selunto Chihloh. 

"Vice-Minister, Prince of Elteni Punktzu Laptan. 

"Vice-Minister, Prince of Itkemur Chitu Wachir. 

"Minister of Finance, Prince Lama Loobitsan Paletan. 

"Vice-Minister, Prince Torgee Cheilin. 

"Vice-Minister, Prince of Suchuketu Tehmutgu Kejwan. 

"Minister of Justice, Dalai of Chiechenkhan Wananin. 

"Vice-Minister, Prince of Daichinchihlun Chackehbatehorhu. 

"Vice-Minister, Prince of Cholikota Lama Dashtunyupu. "

Naturally, the President of China graciously consented to allow theprodigal to return and "killed the fatted calf" by conferring highhonors and titles upon the Hutukhtu. Moreover, he appointed theLiving Buddha's good friend (?) "Little Hsu" to convey them to him. 

Thus, Mongolia again has become a part of China. Who knows what thefuture has in store for her? But events are moving rapidly and bythe time this book is published the curtain may have risen upon anew act of Mongolia's tragedy. 

CHAPTER I

ENTERING THE LAND OF MYSTERY

Careering madly in a motor car behind a herd of antelope fleeinglike wind-blown ribbons across a desert which isn't a desert, pastcaravans of camels led by picturesque Mongol horsemen, the TwentiethCentury suddenly and violently interjected into the Middle Ages, should be contrast and paradox enough for even the most _blasé_sportsman. I am a naturalist who has wandered into many of the farcorners of the earth. I have seen strange men and things, but what Isaw on the great Mongolian plateau fairly took my breath away andleft me dazed, utterly unable to adjust my mental perspective. 

When leaving Peking in late August, 1918, to cross the Gobi Desertin Mongolia, I knew that I was to go by motor car. But somehow thevery names "Mongolia" and "Gobi Desert" brought such a vivid pictureof the days of Kublai Khan and ancient Cathay that my clouded mindrefused to admit the thought of automobiles. It was enough that Iwas going to the land of which I had so often dreamed. 

Not even in the railway, when I was being borne toward Kalgan andsaw lines of laden camels plodding silently along the paved roadbeside the train, or when we puffed slowly through the famous NankouPass and I saw that wonder of the world, the Great Wall, windinglike a gray serpent over ridge after ridge of the mountains, was mydream-picture of mysterious Mongolia dispelled. I had seen all thisbefore, and had accepted it as one accepts the motor cars beside thesplendid walls of old Peking. It was too near, and the railroad hadmade it commonplace. 

But Mongolia! That was different. One could not go there in aroaring train. I had beside me the same old rifle and sleeping bagthat had been carried across the mountains of far Yün-nan, along theTibetan frontier, and through the fever-stricken jungles of Burma. Somehow, these companions of forest and mountain trails, and myreception at Kalgan by two khaki-clad young men, each with a belt ofcartridges and a six-shooter strapped about his waist, did much tokeep me in a blissful state of unpreparedness for the destruction ofmy dream-castles. 

That night as we sat in Mr. Charles Coltman's home, with hischarming wife, a real woman of the great outdoors, presiding at thedinner table, the talk was all of shooting, horses, and the vast, lone spaces of the Gobi Desert--but not much of motor cars. Perhapsthey vaguely realized that I was still asleep in an unreal world andknew that the awakening would come all too soon. 

Yet I was dining that night with one of the men who had destroyedthe mystery of Mongolia. In 1916, Coltman and his former partner, Oscar Mamen, had driven across the plains to Urga, the historiccapital of Mongolia. But most unromantic and incongruous, mostdisheartening to a dreamer of Oriental dreams, was what I learned afew days later when the awakening had really come--that among thefirst cars ever to cross the desert was one purchased by theHutukhtu, the Living Buddha, the God of all the Mongols. 

When the Hutukhtu learned of the first motor car in Mongolia heforthwith demanded one for himself. So his automobile was broughtsafely through the rocky pass at Kalgan and across the seven hundredmiles of plain to Urga by way of the same old caravan trail overwhich, centuries ago, Genghis Khan had sent his wild Mongol raidersto conquer China. 

We arose long before daylight on the morning of August 29. In thecourtyard lanterns flashed and disappeared like giant fireflies asthe _mafus_ (muleteers) packed the baggage and saddled the ponies. The cars had been left on the plateau at a mission station calledHei-ma-hou to avoid the rough going in the pass, and we were to ridethere on horseback while the food and bed-rolls went by cart. Therewere five of us in the party--Mr. And Mrs. Coltman, Mr. And Mrs. Lucander, and myself. I was on a reconnoissance and Mr. Coltman'sobject was to visit his trading station in Urga, where the Lucanderswere to remain for the winter. 

The sun was an hour high when we clattered over the slippery pavingstones to the north gate of the city. Kalgan is built hard againstthe Great Wall of China--the first line of defense, the outermostrampart in the colossal structure which for so many centuriesprotected China from Tartar invasion. Beyond it there was nothingbetween us and the great plateau. 

After our passports had been examined we rode through the gloomychasm-like gate, turned sharply to the left, and found ourselvesstanding on the edge of a half-dry river bed. Below us stretchedline after line of double-humped camels, some crowded inyellow-brown masses which seemed all heads and curving necks, andsome kneeling quietly on the sand. From around a shoulder of rockcame other camels, hundreds of them, treading slowly and sedately, nose to tail, toward the gate in the Great Wall. They had come fromthe far country whither we were bound. To me there is somethingfascinating about a camel. Perhaps it is because he seems to typifythe great waste spaces which I love, that I never tire of watchinghim swing silently, and seemingly with resistless power, across thedesert. 

Our way to Hei-ma-hou led up the dry river bed, with the Great Wallon the left stretching its serpentine length across the hills, andon the right picturesque cliffs two hundred feet in height. At theirbases nestle mud-roofed cottages and Chinese inns, but farther upthe river the low hills are all of _loess_--brown, wind-blown dust, packed hard, which can be cut like cheese. Deserted though they seemfrom a distance, they really teem with human life. Whole villagesare half dug, half built, into the hillsides, but are well-nighinvisible, for every wall and roof is of the same brown earth. 

Ten miles or so from Kalgan we began on foot the long climb up thepass which gives entrance to the great plateau. I kept my eyessteadily on the pony's heels until we reached a broad, flat terracehalfway up the pass. Then I swung about that I might have, all atonce, the view which lay below us. It justified my greatest hopes, for miles and miles of rolling hills stretched away to where the farhorizon met the Shansi Mountains. 

It was a desolate country which I saw, for every wave in this vastland-sea was cut and slashed by the knives of wind and frost andrain, and lay in a chaotic mass of gaping wounds--cañons, ravines, and gullies, painted in rainbow colors, crossing and cutting oneanother at fantastic angles as far as the eye could see. 

When, a few moments later, we reached the very summit of the pass, Ifelt that no spot I had ever visited satisfied my preconceivedconceptions quite so thoroughly. Behind and below us lay thatstupendous relief map of ravines and gorges; in front was alimitless stretch of undulating plain. I knew then that I reallystood upon the edge of the greatest plateau in all the world andthat it could be only Mongolia. 

We had tiffin at a tiny Chinese inn beside the road, and trotted ontoward Hei-ma-hou between waving fields of wheat, buckwheat, millet, and oats--oats as thick and "meaty" as any horse could wish to eat. 

After tiffin Coltman and Lucander rode rapidly ahead while I trottedmy pony along more slowly in the rear. It was nearly seven o'clock, and the trees about the mission station had been visible for half anhour. I was enjoying a gorgeous sunset which splashed the westernsky with gold and red, and lazily watching the black silhouettes ofa camel caravan swinging along the summit of a ridge a mile away. Onthe road beside me a train of laden mules and bullock-carts restedfor a moment--the drivers half asleep. Over all the plain there laythe peace of a perfect autumn evening. 

Suddenly, from behind a little rise, I heard the whir of a motorengine and the raucous voice of a Klaxon horn. Before I realizedwhat it meant, I was in the midst of a mass of plunging, snortinganimals, shouting carters, and kicking mules. In a moment thecaravan scattered wildly across the plain and the road was clearsave for the author of the turmoil--a black automobile. 

I wish I could make those who spend their lives within a city knowhow strange and out of place that motor seemed, alone there upon theopen plain on the borders of Mongolia. Imagine a camel or anelephant with all its Oriental trappings suddenly appearing on FifthAvenue! You would think at once that it had escaped from a circus ora zoo and would be mainly curious as to what the traffic policemanwould do when it did not obey his signals. 

But all the incongruity and the fact that the automobile was aglaring anachronism did not prevent my abandoning my horse to the_mafu_ and stretching out comfortably on the cushions of the rearseat. There I had nothing to do but collect the remains of myshattered dream-castles as we bounced over the ruts and stones. Itwas a rude awakening, and I felt half ashamed to admit to myself asthe miles sped by that the springy seat was more comfortable thanthe saddle on my Mongol pony. 

But that night when I strolled about the mission courtyard, underthe spell of the starry, desert sky, I drifted back again in thoughtto the glorious days of Kublai Khan. My heart was hot withresentment that this thing had come. I realized then that, forbetter or for worse, the sanctity of the desert was gone forever. Camels will still plod their silent way across the age-old plains, but the mystery is lost. The secrets which were yielded up to but achosen few are open now to all, and the world and his wife willspeed their noisy course across the miles of rolling prairie, hearing nothing, feeling nothing, knowing nothing of that resistlessdesert charm which led men out into the Great Unknown. 

At daylight we packed the cars. Bed-rolls and cans of gasoline weretied on the running boards and every corner was filled with food. Our rifles were ready for use, however, for Coltman had promised akind of shooting such as I had never seen before. The stories hetold of wild rides in the car after strings of antelope whichtraveled at fifty or sixty miles an hour had left me mildlyskeptical. But then, you know, I had never seen a Mongolian anteloperun. 

For twenty or thirty miles after leaving Hei-ma-hou we bounced alongover a road which would have been splendid except for the deep rutscut by mule- and oxcarts. These carts are the despair of any one whohopes some time to see good roads in China. The spike-studded wheelscut into the hardest ground and leave a chaos of ridges and chasmswhich grows worse with every year. 

We were seldom out of sight of mud-walled huts or tiny Chinesevillages, and Chinese peddlers passed our cars, carrying baskets offruit or trinkets for the women. Chinese farmers stopped to gaze atus as we bounded over the ruts--in fact it was all Chinese, althoughwe were really in Mongolia. I was very eager to see Mongols, toregister first impressions of a people of whom I had dreamed somuch; but the blue-clad Chinaman was ubiquitous. 

For seventy miles from Kalgan it was all the same--Chineseeverywhere. The Great Wall was built to keep the Mongols out, and bythe same token it should have kept the Chinese in. But the rolling, grassy sea of the vast plateau was too strong a temptation for theChinese farmer. Encouraged by his own government, which knows thevalue of just such peaceful penetration, he pushes forward the lineof cultivation a dozen miles or so every year. As a result thegrassy hills have given place to fields of wheat, oats, millet, buckwheat, and potatoes. 

The Mongol, above all things, is not a farmer; possibly because, many years ago, the Manchus forbade him to till the soil. Moreover, on the ground he is as awkward as a duck out of water and he isnever comfortable. The back of a pony is his real home, and he willdo wonderfully well any work which keeps him in the saddle. As Mr. F. A. Larsen in Urga once said, "A Mongol would make a splendid cookif you could give him a horse to ride about on in the kitchen. " Sohe leaves to the plodding Chinaman the cultivation of his boundlessplains, while he herds his fat-tailed sheep and goats and cattle. 

[Illustration: Roy Chapman Andrews on "Kublai Khan"]

[Illustration: Yvette Borup Andrews, Photographer of the Expedition]

About two hours after leaving the mission station we passed thelimit of cultivation and were riding toward the Tabool hills. ThereMr. Larsen, the best known foreigner in all Mongolia, has a home, and as we swung past the trail which leads to his house we saw oneof his great herds of horses grazing in the distance. 

All the land in this region has long, rich grass in summer, andwater is by no means scarce. There are frequent wells and streamsalong the road, and in the distance we often caught a glint ofsilver from the surface of a pond or lake. Flocks of goats andfat-tailed sheep drifted up the valley, and now and then a herd ofcattle massed themselves in moving patches on the hillsides. Butthey are only a fraction of the numbers which this land could easilysupport. 

Not far from Tabool is a Mongol village. I jumped out of the car totake a photograph but scrambled in again almost as quickly, for assoon as the motor had stopped a dozen dogs dashed from the housessnarling and barking like a pack of wolves. They are huge brutes, these Mongol dogs, and as fierce as they are big. Every family andevery caravan owns one or more, and we learned very soon never toapproach a native encampment on foot. 

The village was as unlike a Chinese settlement as it well could be, for instead of closely packed mud houses there were circular, latticed frameworks covered with felt and cone-shaped in the upperhalf. The _yurt_, as it is called, is perfectly adapted to theMongols and their life. In the winter a stove is placed in thecenter, and the house is dry and warm. In the summer the feltcovering is sometimes replaced by canvas which can be lifted on anyside to allow free passage of air. When it is time for thesemiannual migration to new grazing grounds the _yurt_ can bequickly dismantled, the framework collapsed, and the house packed oncamels or carts. 

The Mongols of the village were rather disappointing, for many ofthem show a strong element of Chinese blood. This seems to havedeveloped an unfortunate combination of the worst characteristics ofboth races. Even where there is no real mixture, their contact withthe Chinese has been demoralizing, and they will rob and steal atevery opportunity. The headdresses of the southern women are by nomeans as elaborate as those in the north. 

When the hills of Tabool had begun to sink on the horizon behind us, we entered upon a vast rolling plain, where there was but littlewater and not a sign of human life. It resembled nothing so much asthe prairies of Nebraska or Dakota, and amid the short grasslarkspur and purple thistles glowed in the sunlight like tongues offlame. 

There was no lack of birds. In the ponds which we passed earlier inthe day we saw hundreds of mallard ducks and teal. The car oftenfrightened golden plover from their dust baths in the road, andcrested lapwings flashed across the prairie like sudden storms ofautumn leaves. Huge, golden eagles and enormous ravens made temptingtargets on the telegraph poles, and in the morning before we leftthe cultivated area we saw demoiselle cranes in thousands. 

In this land where wood is absent and everything that will make afire is of value, I wondered how it happened that the telegraphpoles remained untouched, for every one was smooth and round withouta splinter gone. The method of protection is simple and entirelyOriental. When the line was first erected, the Mongolian governmentstated in an edict that any man who touched a pole with knife or axwould lose his head. Even on the plains the enforcement of such alaw is not so difficult as it might seem, and after a few heads hadbeen taken by way of example the safety of the line was assured. 

Our camp the first night was on a hill slope about one hundred milesfrom Hei-ma-hou. As soon as the cars had stopped, one man was leftto untie the sleeping bags while the rest of us scattered over theplain to hunt material for a fire. _Argul_ (dried dung) forms theonly desert fuel and, although it does not blaze like wood, it will"boil a pot" almost as quickly as charcoal. I was elected to be thecook--a position with distinct advantages, for in the freezing coldof early morning I could linger about the fire with a good excuse. 

It was a perfect autumn night. Every star in the world of spaceseemed to have been crowded into our own particular expanse of sky, and each one glowed like a tiny lantern. When I had found a patch ofsand and had dug a trench for my hip and shoulder, I crawled intothe sleeping bag and lay for half an hour looking up at thebespangled canopy above my head. Again the magic of the desert nightwas in my blood, and I blessed the fate which had carried me awayfrom the roar and rush of New York with its hurrying crowds. But Ifelt a pang of envy when, far away in the distance, there came themellow notes of a camel-bell. _Dong_, _dong_, _dong_ it sounded, clear and sweet as cathedral chimes. With surging blood I listeneduntil I caught the measured tread of padded feet, and saw the blacksilhouettes of rounded bodies and curving necks. Oh, to be withthem, to travel as Marco Polo traveled, and to learn to know theheart of the desert in the long night marches! Before I closed myeyes that night I vowed that when the war was done and I was free totravel where I willed, I would come again to the desert as the greatVenetian came. 

CHAPTER II

SPEED MARVELS OF THE GOBI DESERT

The next morning, ten miles from camp, we passed a party of Russiansen route to Kalgan. They were sitting disconsolately beside two hugecars, patching tires and tightening bolts. Their way had been markedby a succession of motor troubles and they were almost discouraged. Woe to the men who venture into the desert with an untried car andwithout a skilled mechanic! There are no garages just around thecorner--and there are no corners. Lucander's Chinese boy expressedit with laconic completeness when some one asked him how he likedthe country. 

"Well, " said he, "there's plenty of _room_ here. "

A short distance farther on we found the caravan which had passed usearly in the night. They were camped beside a well and the thirstycamels were gorging themselves with water. Except for these wells, the march across the desert would be impossible. They are four orfive feet wide, walled with timbers, and partly roofed. In some thewater is rather brackish but always cool, for it is seldom less thanten feet below the surface. It is useless to speculate as to who dugthe wells or when, for this trail has been used for centuries. Insome regions they are fifty or even sixty miles apart, but usuallyless than that. 

The camel caravans travel mostly at night. For all his size andapparent strength, a camel is a delicate animal and needs carefulhandling. He cannot stand the heat of the midday sun and he will notgraze at night. So the Gobi caravans start about three or fouro'clock in the afternoon and march until one or two the nextmorning. Then the men pitch a light tent and the camels sleep orwander over the plain. 

At noon on the second day we reached Panj-kiang, the first telegraphstation on the line. Its single mud house was visible miles away andwe were glad to see it, for our gasoline was getting low. Coltmanhad sent a plentiful supply by caravan to await us here, and everyavailable inch of space was filled with cans, for we were onlyone-quarter of the way to Urga. 

Not far beyond Panj-kiang, a lama monastery has been built besidethe road. Its white-walled temple bordered with red and the compoundenclosing the living quarters of the lamas show with startlingdistinctness on the open plain. We stopped for water at a well a fewhundred yards away, and in five minutes the cars were surrounded bya picturesque group of lamas who streamed across the plain on footand on horseback, their yellow and red robes flaming in the sun. They were amiable enough--in fact, too friendly--and their curiositywas hardly welcome, for we found one of them testing his knife onthe tires and another about to punch a hole in one of the gasolinecans; he hoped it held something to drink that was better thanwater. 

Thus far the trail had not been bad, as roads go in the Gobi, but Iwas assured that the next hundred miles would be a different story, for we were about to enter the most arid part of the desert betweenKalgan and Urga. We were prepared for the only real work of thetrip, however, by a taste of the exciting shooting which Coltman hadpromised me. 

I had been told that we should see antelope in thousands, but allday I had vainly searched the plains for a sign of game. Ten milesfrom Panj-kiang we were rolling comfortably along on a stretch ofgood road when Mrs. Coltman, whose eyes are as keen as those of ahawk, excitedly pointed to a knoll on the right, not a hundred yardsfrom the trail. At first I saw nothing but yellow grass; then thewhole hillside seemed to be in motion. A moment later I began todistinguish heads and legs and realized that I was looking at anenormous herd of antelope, closely packed together, restlesslywatching us. 

Our rifles were out in an instant and Coltman opened the throttle. The antelope were five or six hundred yards away, and as the carleaped forward they ranged themselves in single file and strung outacross the plain. We left the road at once and headed diagonallytoward them. For some strange reason, when a horse or car runsparallel with a herd of antelope, the animals will swing in acomplete semicircle and cross in front of the pursuer. This is alsotrue of some African species, whether they think they are being cutoff from some more desirable means of escape I cannot say, but thefact remains that with the open plain on every side they always tryto "cross your bows. "

I shall never forget the sight of those magnificent animalsstreaming across the desert! There were at least a thousand of them, and their yellow bodies seemed fairly to skim the earth. I wasshouting in excitement, but Coltman said:

"They're not running yet. Wait till we begin to shoot. "

I could hardly believe my eyes when I saw the speedometer tremblingat thirty-five miles, for we were making a poor showing with theantelope. But then the fatal attraction began to assert itself andthe long column bent gradually in our direction. Coltman widened thearc of the circle and held the throttle up as far as it would go. Our speed increased to forty miles and the car began to gain becausethe antelope were running almost across our course. 

They were about two hundred yards away when Coltman shut off the gasand jammed both brakes, but before the car had stopped they hadgained another hundred. I leaped over a pile of bedding and cameinto action with the . 250 Savage high-power as soon as my feet wereon the ground. Coltman's . 30 Mauser was already spitting fire fromthe front seat across the windshield, and at his second shot anantelope dropped like lead. My first two bullets struck the dirt farbehind the rearmost animal, but the third caught a full-grown femalein the side and she plunged forward into the grass. 

I realized then what Coltman meant when he said that the antelopehad not begun to run. At the first shot every animal in the herdseemed to flatten itself and settle to its work. They did notrun--they simply _flew_ across the ground, their legs showing onlyas a blur. The one I killed was four hundred yards away, and I heldfour feet ahead when I pulled the trigger. They could not have beentraveling less than fifty-five or sixty miles an hour, for they wererunning in a semicircle about the car while we were moving at fortymiles in a straight line. 

Those are the facts in the case. I can see my readers raise theirbrows incredulously, for that is exactly what I would have donebefore this demonstration. Well, there is one way to prove it andthat is to come and try it for yourselves. Moreover, I can see somesportsmen smile for another reason. I mentioned that the antelope Ikilled was four hundred yards away. I know how far it was, for Ipaced it off. I may say, in passing, that I had never before killeda running animal at that range. Ninety per cent of my shooting hadbeen well within one hundred and fifty yards, but in Mongoliaconditions are most extraordinary. 

In the brilliant atmosphere an antelope at four hundred yardsappears as large as it would at one hundred in most other parts ofthe world; and on the flat plains, where there is not a bush or ashrub to obscure the view, a tiny stone stands out like a golf ballon the putting green. Because of these conditions there is strongtemptation to shoot at impossible ranges and to keep on shootingwhen the game is beyond anything except a lucky chance. Therefore, if any of you go to Mongolia to hunt antelope take plenty ofammunition, and when you return you will never tell how manycartridges you used. Our antelope were tied on the running board ofthe car and we went back to the road where Lucander was waiting. Half the herd had crossed in front of him, but he had failed tobring down an animal. 

When the excitement was over I began to understand the significanceof what we had seen. It was slowly borne in upon me that our car hadbeen going, by the speedometer, at forty miles an hour and that the_antelope were actually beating us_. It was an amazing discovery, for I had never dreamed that any living animal could run so fast. Itwas a discovery, too, which would have important results, forProfessor Henry Fairfield Osborn, president of the American Museumof Natural History, even then was carrying on investigations as tothe relation of speed to limb structure in various groups ofanimals. I determined, with Mr. Coltman's help, to get some realfacts in the case--data upon which we could rely. 

There was an opportunity only to begin the study on the first trip, but we carried it further the following year. Time after time, as wetore madly after antelope, singly or in herds, I kept my eyes uponthe speedometer, and I feel confident that our observations can berelied upon. We demonstrated beyond a doubt that the Mongolianantelope can reach a speed of from fifty-five to sixty miles anhour. This is probably the maximum _which is attained only in theinitial sprint_ and after a very short distance the animals mustslow down to about forty miles; a short distance more and they dropto twenty-five or thirty miles, and at this pace they seem able tocontinue almost indefinitely. They never ran faster than wasnecessary to keep well away from us. As we opened the throttle ofthe car they, too, increased their speed. It was only when we beganto shoot and they became thoroughly frightened that they showed whatthey could do. 

I remember especially one fine buck which gave us an exhibition ofreally high-class running. He started almost opposite to us when wewere on a stretch of splendid road and jogged comfortably along atthirty-five miles an hour. Our car was running at the same speed, but he decided to cross in front and pressed his accelerator alittle. Coltman also touched ours, and the motor jumped to fortymiles. The antelope seemed very much surprised and gave hisaccelerator another push. Coltman did likewise, and the speedometerregistered forty-five miles. That was about enough for us, and weheld our speed. The animal drew ahead on a long curve swingingacross in front of the car. He had beaten us by a hundred yards!

But we had a surprise in store for him, for Coltman suddenly shutoff the gas and threw on both brakes. Before the motor had fullystopped we opened fire. The first two bullets struck just behind theantelope and a third kicked the dust between his legs. The shockturned him half over, but he righted himself and ran to his verylimit. The bullets spattering all about kept him at it for sixhundred yards. He put up a desert hare on the way, but that haredidn't have a chance with the antelope. It reminded me of the storyof the negro who had seen a ghost. He ran until he dropped besidethe road, but the ghost was right beside him. "Well, " said theghost, "that was _some_ race we had. " "Yes, " answered the negro, "but it ain't nothin' to what we're goin' to have soon's ever I gitmy breath. And then, " said the negro, "we ran agin. And I come to arabbit leggin' it up the road, and I said, 'Git out of the way, rabbit, and let some one run what can run!'" The last we saw of theantelope was a cloud of yellow dust disappearing over a low rise. 

The excitement of the chase had been an excellent preparation forthe hard work which awaited us not far ahead. The going had beengetting heavier with every mile, and at last we reached a longstretch of sandy road which the motors could not pull through. Withevery one except the driver out of the car, and the engine racing, we pushed and lifted, gaining a few feet each time, until theshifting sand was passed. It meant two hours of violent strain, andwe were well-nigh exhausted; a few miles farther, however, it hadall to be done again. Where the ground was hard, there was such achaos of ruts and holes that our arms were almost wrenched fromtheir sockets by the twisting wheels. 

This area more nearly approaches a desert than any other part of theroad to Urga. The soil is mainly sandy, but the Gobi sagebrush andshort bunch grass, although sparse and dry, still give a covering ofvegetation, so that in the distance the plain appears like a rollingmeadowland. 

[Illustration: At the End of the Long Trail from Outer Mongolia]

[Illustration: Women of Southern Mongolia]

When we saw our first northern Mongol I was delighted. Every one isa study for an artist. He dresses in a long, loose robe of plumcolor, one corner of which is usually tucked into a gorgeous sash. On his head is perched an extraordinary hat which looks like asaucer, with upturned edges of black velvet and a narrow cone-shapedcrown of brilliant yellow. Two streamers of red ribbon are usuallyfastened to the rim at the back, or a plume of peacock feathers ifhe be of higher rank. 

On his feet he wears a pair of enormous leather boots with pointedtoes. These are always many sizes too large, for as the weathergrows colder he pads them out with heavy socks of wool or fur. It isnearly impossible for him to walk in this ungainly footgear, and hewaddles along exactly like a duck. He is manifestly uncomfortableand ill at ease, but put him on a horse and you have a differentpicture. The high-peaked saddle and the horse itself become a partof his anatomy and he will stay there happily fifteen hours of theday. 

The Mongols ride with short stirrups and, standing nearly upright, lean far over the horse's neck like our western cowboys. As theytear along at full gallop in their brilliant robes they seem toembody the very spirit of the plains. They are such genial, accommodating fellows, always ready with a pleasant smile, andwilling to take a sporting chance on anything under the sun, thatthey won my heart at once. 

Above all things they love a race, and often one of them would rangeup beside the car and, with a radiant smile, make signs that hewished to test our speed. Then off he would go like mad, flogginghis horse and yelling with delight. We would let him gain at first, and the expression of joy and triumph on his face was worth goingfar to see. Sometimes, if the road was heavy, it would need everyounce of gas the car could take to forge ahead, for the ponies aresplendid animals. The Mongols ride only the best and ride them hard, since horses are cheap in Mongolia, and when one is a little wornanother is always ready. 

Not only does the Mongol inspire you with admiration for hisfull-blooded, virile manhood, but also you like him because he likesyou. He doesn't try to disguise the fact. There is a frank opennessabout his attitude which is wonderfully appealing, and I believe thatthe average white man can get on terms of easy familiarity, and evenintimacy, with Mongols more rapidly than with any other Orientals. 

Ude is the second telegraph station on the road to Urga. It has thehonor of appearing on most maps of Mongolia and yet it is even lessimpressive than Panj-kiang. There are only two mud houses and half adozen _yurts_ which seem to have been dropped carelessly behind aragged hill. 

After leaving Ude, we slipped rapidly up and down a succession oflow hills and entered upon a plain so vast and flat that we appearedto be looking across an ocean. Not the smallest hill or rise ofground broke the line where earth and sky met in a faint blue haze. Our cars seemed like tiny boats in a limitless, grassy sea. It wassixty miles across, and for three hours the steady hum of the motorhardly ceased, for the road was smooth and hard. Halfway over we sawanother great herd of antelope and several groups of ten or twelve. These were a different species from those we had killed, and I got afine young buck. Twice wolves trotted across the plain, and at one, which was very inquisitive, I did some shooting which I vainly tryto forget. 

But most interesting to me among the wild life along our way was thebustard. It is a huge bird, weighing from fifteen to forty pounds, with flesh of such delicate flavor that it rivals our best turkey. Ihad always wanted to kill a bustard and my first one was neatlyeviscerated at two hundred yards by a Savage bullet. I was morepleased than if I had shot an antelope, perhaps because it did muchto revive my spirits after the episode of the wolf. 

Sand grouse, beautiful little gray birds, with wings like pigeonsand remarkable, padded feet, whistled over us as we rolled along theroad, and my heart was sick with the thought of the excellentshooting we were missing. But there was no time to stop, except forsuch game as actually crossed our path, else we should never havearrived at Urga, the City of the Living God. 

Speaking of gods, I must not forget to mention the great lamasery atTurin, about one hundred and seventy miles from Urga. For hoursbefore we reached it we saw the ragged hills standing sharp andclear against the sky line. The peaks themselves are not more thantwo hundred feet in height, but they rise from a rocky plateau somedistance above the level of the plain. It is a wild spot where somemighty internal force has burst the surface of the earth and pushedup a ragged core of rocks which have been carved by the knives ofweather into weird, fantastic shapes. This elemental battle groundis a fit setting for the most remarkable group of human habitationsthat I have ever seen. 

Three temples lie in a bowl-shaped hollow, surrounded by hundredsupon hundreds of tiny pill-box dwellings painted red and white. There must be a thousand of them and probably twice as many lamas. On the outskirts of the "city" to the south enormous piles of_argul_ have been collected by the priests and bestowed as votiveofferings by devout travelers. Vast as the supply seemed, it wouldtake all this, and more, to warm the houses of the lamas during thebitter winter months when the ground is covered with snow. On thenorth the hills throw protecting arms about the homes of thesehalf-wild men, who have chosen to spend their lives in this lonelydesert stronghold. The houses are built of sawn boards, the firstindication we had seen that we were nearing a forest country. 

The remaining one hundred and seventy miles to Urga are a delight, even to the motorist who loves the paved roads of cities. They arelike a boulevard amid glorious, rolling hills luxuriant with long, sweet grass. In the distance herds of horses and cattle groupedthemselves into moving patches, and fat-tailed sheep dotted theplain like drifts of snow. I have seldom seen a better grazingcountry. It needed but little imagination to picture what it will bea few years hence when the inevitable railroad claims the desert asits own, for this rich land cannot long remain untenanted. It washere that we saw the first marmots, an unfailing indication that wewere in a northern country. 

The thick blackness of a rainy night had enveloped us long before weswung into the Urga Valley and groped our way along the Tola Riverbank toward the glimmering lights of the sacred city. It seemed thatwe would never reach them, for twice we took the wrong turn andfound ourselves in a maze of sandy bottoms and half-grown trees. Butat ten o'clock we plowed through the mud of a narrow street and intothe courtyard of the Mongolian Trading Company's home. 

Oscar Mamen, Coltman's former partner, and Mrs. Mamen had spentseveral years there, and for six weeks they had had as guestsMessrs. A. M. Guptil and E. B. Price, of Peking. Mr. Guptil wasrepresenting the American Military Attache, and Mr. Price, AssistantChinese Secretary of the American Legation, had come to Urga toestablish communication with our consul at Irkutsk who had not beenheard from for more than a month. 

Urga recently had been pregnant with war possibilities. In the LakeBaikal region of Siberia there were several thousand Magyars andmany Bolsheviki. It was known that Czechs expected to attack them, and that they would certainly be driven across the borders intoMongolia if defeated. In that event what would be the attitude ofthe Mongolian government? Would it intern the belligerents, or allowthem to use the Urga district as a base of operations?

As a matter of fact, the question had been settled just before myarrival. The Czechs had made the expected attack with about fivehundred men; all the Magyars, to the number of several thousand, hadsurrendered, and the Bolsheviki had disappeared like mists beforethe sun. The front of operations had moved in a single night almosttwo thousand miles away to the Omsk district, and it was certainthat Mongolia would be left in peace. Mr. Price's work also wasdone, for the telegraph from Urga to Irkutsk was again in operationand thus communication was established with Peking. 

The morning after my arrival Mr. Guptil and I rode out to see thetown. Never have I visited such a city of contrasts, or one to whichI was so eager to return. As we did come back, I shall tell, in afuture chapter, of what we found there. 

CHAPTER III

A CHAPTER OF ACCIDENTS

This is a "hard luck" chapter. Stories of ill-fortune are not alwaysinteresting, but I am writing this one to show what _can_ happen toan automobile in the Gobi. We had gone to Urga without even apuncture and I began to feel that motoring in Mongolia was as simpleas riding on Fifth Avenue--more so, in fact, for we did not have towatch traffic policemen or worry about "right of way. " There is nocrowding on the Gobi Desert. When we passed a camel caravan or atrain of oxcarts we were sure to have plenty of room, for thelandscape was usually spotted in every direction with fleeinganimals. 

Our motors had "purred" so steadily that accidents and repair shopsseemed very far away and not of much importance. On the return trip, however, the reverse of the picture was presented and I learned thatto be alone in the desert when something is wrong with the digestionof your automobile can have its serious aspects. Unless you are anexpert mechanic and have an assortment of "spare parts, " you mayhave to walk thirty or forty miles to the nearest water and spendmany days of waiting until help arrives. 

Fortunately for us, there are few things which either Coltman orGuptil do not know about the "insides" of a motor and, moreover, after a diagnosis, they both have the ingenuity to remedy almost anytrouble with a hammer and a screw driver. 

Four days after our arrival in Urga we left on the return trip. Asoccupants of his car Charles Coltman had Mr. Price, Mrs. Coltman, and Mrs. Mamen. With the spiritual and physical assistance of Mr. Guptil I drove the second automobile, carrying in the rear seat awounded Russian Cossack and a French-Czech, both couriers. The thirdcar was a Ford _chassis_ to which a wooden body had been affixed. Itwas designed to give increased carrying space, but it looked like ahalf-grown hayrack and was appropriately called the "agony box. "This was driven by a chauffeur named Wang and carried Mamen'sChinese house boy and an _amah_ besides a miscellaneous assortmentof baggage. 

It was a cold, gray morning when we started, with a cutting windsweeping down from the north, giving a hint of the bitter winterwhich in another month would hold all Mongolia in an icy grasp. Wemade our way eastward up the valley to the Russian bridge across theTola River and pointed the cars southward on the caravan trail toKalgan. 

Just as we reached the summit of the second long hill, across whichthe wind was sweeping in a glacial blast, there came a rasping crashsomewhere in the motor of my car, followed by a steady _knock_, _knock_, _knock_. "That's a connecting rod as sure as fate, " said"Gup. " "We'll have to stop. " When he had crawled under the car andfound that his diagnosis was correct, he said a few other thingswhich ought to have relieved his mind considerably. 

There was nothing to be done except to replace the broken part witha spare rod. For three freezing hours Gup and Coltman lay upon theirbacks under the car, while the rest of us gave what help we could. To add to the difficulties a shower of hail swept down upon us withall the fury of a Mongolian storm. It was three o'clock in theafternoon before we were ready to go on, and our camp that night wasonly sixty miles from Urga. 

The next day as we passed Turin the Czech pointed out the spot wherehe had lain for three days and nights with a broken collar bone anda dislocated shoulder. He had come from Irkutsk carrying importantdispatches and had taken passage in an automobile belonging to aChinese company which with difficulty was maintaining a passengerservice between Urga and Kalgan. As usual, the native chauffeur wasdashing along at thirty-five miles an hour when he should not havedriven faster than twenty at the most. One of the front wheels slidinto a deep rut, the car turned completely over and the resultingcasualties numbered one man dead and our Czech seriously injured. Itwas three days before another car carried him back to Urga, wherethe broken bones were badly set by a drunken Russian doctor. TheCossack, too, had been shot twice in the heavy fighting on theRussian front, and, although his wounds were barely healed, he hadjust ridden three hundred miles on horseback with dispatches forPeking. 

Both my passengers were delighted to have escaped the Chinesemotors, for in them accidents had been the rule rather than theexception. During one year nineteen cars had been smashed and lay inmasses of twisted metal beside the road. The difficulty had beenlargely due to the native chauffeurs. Although these men can drive acar, they have no mechanical training and danger signals from themotor are entirely disregarded. Moreover, all Chinese dearly love"show" and the chauffeurs delight in driving at tremendous speedover roads where they should exercise the greatest care. The deepcart ruts are a continual menace, for between them the road is oftensmooth and fine. But a stone or a tuft of grass may send one of thefront wheels into a rut and capsize the car. Even with the greatestcare accidents will happen, and motoring in Mongolia is by no meansdevoid of danger and excitement. 

About three o'clock in the afternoon of the second day we sawfrantic signals from the agony box which had been lumbering alongbehind us. It appeared that the right rear wheel was broken and thecar could go no farther. There was nothing for it but to camp rightwhere we were while Charles repaired the wheel. Gup and I ran twentymiles down the road to look for a well, but without success. Theremaining water was divided equally among us but next morning wediscovered that the Chinese had secreted two extra bottles forthemselves, while we had been saving ours to the last drop. Ittaught me a lesson by which I profited the following summer. 

On the third day the agony box limped along until noon, but when wereached a well in the midst of the great plain south of Turin it hadto be abandoned, while we went on to Ude, the telegraph station inthe middle of the desert, and wired Mamen to bring a spare wheelfrom Urga. 

The fourth day there was more trouble with the connecting rod on mycar and we sat for two hours at a well while the motor waseviscerated and reassembled. It had ceased to be a joke, especiallyto Coltman and Guptil, for all the work fell upon them. By this timethey were almost unrecognizable because of dirt and grease and theirhands were cut and blistered. But they stood it manfully, and ateach new accident Gup rose to greater and greater heights oforatory. 

We were halfway between Ude and Panj-kiang when we saw twoautomobiles approaching from the south. Their occupants wereforeigners we were sure, and as they stopped beside us a tall youngman came up to my car. "I am Langdon Warner, " he said. We shookhands and looked at each other curiously. Warner is an archaeologistand Director of the Pennsylvania Museum. For ten years we had playeda game of hide and seek through half the countries of the Orient andit seemed that we were destined never to meet each other. In 1910 Idrifted into the quaint little town of Naha in the Loo-Choo Islands, that forgotten kingdom of the East. At that time it was far off thebeaten track and very few foreigners had sought it out since 1854, when Commodore Perry negotiated a treaty with its king in thepicturesque old Shuri Palace. Only a few months before I arrived, Langdon Warner had visited it on a collecting trip and the nativeshad not yet ceased to talk about the strange foreigner who gave themnew baskets for old ones. 

A little later Warner preceded me to Japan, and in 1912 I followedhim to Korea. Our paths diverged when I went to Alaska in 1918, butI crossed his trail again in China, and in 1916, just before my wifeand I left for Yün-nan, I missed him in Boston where I had gone tolecture at Harvard University. It was strange that after ten yearswe should meet for the first time in the middle of the Gobi Desert!

Warner was proceeding to Urga with two Czech officers who were ontheir way to Irkutsk. We gave them the latest news of the warsituation and much to their disgust they realized that had theywaited only two weeks longer they could have gone by train, for theattack by the Czechs on the Magyars and the Bolsheviki, in thetrans-Baikal region, had cleared the Siberian railway westward asfar as Omsk. After half an hour's talk we drove off in oppositedirections. Warner eventually reached Irkutsk, but not without someinteresting experiences with Bolsheviki along the way, and I did notsee him again until last March (1920), when he came to my office inthe American Museum just after we had returned to New York. 

When we reached Panj-kiang we felt that our motor troubles were atan end, but ten miles beyond the station my car refused to pullthrough a sand pit and we found that there was trouble with thedifferential. It was necessary to dismantle the rear end of the car, and Coltman and Gup were well-nigh discouraged. The delay was aserious matter for I had urgent business in Japan, and it wasimperative that I reach Peking as soon as possible. Charles finallydecided to send me, together with Price, the Czech, and the Cossack, in his car, while he and Gup remained with the two ladies to repairmine. 

Price and I drove back to Panj-kiang to obtain extra food and waterfor the working party and to telegraph Kalgan for assistance. Wetook only a little tea, macaroni, and two tins of sausage, for weexpected to reach the mission station at Hei-ma-hou early the nextmorning. 

We were hardly five miles from the broken car when we discoveredthat there was no more oil for our motor. It was impossible to gomuch farther and we decided that the only alternative was to waituntil the relief party, for which we had wired, arrived from Kalgan. Just then the car swung over the summit of a rise, and we saw thewhite tent and grazing camels of an enormous caravan. Of course, Mongols would have mutton fat and why not use that for oil! Thecaravan leader assured us that he had fat in plenty and in tenminutes a great pot of it was warming over the fire. 

We poured it into the motor and proceeded merrily on our way. Butthere was one serious obstacle to our enjoyment of that ride. Eventshad been moving so rapidly that we had eaten nothing sincebreakfast, and when a delicious odor of roast lamb began to arisefrom the motor, we realized that we were all very hungry. Drymacaroni would hardly do and the sausage must be saved for dinner. All the afternoon that tantalizing odor hovered in the air and Ibegan to imagine that I could even smell mint sauce. 

At six o'clock we saw the first _yurt_ and purchased a supply of_argul_ so that we could save time in making camp. The lamps of thecar were _hors de combat_ and a watery moon did not give ussufficient light by which to drive in safety, so we stopped on ahilltop shortly after dark. In the morning when the motor was coldwe could save time and strength in cranking by pushing it down theslope. 

Much to our disgust we found that the _argul_ we had purchased fromthe Mongol was so mixed with dirt that it would not burn. After halfan hour of fruitless work I gave up, and we divided the tin of coldsausage. It was a pretty meager dinner for four hungry men and Iretired into my sleeping bag to dream of roast lamb and mint sauce. When the Cossack officer found that he was not to have his tea hewas like a child with a stick of candy just out of reach. He triedto sleep but it was no use, and in half an hour I opened my eyes tosee him flat on his face blowing lustily at a piece of _argul_ whichhe had persuaded to emit a faint glow. For two mortal hours theRussian nursed that fire until his pot of water reached the boilingpoint. Then he insisted that we all wake up to share his triumph. 

[Illustration: The Middle Ages and the Twentieth Century]

[Illustration: A Mongolian Antelope Killed from Our Motor Car]

[Illustration: Watering Camels at a Well in the Gobi Desert]

We reached the mission station at noon next day, and Father Weinz, the Belgian priest in charge, gave us the first meal we had had inthirty-six hours. The Czech courier decided to remain at Hei-ma-houand go in next day by cart, but we started immediately on theforty-mile horseback ride to Kalgan. A steady rain began about twoo'clock in the afternoon, and in half an hour we were soaked to theskin; then the ugly, little gray stallion upon which I had beenmounted planted both hind feet squarely on my left leg as we toiledup a long hill-trail to the pass, and I thought that my walking dayshad ended for all time. At the foot of the pass we halted at a dirtyinn where they told us it would be useless to go on to Kalgan, for thegates of the city would certainly be closed and it would beimpossible to enter until morning. There was no alternative exceptto spend the night at the inn, but as they had only a grass firewhich burned out as soon as the cooking was finished, and as all ourclothes were soaked, we spent sleepless hours shivering with cold. 

The Cossack spoke only Mongol and Russian, and, as neither of usknew a single word of either language, it was difficult tocommunicate our plans to him. Finally, we found a Chinaman who spokeMongol and who consented to act as interpreter. The natives at theinn could not understand why we were not able to talk to theCossack. Didn't all white men speak the same language? Mr. Priceendeavored to explain that Russian and English differ as much as doChinese and Mongol, but they only smiled and shook their heads. 

In the morning I was so stiff from the kick which the gray stallionhad given me that I could get to his back only with the greatestdifficulty, but we reached Kalgan at eight o'clock. Unfortunately, the Cossack had left his passport in the cart which was to followwith his baggage, and the police at the gate would not let us pass. Mr. Price was well known to them and offered to assume responsibilityfor the Cossack in the name of the American Legation, but thepolicemen, who were much disgruntled at being roused so early in themorning, refused to let us enter. 

Their attitude was so obviously absurd that we agreed to takematters into our own hands. We strolled outside the house andsuddenly jumped on our horses. The sentries made a vain attempt tocatch our bridle reins and we rode down the street at a sharp, trot. There was another police station in the center of the city which itwas impossible to avoid and as we approached it we saw a line ofsoldiers drawn up across the road. Our friends at the gate hadtelephoned ahead to have us stopped. Without hesitating we kept on, riding straight at the gray-clad policemen. With wildly waving armsthey shouted at us to halt, but we paid not the slightest attention, and they had to jump aside to avoid being run down. The spectaclewhich these Chinese soldiers presented, as they tried to arrest us, was so ridiculous that we roared with laughter. Imagine what wouldhappen on Fifth Avenue if you disregarded a traffic policeman'ssignal to stop!

Although the officials knew that we could be found at Mr. Coltman'shouse, we heard nothing further from the incident. It was soobviously a matter of personal ill nature on the part of the captainin charge of the gate police that they realized it was not a subjectfor further discussion. 

After the luxury of a bath and shave we proceeded to Peking. Charlesand Gup had rather a beastly time getting in. The car could not berepaired sufficiently to carry on under its own power, and, througha misunderstanding, the relief party only went as far as the passand waited there for their arrival. They eventually found itnecessary to hire three horses to tow them to the mission stationwhere the "hard luck" story ended. 

CHAPTER IV

NEW TRAVELS ON AN OLD TRAIL

The winter of 1918-19 we spent in and out of one of the mostinteresting cities in the world. Peking, with its background ofhistory made vividly real by its splendid walls, its age-old templesand its mysterious Forbidden City, has a personality of its own. 

When we had been away for a month or two there was always adelightful feeling of anticipation in returning to the city itselfand to our friends in its cosmopolitan community. 

Moreover, at our house in Wu Liang Tajen Hutung, a baby boy and hisdevoted nurse were waiting to receive us. Even at two years theextraordinary facility with which he discovered frogs and bugs, which, quite unknown to us, dwelt in the flower-filled courtyard, showed the hereditary instincts of a born explorer. 

That winter gave us an opportunity to see much of ancient China, forwe visited Shantung, traveled straight across the Provinces of Honanand Hupeh, and wandered about the mountains of Che-kiang on a serowhunt. 

In February the equipment for our summer's work in Mongolia was onits way across the desert by caravan. We had sent flour, bacon, coffee, tea, sugar, butter and dried fruit, for these could bepurchased in Urga only at prohibitive prices. Even then, with camelcharges at fourteen cents a _cattie_ (1 1/3 lbs. ), a fifty-poundsack of flour cost us more than six dollars by the time it reachedUrga. 

Charles Coltman at Kalgan very kindly relieved me of all thetransportation details. We had seen him several times in Pekingduring the winter, and had planned the trip across the plains toUrga as _une belle excursion_. 

Mrs. Coltman was going, of course, as were Mr. And Mrs. "Ted"MacCallie of Tientsin. "Mac" was a famous Cornell football star whomI knew by reputation in my own college days. He was to take acomplete Delco electric lighting plant to Urga, with the hope ofinstalling it in the palace of the "Living God. "

A soldier named Owen from the Legation guard in Peking was to drivethe Delco car, and I had two Chinese taxidermists, Chen and Kang, besides Lu, our cook and camp boy. 

Chen had been loaned to me by Dr. J. G. Andersson, Mining Adviser tothe Chinese Republic, and proved to be one of the best nativecollectors whom I have ever employed. The Coltmans and MacCallieswere to stay only a few days in Urga, but they helped to make thetrip across Mongolia one of the most delightful parts of ourglorious summer. 

We left Kalgan on May 17. Mac, Owen, and I rode the forty miles toHei-ma-hou on horseback while Charles drove a motor occupied by thethree women. 

There is a circuitous route by which cars can cross the pass undertheir own power, but Coltman preferred the direct road and sent fourmules to tow the automobile up the mountains to the edge of theplateau. 

It was the same trail I had followed the previous September. Then, as I stood on the summit of the pass gazing back across the far, dimhills, my heart was sad for I was about to enter a new land alone. My "best assistant" was on the ocean coming as fast as steam couldcarry her to join me in Peking. I wondered if Fate's decree wouldbring us here together that we might both have, as a preciousheritage for future years, the memories of this strange land ofromance and of mystery. Now the dream had been fulfilled and neverhave I entered a new country with greater hopes of what it wouldbring to me. Never, too, have such hopes been more gloriouslyrealized. 

We packed the cars that night and at half past five the next morningwere on the road. The sky was gray and cloud-hung, but by teno'clock the sun burned out and we gradually emerged from the furrobes in which we had been buried. 

Instead of the fields of ripening grain which in the previous autumnhad spread the hills with a flowing golden carpet, we saw blue-cladChinese farmers turning long brown furrows with homemade plows. Thetrees about the mission station had just begun to show a tinge ofgreen--the first sign of awakening at the touch of spring from thelong winter sleep. Already caravans were astir, and we passed linesof laden camels now almost at the end of the long journey from OuterMongolia, whither we were bound. But, instead of splendid beastswith upstanding humps and full neck beards, the camels now werepathetic mountains of almost naked skin on which the winter hairhung in ragged patches. The humps were loose and flat and flappeddisconsolately as the great bodies lurched along the trail. 

When we passed one caravan a _débonnaire_ old Mongol wearing a derbyhat swung out of line and signaled us to stop. After an appraisingglance at the car he smiled broadly and indicated that he would liketo race. In a moment he was off yelling at the top of his lungs andbelaboring the bony sides of his camel with feet and hands. Theanimal's ungainly legs swung like a windmill in every direction itseemed, except forward, and yet the Mongol managed to keep hisrolling old "ship of the desert" abreast of us for several minutes. Finally we let him win the race, and his look of delight was worthgoing far to see as he waved us good-by and with a hearty"_sai-bei-nah_" loped slowly back to the caravan. 

The road was much better than it had been the previous fall. Duringthe winter the constant tramp of padded feet had worn down andfilled the ruts which had been cut by the summer traffic ofspike-wheeled carts. But the camels had almost finished their winter'swork. In a few weeks they would leave the trail to ox and ponycaravans and spend the hot months in idleness, storing quantities offat in their great hump reservoirs. 

There was even more bird life than I had seen the previousSeptember. The geese had all flown northward where we would findthem scattered over their summer breeding grounds, but thousands ofdemoiselle cranes (_Anthropoides virgo_) had taken their places inthe fields. They were in the midst of the spring courting and seemedto have lost all fear. One pair remained beside the road until wewere less than twenty feet away, stepping daintily aside only whenwe threatened to run them down. Another splendid male performed alove dance for the benefit of his prospective bride quiteundisturbed by the presence of our cars. With half-spread wings hewhirled and leaped about the lady while every feather on her slim, blue body expressed infinite boredom and indifference to hispassionate appeal. 

Ruddy sheldrakes, mallards, shoveler ducks, and teal were in eventhe smallest ponds and avocets with sky-blue legs and slenderrecurved bills ran along the shores of a lake at which we stoppedfor tiffin. When we had passed the last Chinese village and werewell in the Mongolian grasslands we had great fun shooting gophers(_Citellus mongolicus umbratus_) from the cars. It was by no meanseasy to kill them before they slipped into their dens, and I oftenhad to burrow like a terrier to pull them out even when they werealmost dead. 

We got eighteen, and camped at half past four in order that thetaxidermists might have time to prepare the skins. There was a hintof rain in the air and we pitched the tent for emergencies, althoughnone of us wished to sleep inside. Mac suggested that we utilize theelectric light plant even if we were on the Mongolian plains. Inhalf an hour he had installed wires in the tent and placed an arclamp on the summit of a pole. It was an extraordinary experience tosee the canvas walls about us, to hear the mournful wail of a lonewolf outside, and yet be able to turn the switch of an electriclight as though we were in the city. No arc lamp on Fifth Avenueblazed more brightly than did this one on the edge of the GobiDesert where none of its kind had ever shone before. With the motorcars which had stolen the sanctity of the plains it was only anotherevidence of the passing of Mongolian mystery. 

Usually when we camped we could see, almost immediately, thesilhouettes of approaching Mongols black against the evening sky. Where they came from we could never guess. For miles there might nothave been the trace of a human being, but suddenly they would appearas though from out the earth itself. Perhaps they had been ridingalong some distant ridge far beyond the range of white men's eyes, or the roar of a motor had carried to their ears across the miles ofplain; or perhaps it was that unknown sense, which seems to havebeen developed in these children of the desert, which directs themunerringly to water, to a lost horse, or to others of their kind. Beit what it may, almost every night the Mongols came loping into campon their hardy, little ponies. 

But this evening, when we had prepared an especial celebration, theaudience did not arrive. It was a bitter disappointment, for we wereconsumed with curiosity to know what effect the blazing arc wouldhave upon the Mongolian stoics. We could not believe that nativeshad not seen the light but probably they thought it was some spiritmanifestation which was to be avoided. An hour after we weresnuggled in our fur sleeping bags, two Mongols rode into camp, butwe were too sleepy to give an exhibition of the fireworks. 

We reached Panj-kiang about noon of the second day and found that alarge mud house and a spacious compound had been erected beside thetelegraph station by the Chinese company which was endeavoring tomaintain a passenger service between Kalgan and Urga. The Chinesegovernment also had invaded the field and was sending automobilesregularly to the Mongolian capital as a branch service of thePeking-Suiyuan railroad. In the previous September we had passedhalf a dozen of their motors in charge of a foreign representativeof Messrs. Jardine, Matheson and Co. Of Shanghai from whom the carswere purchased. He discovered immediately that the difficultieswhich the Chinese had encountered were largely the result ofincompetent chauffeurs. 

We had kept a sharp lookout for antelope, but saw nothing except afox which looked so huge in the clear air that all of us werecertain it was a wolf. There are always antelope on the Panj-kiangplain, however, and we loaded the magazines of our rifles as soon aswe left the telegraph station. I was having a bit of sport with animmense flock of golden plover (_Pluvialis dominicus fulvus_) whenthe people in the cars signaled me to return, for a fine antelopebuck was standing only a few hundred yards from the road. The groundwas as smooth and hard as an asphalt pavement and we skimmed alongat forty miles an hour. When the animal had definitely made up itsmind to cross in front of us, Charles gave the accelerator a realpush and the car jumped to a speed of forty-eight miles. Theantelope was doing his level best to "cross our bows" but he was toofar away, and for a few moments it seemed that we would surely crashinto him if he held his course. It was a great race. Yvette had adeath grip on my coat, for I was sitting half over the edge of thecar ready to jump when Charles threw on the brakes. With any one butColtman at the wheel I would have been too nervous to enjoy theride, but we all had confidence in his superb driving. 

The buck crossed the road not forty yards in front of us, just atthe summit of a tiny hill. Charles and I both fired once, and theantelope turned half over in a whirl of dust. It disappeared behindthe hill crest and we expected to find it dead on the other side, but the slope was empty and even with our glasses we could notdiscover a sign of life on the plain, which stretched away to thehorizon apparently as level as a floor. It had been swallowedutterly as though by the magic pocket of a conjurer. 

Mac had not participated in the fun, for it had been a one-man race. Fifteen minutes later, however, we had a "free for all" which gavehim his initiation. 

An extract from Yvette's "Journal" gives her impression of thechase:

"Some one pointed out the distant, moving specks on the horizon andin a moment our car had left the road and started over the plains. Nearer and nearer we came, and faster and faster ran the antelopestringing out in a long, yellow line before us. The speedometer wasmoving up and up, thirty miles, thirty-five miles. Roy was sittingon the edge of the car with his legs hanging out, rifle in hand, ready to swing to the ground as soon as the car halted. Mr. Coltman, who was driving, had already thrown on the brakes, but Roy, thinkingin his excitement that he had stopped, jumped--and jumped too soon. The speed at which we were going threw him violently to the ground. I hardly dared look to see what had happened but somehow he turned acomplete somersault, landed on his knees, and instantly beganshooting. Mr. Coltman, his hands trembling with the exertion of thedrive, opened fire across the wind shield. As the first reportscrashed out, the antelope, which had seemed to be flying before, flattened out and literally skimmed over the plain. Half a dozenbullets struck behind the herd, then as Roy's rifle cracked again, one of those tiny specks dropped to the ground. 

"It was a wonderful shot--four hundred and twenty yards measureddistance. No, this isn't a woman's inaccuracy of figures, it's afact. But then you must remember the extraordinary clearness of theair in Mongolia, where every object appears to be magnified half adozen times. The brilliant atmosphere is one of the most bewilderingthings of the desert. Once we thought we saw an antelope grazing onthe hillside and Mr. Coltman remarked disdainfully: 'Pooh, that's ahorse. ' But the laugh was on him for as we drew near the 'horse'proved to be only a bleached bone. At a short distance camels andponies stood out as though cut in steel, seeming as high as avillage church steeple; and, most ridiculous of all, my husbandmistook me once at a long, long distance for a telegraph pole!Tartarin de Tarascon would have had some wonderful stories to tellof Mongolia!"

[Illustration: The Water Carrier for a Caravan]

[Illustration: A Thirty-five Pound Bustard]

[Illustration: Young Mongolia]

We had hardly reached the road again before Mrs. Coltman discovereda great herd of antelope on the slope of a low hill, and when theears carried us over the crest we could see animals in everydirection, feeding in pairs or in groups of ten to forty. 

We all agreed that no better place could be found at which to obtainmotion pictures and camp was made forthwith. Unfortunately, thegazelles were shedding their winter coats and the skins were uselessexcept for study; however, I did need half a dozen skeletons, so theanimals we killed would not be wasted. 

It was four o'clock in the afternoon when the tents were up and toolate to take pictures; therefore, the photography was postponeduntil the next day, and we ran over toward a herd of antelope whichwas just visible on the sky line. When each of us had killed ananimal, the opinion was unanimous that we had enough. I got mine onthe first chase and thenceforth employed my time in makingobservations on the antelope's speed. 

Time after time the car reached forty miles an hour, but with aneven start the gazelles could swing about in front and "cross ourbows. " One of the antelope had a front leg broken just below theknee, and gave us a hard chase with the car going at thirty-fivemiles an hour. I estimated that even in its crippled condition theanimal was traveling at a rate of _not less than twenty-five milesan hour_. 

My field notes tell of a similar experience with the last gazellewhich Mac killed late in the afternoon. ". . . We ran towardanother group of antelope standing on the summit of a long landswell. There were fourteen in this herd and as the car neared themthey trotted about with heads up, evidently trying to decide whatspecies of plains animal we represented. The sun had just set, and Ishall never forget the picture which they made, their gracefulfigures showing in black silhouettes against the rose glow of theevening sky. There was one buck among them and they seemed verynervous. When the men leaped out to shoot we were fully two hundredand fifty yards away, but at his third shot Mac dropped the buck. Itwas up again and off before the motor started in pursuit and, although running apart from the herd, it was only a short distancebehind the others. Evidently the right foreleg was broken but withthe car traveling at twenty-five miles an hour it was still drawingahead. The going was not good and we ran for two miles withoutgaining an inch; then we came to a bit of smooth plain and the motorshot ahead at thirty-five miles an hour. We gained slowly and, whenabout one hundred yards away, I leaped out and fired at the animalbreaking the other foreleg low down on the left side. Even with twolegs injured it still traveled at a rate of fifteen miles, and athird shot was required to finish the unfortunate business. We foundthat both limbs were broken below the knee, and that the animal hadbeen running on the stumps. "

CHAPTER V

ANTELOPE MOVIE STARS

It was eight o'clock before we finished breakfast in the morning, but we did not wish to begin the motion picture photography untilthe sun was high enough above the horizon to give us a clear fieldfor work. Charles and I rigged the tripod firmly in the _tonneau_ ofone of the cars. Mrs. Mac and Wang, a Chinese driver, were in thefront seat, while Yvette and I squeezed in beside the camera. TheColtmans, Mac, and Owen occupied the other motor. We found a herd ofantelope within a mile of camp and they paraded in beautifulformation as the car approached. It would have made a splendidpicture, but although the two automobiles were of the same make, there was a vast difference in their speed and it was soon evidentthat we could not keep pace with the other motor. After two or threeineffectual attempts we roped the camera in the most powerful car, the three men came in with me, and the women transferred to Wang'smachine. 

The last herd of antelope had disappeared over a long hill, and whenwe reached the summit we saw that they had separated into fourgroups and scattered about on the plains below us. We selected thelargest, containing about fifty animals, and ran toward it as fastas the car could travel. The herd divided when we were still severalhundred yards away, but the larger part gave promise of swingingacross our path. The ground was thinly covered with short bunchgrass, and when we reached a speed of thirty-five miles an hour thecar was bounding and leaping over the tussocks like a ship in aheavy gale. I tried to stand, but after twice being almost pitchedout bodily I gave it up and operated the camera by kneeling on therear seat. Mac helped anchor me by sitting on my left leg, and wegot one hundred feet of film from the first herd. Races with threeother groups gave us two hundred feet more, and as the gasoline inour tank was alarmingly depleted we turned back toward camp. 

Unfortunately I did not reload the camera with a fresh roll of filmand thereby missed one of the most unusual and interesting pictureswhich ever could be obtained upon the plains. The tents were alreadyin sight when a wolf suddenly appeared on the crest of a grassyknoll. He looked at us for a moment and then set off at an easylope. The temptation was too great to be resisted even though therewas a strong possibility that we might be stalled in the desert withno gas. 

The ground was smooth and hard, and our speedometer showed fortymiles an hour. We soon began to gain, but for three miles he gave usa splendid race. Suddenly, as we came over a low hill, we saw anenormous herd of antelope directly in front of us. They were notmore than two hundred yards away, and the wolf made straight forthem. Panic-stricken at the sight of their hereditary enemy followedby the roaring car, they scattered wildly and then swung about tocross our path. The wolf dashed into their midst and the herddivided as though cut by a knife. Some turned short about, but theothers kept on toward us until I thought we would actually run themdown. When not more than fifty yards from the motor they wheeledsharply and raced along beside the wolf. 

To add to the excitement a fat, yellow marmot, which seemed suddenlyto have lost his mind, galloped over the plain as fast as his shortlegs could carry him until he remembered that safety layunderground; then he popped into his burrow like a billiard ballinto a pocket. With this strange assortment fleeing in front of thecar we felt as though we had invaded a zoölogical garden. 

The wolf paid not the slightest attention to the antelope for he hadtroubles of his own. We were almost on him, and I could see his redtongue between the foam-flecked jaws. Suddenly he dodged at rightangles, and it was only by a clever bit of driving that Charlesavoided crashing into him with the left front wheel. Before we couldswing about the wolf had gained five hundred yards, but he wasalmost done. In another mile we had him right beside the car, andColtman leaned far out to kill him with his pistol. The first bulletstruck so close behind the animal that it turned him half over, andhe dodged again just in time to meet a shot from Mac's rifle whichbroke his back. With its dripping lips drawn over a set of uglyteeth, the beast glared at us, as much as to say, "It is your movenext, but don't come too close. " Had it been any animal except awolf I should have felt a twinge of pity, but I had no sympathy forthe skulking brute. There will be more antelope next year because ofits death. 

All this had happened with an unloaded camera in the automobile. Ihad tried desperately to adjust a new roll of film, but had given upin despair for it was difficult enough even to sit in the boundingcar. Were I to spend the remainder of my life in Mongolia theremight never be such a chance again. 

But we had an opportunity to learn just how fast a wolf can run, forthe one we had killed was undoubtedly putting his best foot forward. I estimated that even at first he was not doing more thanthirty-five miles an hour, and later we substantiated it on another, which gave us a race of twelve miles. With antelope which can reachfifty-five to sixty miles an hour a wolf has little chance, unless hecatches them unawares, or finds the newly born young. To avoid justthis the antelope are careful to stay well out on the plains wherethere are no rocks or hills to conceal a skulking wolf. 

The wolf we had killed was shedding its hair and presented a mostdilapidated, moth-eaten appearance; moreover, it had just beenfeeding on the carcass of a dead camel, which subsequently wediscovered a mile away. When we reached camp I directed the twotaxidermists to prepare the skeleton of the wolf, but to keep wellaway from the tents. 

Charles and I had been talking a good deal about antelope steak, andfor tiffin I had cut the fillets from one of the young gazelle. Wewere very anxious to "make good" on all that had been promised, sowe cooked the steak ourselves. Just when the party was assembled inthe tent for luncheon the Chinese began work upon the wolf. They hadobediently gone to a considerable distance to perform the lastrites, but had not chosen wisely in regard to the wind. As theantelope steak was brought in, a gentle breeze wafted with it aconcentrated essence of defunct camel. Yvette put down her knife andfork and looked up. She caught my eye and burst out laughing. Mrs. Mac had her hand clasped firmly over her mouth and on her face wasan expression of horror and deathly nausea. 

Although I am a great lover of antelope steak, I will admit thatwhen accompanied by _parfum de chameau_, especially when it is avery dead _chameau_, there are other things more attractive. Moreover, the antelope which we killed on the Panj-kiang plainreally were very strong indeed. I have never been able to discoverwhat was the cause, for those farther to the north were as deliciousas any we have ever eaten. The introduction was such an unfortunateone that the party shied badly whenever antelope meat was mentionedduring the remainder of the trip to Urga. Coltman, who had charge ofthe commissary, quite naturally expected that we would dependlargely on meat and had not provided a sufficiency of other food. Asa result we found that after the third day rations were becomingvery short. 

We camped that night at a well in a sandy river bottom about tenmiles beyond Ude, the halfway point on the trip to Urga. It had beena bad day, with a bitterly cold wind which drove the dust and tinypebbles against our faces like a continual storm of hail. As soon asthe cars had stopped every one of us set to work with soap and waterbefore anything had been done toward making camp. Our one desire wasto remove a part of the dirt which had sifted into our eyes, hair, mouths, and ears. In half an hour we looked more brightly upon theworld and began to wonder what we would have for dinner. It was adiscussion which could not be carried on for very long since thebread was almost gone and only macaroni remained. Just then ademoiselle crane alighted beside the well not forty yards away. "There's our dinner, " Charles shouted, "shoot it. "

Two minutes later I was stripping off the feathers, and in less thanfive minutes it was sizzling in the pan. That was a bit too much forMrs. Mac, hungry as she was. "Just think, " she said, "that bird waswalking about here not ten minutes ago and now it's on my plate. Ithasn't stopped wiggling yet. I can't eat it!"

Poor girl, she went to bed hungry, and in the night waked to findher face terribly swollen from wind and sunburn. She was certainthat she was about to die, but decided, like the "good sport" sheis, to die alone upon the hillside where she wouldn't disturb thecamp. After half an hour of wandering about she felt better, andreturned to her sleeping bag on the sandy river bottom. 

Just before dark we heard the _dong_, _dong_, _dong_ of a camel'sbell and saw the long line of dusty yellow animals swing around asharp earth-corner into the sandy space beside the well. Like thetrained units of an army each camel came into position, kneeled uponthe ground and remained quietly chewing its cud until the driverremoved the load. Long before the last straggler had arrived thetents were up and a fire blazing, and far into the night the thirstybeasts grunted and roared as the trough was filled with water. 

For thirty-six days they had been on the road, and yet were onlyhalfway across the desert. Every day had been exactly like the daybefore--an endless routine of eating and sleeping, camp-making andcamp-breaking in sun, rain, or wind. The monotony of it all would beappalling to a westerner, but the Oriental mind seems peculiarlyadapted to accept it with entire contentment. Long before daylightthey were on the road again, and when we awoke only the smokingembers of an _argul_ fire remained as evidence that they ever hadbeen there. 

Mongolia, as we saw it in the spring, was very different fromMongolia of the early autumn. The hills and plains stretched away inlimitless waves of brown untinged by the slightest trace of green, and in shaded corners among rocks there were still patches of snowor ice. Instead of resembling the grassy plains of Kansas orNebraska, now it was like a real desert and I had difficulty injustifying to Yvette and Mac my glowing accounts of its potentialresources. 

Moreover, the human life was just as disappointing as the lack ofvegetation, for we were "between seasons" on the trail. The wintertraffic was almost ended, and the camels would not be replaced bycart caravans until the grass was long enough to provide adequatefood for oxen and horses. The _yurts_, which often are erected farout upon the plains away from water when snow is on the ground, hadall been moved near the wells or to the summer pastures; andsometimes we traveled a hundred miles without a glimpse of even asolitary Mongol. 

Ude had been left far behind, and we were bowling along on a road aslevel as a floor, when we saw two wolves quietly watching us half amile away. We had agreed not to chase antelope again; but wolveswere fair game at any time. Moreover, we were particularly glad tobe able to check our records as to how fast a wolf can run whenconditions are in its favor. Coltman signaled Mac to await us withthe others, and we swung toward the animals which were trottingslowly westward, now and then stopping to look back as thoughreluctant to leave such an unusual exhibition as the car was givingthem. A few moments later, however, they decided that curiositymight prove dangerous and began to run in earnest. 

They separated almost immediately, and we raced after the larger ofthe two, a huge fellow with rangy legs which carried him forward ina long, swinging lope. The ground was perfect for the car, and thespeedometer registered forty miles an hour. He had a thousand-yardstart, but we gained rapidly, and I estimated that he never reacheda greater speed than thirty miles an hour. Charles was very anxiousto kill the brute from the motor with his . 45 caliber automaticpistol, and I promised not to shoot. 

The wolf was running low to the ground, his head a little to oneside watching us with one bloodshot eye. He was giving us a greatrace, but the odds were all against him, and finally we had himright beside the motor. Leaning far out, Coltman fired quickly. Thebullet struck just behind the brute, and he swerved sharply, missingthe right front wheel by a scant six inches. Before Charles couldturn the car he had gained three hundred yards, but we reached himagain in little more than a mile. As Coltman was about to shoot asecond time, the wolf suddenly dropped from sight. Almost on theinstant the car plunged over a bank four feet in height, landed witha tremendous shock--and kept on! Charles had seen the danger in aflash, and had thrown his body against the wheel to hold it steady. Had he not been an expert driver we should inevitably have turnedupside down and probably all would have been killed. 

We stopped an instant to inspect the springs, but by a miracle not aleaf was broken. The wolf halted, too, and we could see him standingon a gentle rise with drooping head, his gray sides heaving. Heseemed to be "all in, " but to our amazement he was off again likethe wind even before the car had started. During the last threemiles the ground had been changing rapidly, and we soon reached astony plain where there was imminent danger of smashing a frontwheel. The wolf was heading directly toward a rocky slope which layagainst the sky like the spiny back of some gigantic monster of thepast. 

His strategy had almost won the race. For a moment the wolf restedon the ridge, and I leaped out to shoot, but instantly he droppedbehind the bowlders. Leaving me to intercept the animal, Charlesswung behind the ridge only to run at full speed into a sandypocket. The motor ceased to throb, and the race was ended. 

These wolves are sneaking carrion-feeders and as such I detest them, but this one had "played the game. " _For twelve long miles_ he hadkept doggedly at his work without a whimper or a cry of "kamerad. "The brute had outgeneraled us completely, had won by strategy andmagnificent endurance. Whatever he supposed the roaring car to be, instinct told him that safety lay among the rocks and he led usthere as straight as an arrow's flight. 

The animal seemed to take an almost human enjoyment in the way wehad been tricked, for he stood on a hillside half a mile awaywatching our efforts to extricate the car. We were in a bad place, and it was evident that the only method of escape was to remove allthe baggage which was tied to the running boards. Spreading our fursleeping bags upon the sand, we pushed and lifted the automobile tofirm ground after an hour of strenuous work. Hardly had we startedback to the road, when Charles suddenly clapped both hands to hisface yelling, "My Lord, I'm burning up. What is it? I'm all onfire. "

Mrs. Coltman pulled his hands away, revealing his face covered withblotches and rising blisters. At the same moment Yvette and I felt ashower of liquid fire stinging our hands and necks. We leaped out ofthe car just as another blast swept back upon us. Then Charlesshouted, "I know. It's the Delco plant, " and dived toward the frontmud guard. Sure enough, the cover had been displaced from one of thebatteries, and little pools of sulphuric acid had formed on theleather casings. The wind was blowing half a gale, and each gustshowered us with drops of colorless liquid which bit like tiny, living coals. 

In less than ten seconds I had slashed the ropes and the batterieswere lying on the ground, but the acid had already done its workmost thoroughly. The duffle sacks containing all our field clotheshad received a liberal dose, and during the summer Yvette was keptbusy patching shirts and trousers. I never would have believed thata little acid could go so far. Even garments in the very center ofthe sacks would suddenly disintegrate when we put them on, and theHutukhtu and his electric plant were "blessed" many times before weleft Mongolia. 

[Illustration: Mongol Horsemen on the Streets of Urga]

[Illustration: The Prison at Urga]

[Illustration: A Criminal in a Coffin with Hands Manacled]

When we reached the road, Mrs. Mac was sitting disconsolately in acar beside the servants. We had been gone nearly three hours and thepoor girl was frantic with anxiety. Mac and Owen had followed ourtracks in another motor, and arrived thirty minutes later. Mac'shappy face was drawn and white. 

"I wouldn't go through that experience again for all the money inMongolia, " he said. "We followed your tracks and at every hillexpected to find you dead on the other side and the car upside down. How on earth did you miss capsizing when you went over that bank?"

At Turin we found Mr. And Mrs. Mamen camped near the telegraphstation awaiting our arrival. The first cry was "Food! Food!" andtwo loaves of Russian bread which they had brought from Urgavanished in less than fifteen minutes. After taking several hundredfeet of "movie" film at the monastery, we ran on northward over aroad which was as smooth and hard as a billiard table. The Turinplain was alive with game; marmots, antelope, hares, bustards, geese, and cranes seemed to have concentrated there as though in avast zoölogical garden, and we had some splendid shooting. But asYvette and I spent two glorious months on this same plain, I willtell in future chapters how, in long morning horseback rides andduring silent starlit nights, we learned to know and love it. 

CHAPTER VI

THE SACRED CITY OF THE LIVING BUDDHA

Far up in northern Mongolia, where the forests stretch in anunbroken line to the Siberian frontier, lies Urga, the Sacred Cityof the Living Buddha. The world has other sacred cities, but nonelike this. It is a relic of medieval times overlaid with a veneer oftwentieth-century civilization; a city of violent contrasts andglaring anachronisms. Motor cars pass camel caravans fresh from thevast, lone spaces of the Gobi Desert; holy lamas, in robes offlaming red or brilliant yellow, walk side by side with black-gownedpriests; and swarthy Mongol women, in the fantastic headdress oftheir race, stare wonderingly at the latest fashions of theirRussian sisters. 

We came to Urga from the south. All day we had been riding overrolling, treeless uplands, and late in the afternoon we had haltedon the summit of a hill overlooking the Tola River valley. Fifteenmiles away lay Urga, asleep in the darkening shadow of the Bogdo-ol(God's Mountain). An hour later the road led us to our firstsurprise in Mai-ma-cheng, the Chinese quarter of the city. Years ofwandering in the strange corners of the world had left us totallyunprepared for what we saw. It seemed that here in Mongolia we haddiscovered an American frontier outpost of the Indian fighting days. Every house and shop was protected by high stockades of unpeeledtimbers, and there was hardly a trace of Oriental architecture savewhere a temple roof gleamed above the palisades. 

Before we were able to adjust our mental perspective we had passedfrom colonial America into a hamlet of modern Russia. Gayly paintedcottages lined the road, and, unconsciously, I looked for a whitechurch with gilded cupolas. The church was not in sight, but itsplace was taken by a huge red building of surpassing ugliness, theRussian Consulate. It stands alone on the summit of a knoll, theopen plains stretching away behind it to the somber masses of thenorthern forests. In its imposing proportions it is tangibleevidence of the Russian Colossus which not many years ago dominatedUrga and all that is left of the ancient empire of the Khans. 

For two miles the road is bordered by Russian cottages; then itdebouches into a wide square which loses its distinctive characterand becomes an indescribable mixture of Russia, Mongolia, and China. Palisaded compounds, gay with fluttering prayer flags, ornatehouses, felt-covered _yurts_, and Chinese shops mingle in a dizzyingchaos of conflicting personalities. Three great races have met inUrga and each carries on, in this far corner of Mongolia, its owncustoms and way of life. The Mongol _yurt_ has remained unchanged;the Chinese shop, with its wooden counter and blue-gowned inmates, is pure Chinese; and the ornate cottages proclaim themselves to beonly Russian. 

But on the street my wife and I could never forget that we were inMongolia. We never tired of wandering through the narrow alleys, with their tiny native shops, or of watching the ever-changingcrowds. Mongols in half a dozen different tribal dresses, Tibetanpilgrims, Manchu Tartars, or camel drivers from far Turkestan drankand ate and gambled with Chinese from civilized Peking. 

The barbaric splendor of the native dress fairly makes one gasp forbreath. Besides gowns and sashes of dazzling brilliance, the menwear on their heads all the types of covering one learned to know inthe pictures of ancient Cathay, from the high-peaked hat of yellowand black--through the whole, strange gamut--to the helmet withstreaming peacock plumes. But were I to tell about them all I wouldleave none of my poor descriptive phrases for the women. 

It is hopeless to draw a word-picture of a Mongol woman. Aphotograph will help, but to be appreciated she must be seen in allher colors. To begin with the dressing of her hair. If all the womenof the Orient competed to produce a strange and fantastic type, I donot believe that they could excel what the Mongol matrons havedeveloped by themselves. 

Their hair is plaited over a frame into two enormous flat bands, curved like the horns of a mountain sheep and reënforced with barsof wood or silver. Each horn ends in a silver plaque, studded withbits of colored glass or stone, and supports a pendent braid like ariding quirt. On her head, between the horns, she wears a silver capelaborately chased and flashing with "jewels. " Surmounting this is a"saucer" hat of black and yellow. Her skirt is of gorgeous brocadeor cloth, and the jacket is of like material with prominent "puffs"upon the shoulders. She wears huge leather boots with upturned, pointed toes, similar to those of the men, and when in full arrayshe has a whole portiere of beadwork suspended from the region ofher ears. 

She is altogether satisfying to the lover of fantastic Orientalcostumes, except in the matter of footgear, and this slightexception might be allowed, for she has so amply decorated everyother available part of her anatomy. 

Moreover, the boots form a very necessary adjunct to her personalequipment, besides providing a covering for her feet. They are manysizes too large, of course, but they furnish ample space during thebitter cold of winter for the addition of several pairs of socks, varying in number according to the thermometer. During the summershe often wears no socks at all, but their place is taken by anassortment of small articles which cannot be carried conveniently onher person. Her pipe and tobacco, a package of tea, or a wooden bowlcan easily be stuffed into the wide top boots, for pockets are anunknown luxury even to the men. 

In its kaleidoscopic mass of life and color the city is like a greatpageant on the stage of a theater, with the added fascination ofreality. But, somehow, I could never quite make myself believe thatit was real when a brilliant group of horsemen in pointed, yellowhats and streaming, peacock feathers dashed down the street. Itseemed too impossible that I, a wandering naturalist of the drab, prosaic twentieth century, and my American wife were really aliving, breathing part of this strange drama of the Orient. 

But there was one point of contact which we had with this dream-lifeof the Middle Ages. Yvette and I both love horses, and the way to aMongol's heart is through his pony. Once on horseback we began toidentify ourselves with the fascinating life around us. We lost theuncomfortable sense of being merely spectators in the Urgatheatricals, and forgot that we had come to the holy city by meansof a very unromantic motor car. 

We remained at Urga for ten days while preparations were under wayfor our first trip to the plains, and returned to it often duringthe summer. We came to know it well, and each time we rode down thelong street it seemed more wonderful that, in these days ofcommerce, Urga, and in fact all Mongolia, could have existedthroughout the centuries with so little change. 

There is, of course, no lack of modern influence in the sacred city, but as yet it is merely a veneer which has been lightly superimposedupon its ancient civilization, leaving almost untouched the basiccustoms of its people. This has been due to the remoteness ofMongolia. Until a few years ago, when motor cars first made theirway across the seven hundred miles of plains, the only access fromthe south was by camel caravan, and the monotonous trip offeredlittle inducement to casual travelers. The Russians came to Urgafrom the north and, until the recent war, their influence wasparamount along the border. They were by no means anxious to haveother foreigners exploit Mongolia, and they wished especially tokeep the country as a buffer-state between themselves and China. 

Not only is Urga the capital of Mongolia and the only city ofconsiderable size in the entire country but it is also the residenceof the Hutukhtu, or Living Buddha, the head of both the Church andthe State. Across the valley his palaces nestle close against thebase of the Bogdo-ol (God's Mountain), which rises in wooded slopesfrom the river to an elevation of eleven thousand feet above sealevel. 

The Sacred Mountain is a vast game preserve, which is patrolled bytwo thousand lamas, and every approach is guarded by a temple or acamp of priests. Great herds of elk, roebuck, boar, and otheranimals roam the forests, but to shoot within the sacred precinctswould mean almost certain death for the transgressor. Some years agoseveral Russians from Urga made their way up the mountain during thenight and killed a bear. They were brought back in chains by a mobof frenzied lamas. Although the hunters had been beaten nearly todeath, it required all the influence of the Russian diplomatic agentto save what remained of their lives. 

The Bogdo-ol extends for twenty-five miles along the Tola Valley, shutting off Urga from the rolling plains to the south. Like agigantic guardian of the holy city at its base, it stands as theonly obstacle to the wireless station which is soon to be erected. 

The Hutukhtu has three palaces on the banks of the Tola River. Oneof them is a hideous thing, built in Russian style. The other two atleast have the virtue of native architecture. In the main palace thecentral structure is white with gilded cupolas, and smallerpavilions at the side have roofs of green. The whole is surroundedby an eight-foot stockade of white posts trimmed with red. 

The Hutukhtu seldom leaves his palace now, for he is old and sickand almost blind. Many strange stories are told of the mysterious"Living God" which tend to show him "as of the earth earthy. " It issaid that in former days he sometimes left his "heaven" to revelwith convivial foreigners in Urga; but all this is gossip and we arediscussing a very saintly person. His passion for Occidentaltrinkets and inventions is well known, however, and his palace is averitable storehouse for gramophones, typewriters, microscopes, sewing machines, and a host of other things sold to him by Russiantraders and illustrated in picture catalogues sent from theuttermost corners of the world. But like a child he soon tires ofhis toys and throws them aside. He has a motor car, but he neverrides in it. It has been reported that his chief use for theautomobile is to attach a wire to its batteries and give hisministers an electric shock; for all Mongols love a practical joke, and the Hutukhtu is no exception. 

Now his palace is wired for electricity, and a great arc lightilluminates the courtyard. One evening Mr. Lucander and Mr. Mamen, who sold the electric plant to the Hutukhtu, were summoned to thepalace to receive payment. They witnessed a scene which to-day couldbe possible only in Mongolia. Several thousand dollars in silverwere brought outside to their motor car, and the lama, who paid thebills, insisted that they count it in his presence. 

A great crowd of Mongols had gathered near the palace and at last along rope was let out from one of the buildings. Kneeling, theMongols reverently touched the rope, which was gently waggled fromthe other end, supposedly by the Hutukhtu. A barbaric monotone ofchanted prayers arose from the kneeling suppliants, and the rope waswaggled again. Then the Mongols rode away, silent with awe at havingbeen blessed by the Living God. All this under a blazing electriclight beside an automobile at the foot of the Bogdo-ol!

The Hutukhtu seemed to feel that it became his station as a rulingmonarch to have a foreign house with foreign furniture. Of course henever intended to live in it, but other kings had useless palacesand why shouldn't he? Therefore, a Russian atrocity of red brick waserected a half mile or so from his other dwellings. The furnishingbecame a matter of moment, and Mr. Lucander, who was temporarily inthe employ of the Mongolian Government, was intrusted with the taskof attending to the intimate details. The selection of a bed wasmost important, for even Living Buddhas have to sleepsometimes--they cannot always be blessing adoring subjects or playingjokes on their ministers of state. With considerable difficulty aforeign bed was purchased and brought across the seven hundred milesof plains and desert to the red brick palace on the banks of the TolaRiver. 

Mr. Lucander superintended its installation in the Hutukhtu'sboudoir and himself turned chambermaid. As this was the first timehe had ever made a bed for a Living God, he arranged the spotlesssheets and turned down the covers with the greatest care. When allwas done to his satisfaction he reported to one of the Hutukhtu'sministers that the bed was ready. Two lamas, high dignitaries of thechurch, were the inspection committee. They agreed that it _looked_all right, but the question was, how did it _feel_? Mr. Lucanderwaxed eloquent on the "springiness" of the springs, and assured themthat no bed could be better; that this was the bed _par excellence_of all the beds in China. The lamas held a guttural consultation andthen announced that before the bed could be accepted it must betested. Therefore, without more ado, each lama in his dirty bootsand gown laid his unwashed self upon the bed, and bounced up anddown. The result was satisfactory--except to Lucander and thesheets. 

Although to foreign eyes and in the cold light of modernity theHutukhtu and his government cut a somewhat ridiculous figure, thereverse of the picture is the pathetic death struggle of a onceglorious race. I have said that unaccustomed luxury was responsiblefor the decline of the Mongol Empire, but the ruin of the race wasdue to the Lama Church. Lamaism, which was introduced from Tibet, gained its hold not long after the time of Kublai Khan's death in1295. Previous to this the Mongols had been religious liberals, buteventually Lamaism was made the religion of the state. It is abranch of the Buddhist cult, and its teachings are against war andviolent death. 

By custom one or more sons of every family are dedicated to thepriesthood, and as Lamaism requires its priests to be celibate, thebirth rate is low. To-day there are only a few million Mongols in acountry half as large as the United States (exclusive of Alaska), agreat proportion of the male population being lamas. With noeducation, except in the books of their sect, they lead a lazy, worthless existence, supported by the lay population and by themoney they extract by preying upon the superstitions of theirchildlike brothers. Were Lamaism abolished there still would be hopefor Mongolia under a proper government, for the Mongols of to-dayare probably the equals of Genghis Khan's warriors in strength, endurance, and virility. 

The religion of Mongolia is like that of Tibet and the Dalai Lama ofLhassa is the head of the entire Church. The Tashi Lama residing atTashilumpo, also in Tibet, ranks second. The Hutukhtu of Mongolia isthird in the Lama hierarchy, bearing the title _CheptsundampaHutukhtu_ (Venerable Best Saint). According to ancient tradition, the Hutukhtu never dies; his spirit simply reappears in the personof some newly born infant and thus comes forth reëmbodied. The namesof infants, who have been selected as possible candidates for thehonor, are written upon slips of paper incased in rolls of paste anddeposited in a golden urn. The one which is drawn is hailed as thenew incarnation. 

Some years ago the eyesight of the Hutukhtu began to fail, and agreat temple was erected as a sacrifice to appease the gods. Itstands on a hill at the western end of Urga, surrounded by the tinywooden dwellings of the priests. "The Lama City" it is called, foronly those in the service of the Church are allowed to live withinits sacred precincts. In the temple itself there is an eighty-footbronze image of Buddha standing on a golden lotus flower. The greatfigure is heavily gilded, incrusted with precious stones, and drapedwith silken cloths. 

I was fortunate in being present one day when the temple was openedto women and the faithful in the city. Somewhat doubtful as to myreception, I followed the crowd as it filed through an outerpavilion between a double row of kneeling lamas in high-peaked hatsand robes of flaming yellow. I carried my hat in my hand and triedto wear a becoming expression of humility and reverence. It wasevidently successful, for I passed unhindered into the Presence. Atthe entrance stood a priest who gave me, with the others, a fewdrops of holy water from a filthy jug. Silent with awe, the peoplebathed their faces with the precious fluid and prostrated themselvesbefore the gigantic figure standing on the golden lotus blossom, itshead lost in the shadows of the temple roof. They kissed its silkendraperies, soiled by the lips of other thousands, and each onegathered a handful of sacred dirt from the temple floor. From nichesin the walls hundreds of tiny Buddhas gazed impassively on theworshiping Mongols. 

[Illustration: The Great Temple at Urga]

[Illustration: A Prayer Wheel and a Mongol Lama]

[Illustration: Lamas Calling the Gods at a Temple in Urga]

[Illustration: Mongol Praying at a Shrine in Urga]

The scene was intoxicating in its barbaric splendor. The women intheir fantastic headdresses and brilliant gowns; the blazing yellowrobes of the kneeling lamas; and the chorus of prayers which roseand fell in a meaningless half-wild chant broken by the clash ofcymbals and the boom of drums--all this set the blood leaping in myveins. There was a strange dizziness in my head, and I had an almostoverpowering desire to fall on my knees with the Mongols and join inthe chorus of adoration. The subtle smell of burning incense, thebrilliant colors, and the barbaric music were like an intoxicatingdrink which inflamed the senses but dulled the brain. It was thenthat I came nearest to understanding the religious fanaticism of theEast. Even with a background of twentieth-century civilization Ifelt its sensuous power. What wonder that it has such a hold on asimple, uneducated people, fed on superstition from earliestchildhood and the religious traditions of seven hundred years!

The service ended abruptly in a roar of sound. Rising to their feet, the people streamed into the courtyard to whirl the prayer wheelsabout the temple's base. Each wheel is a hollow cylinder of varyingsize, standing on end, and embellished with Tibetan characters ingold. The wheels are sometimes filled with thousands of slips ofpaper upon which is written a prayer or a sacred thought, and eachrevolution adds to the store of merit in the future life. 

The Mongol goes farther still in accumulating virtue, and everynative house in Urga is gay with fluttering bits of cloth or paperon which a prayer is written. Each time the little flag moves in thewind it sends forth a supplication for the welfare of the Mongol'sspirit in the Buddhistic heaven. Not only are the prayer wheelsfound about the temples, but they line the streets, and no visitingMongol need be deprived of trying the virtue of a new device withoutgoing to a place of worship. He can give a whirl or two to half adozen within a hundred yards of where he buys his tea or sells hissheep. 

On every hand there is constant evidence that Urga is a sacred city. It never can be forgotten even for a moment. The golden roofs ofscores of temples give back the sunlight, and the moaning chant ofpraying lamas is always in the air. Even in the main street I haveseen the prostrate forms of ragged pilgrims who have journeyed farto this Mecca of the lama faith. If they are entering the city forthe first time and crave exceeding virtue, they approach the greattemple on the hill by lying face down at every step and beatingtheir foreheads upon the ground. Wooden shrines of dazzlingwhiteness stand in quiet streets or cluster by themselves behind thetemples. In front of each, raised slightly at one end, is a prayerboard worn black and smooth by the prostrated bodies of worshipingMongols. 

Although the natives take such care for the repose of the spirit inafter life, they have a strong distaste for the body from which thespirit has fled and they consider it a most undesirable thing tohave about the house. The stigma is imposed even upon the dying. InUrga a family of Mongols had erected their _yurt_ in the courtyardof one of our friends. During the summer the young wife became veryill, and when her husband was convinced that she was about to die hemoved the poor creature bodily out of the _yurt_. She could die ifshe wished, but it must not be inside his house. 

The corpse itself is considered unclean and the abode of evilspirits, and as such must be disposed of as quickly as possible. Sometimes the whole family will pack up their _yurt_ and decamp atonce, leaving the body where it lies. More usually the corpse isloaded upon a cart which is driven at high speed over a bit of roughground. The body drops off at some time during the journey, but thedriver does not dare look back until he is sure that the unwelcomeburden is no longer with him; otherwise he might anger the spiritfollowing the corpse and thereby cause himself and his familyunending trouble. Unlike the Chinese, who treat their dead with thegreatest respect and go to enormous expense in the burial, everyMongol knows that his coffin will be the stomachs of dogs, wolves, or birds. Indeed, the Chinese name for the raven is the "Mongol'scoffin. "

The first day we camped in Urga, my wife and Mrs. MacCallie werewalking beside the river. Only a short distance from our tent theydiscovered a dead Mongol who had just been dragged out of the city. A pack of dogs were in the midst of their feast and the sight wasmost unpleasant. 

The dogs of Mongolia are savage almost beyond belief. They are hugeblack fellows like the Tibetan mastiff, and their diet of dead humanflesh seems to have given them a contempt for living men. EveryMongol family has one or more, and it is exceedingly dangerous for aman to approach a _yurt_ or caravan unless he is on horseback or hasa pistol ready. In Urga itself you will probably be attacked if youwalk unarmed through the meat market at night. I have never visitedConstantinople, but if the Turkish city can boast of more dogs thanUrga, it must be an exceedingly disagreeable place in which todwell. Although the dogs live to a large extent upon human remains, they are also fed by the lamas. Every day about four o'clock in theafternoon you can see a cart being driven through the main street, followed by scores of yelping dogs. On it are two or more dirtylamas with a great barrel from which they ladle out refuse for thedogs, for according to their religious beliefs they accumulate greatmerit for themselves if they prolong the life of anything, be itbird, beast, or insect. 

In the river valley, just below the Lama City, numbers of dogs canalways be found, for the dead priests usually are thrown there to bedevoured. Dozens of white skulls lie about in the grass, but it is aserious matter even to touch one. I very nearly got into trouble oneday by targeting my rifle upon a skull which lay two or threehundred yards away from, our tent. 

The customs of the Mongols are not all as gruesome as those I havedescribed, yet Urga is essentially a frontier city where life isseen in the raw. Its natives are a hard-living race, virile beyondcompare. Children of the plains, they are accustomed to privationand fatigue. Their law is the law of the northland:

 ". . . . That only the Strong shall thrive, That surely the Weak shall perish and only the Fit survive. "

In the careless freedom of his magnificent horsemanship a Mongolseems as much an untamed creature of the plains as does the eagleitself which soars above his _yurt_. Independence breathes in everymovement; even in his rough good humor and in the barbaric splendorof the native dress. 

But the little matter of cleanliness is of no importance in hisscheme of life. When a meal has been eaten, the wooden bowl islicked clean with the tongue; it is seldom washed. Every man andwoman usually carries through life the bodily dirt which hasaccumulated in childhood, unless it is removed by some accident orby the wear of years. One can be morally certain that it will neverbe washed off by design or water. Perhaps the native is notaltogether to blame, for, except in the north, water is notabundant. It can be found on the plains and in the Gobi Desert onlyat wells and an occasional pond, and on the march it is too preciousto be wasted in the useless process of bathing. Moreover, fromSeptember until May the bitter winds which sweep down from theSiberian steppes furnish an unpleasant temperature in which to takea bath. 

The Mongol's food consists almost entirely of mutton, cheese, andtea. Like all northern people, he needs an abundance of fat, andsheep supply his wants. There is always more or less greasedistributed about his clothes and person, and when Mongols are _enmasse_ the odor of mutton and unwashed humanity is well-nighoverpowering. 

I must admit that in morality the Mongol is but little better offthan in personal cleanliness. A man may have only one lawful wife, but may keep as many concubines as his means allow, all of whom livewith the members of the family in the single room of the _yurt_. Adultery is openly practiced, apparently without prejudice to eitherparty, and polyandry is not unusual in the more remote parts of thecountry. 

The Mongol is _unmoral_ rather than _immoral_. He lives like anuntaught child of nature and the sense of modesty or decency, as weconceive it, does not enter into his scheme of life. But theoperation of natural laws, which in the lower animals are successfulin maintaining the species, is fatally impaired by the loose familyrelations which tend to spread disease. Unless Lamaism is abolishedI can see little hope for the rejuvenation of the race. 

In writing of Urga's inhabitants and their way of life I amneglecting the city itself. I have already told of the great templeon the hill and its clustering lama houses which overlook anddominate the river valley. Its ornate roof, flashing in the sun, canbe seen for many miles, like a religious beacon guiding the steps ofwandering pilgrims to the Mecca of their faith. 

At the near end of the broad street below the Lama City is the tentmarket, and just beyond it are the blacksmith shops where bridles, cooking pots, tent pegs, and all the equipment essential to awandering life on the desert can be purchased in an hour--if youhave the price! Nothing is cheap in Urga, with the exception ofhorses, and when we began to outfit for our trip on the plains wereceived a shock similar to that which I had a month ago in NewYork, when' paid twenty dollars for a pair of shoes. We ought to behardened to it now, but when we were being robbed in Urga byprofiteering Chinese, who sell flour at ten and twelve dollars asack and condensed milk at seventy-five cents a tin, we roared andgrumbled--and paid the price! I vowed I would never pay twentydollars for a pair of shoes at home, but roaring and grumbling is nomore effective in procuring shoes in New York than it was inobtaining flour and milk in Urga. 

We paid in Russian rubles, then worth three cents each. (In formeryears a ruble equaled more than half a dollar. ) Eggs were well-nighnonexistent, except those which had made their way up from Chinaover the long caravan trail and were guaranteed to be "addled"--orwhatever it is that sometimes makes an egg an unpleasant companionat the breakfast table. Even those cost three rubles each! Only afew Russians own chickens in Urga and their productions arewell-nigh "golden eggs, " for grain is very scarce and it takes anastounding number of rubles to buy a bushel. 

Fortunately we had sent most of our supplies and equipment to Urgaby caravan during the winter, but there were a good many odds andends needed to fill our last requirements, and we came to know theins and outs of the sacred city intimately before we were ready toleave for the plains. The Chinese shops were our real help, for inUrga, as everywhere else in the Orient, the Chinese are the mostsuccessful merchants. Some firms have accumulated considerablewealth and the Chinaman does not hesitate to exact the last cent ofprofit when trading with the Mongols. 

At the eastern end of Urga's central street, which is madepicturesque by gayly painted prayer wheels and alive with a movingthrong of brilliant horsemen, are the Custom House and the Ministryof Foreign Affairs. The former is at the far end of an enormouscompound filled with camel caravans or loaded carts. There is a moreor less useless wooden building, but the business is conducted in alarge _yurt_, hard against the compound wall. It was anextraordinary contrast to see a modern filing-cabinet at one end anda telephone box on the felt-covered framework of the _yurt_. 

Not far beyond the Custom House is what I believe to be one of themost horrible prisons in the world. Inside a double palisade ofunpeeled timbers is a space about ten feet square upon which openthe doors of small rooms, almost dark. In these dungeons are piledwooden boxes, four feet long by two and one-half feet high. Thesecoffins are the prisoners' cells. 

Some of the poor wretches have heavy chains about their necks andboth hands manacled together. They can neither sit erect nor lie atfull length. Their food, when the jailer remembers to give them any, is pushed through a six-inch hole in the coffin's side. Some areimprisoned here for only a few days or weeks; others for life, orfor many years. Sometimes they lose the use of their limbs, whichshrink and shrivel away. The agony of their cramped position isbeyond the power of words to describe. Even in winter, when thetemperature drops, as it sometimes does, to sixty degrees belowzero, they are given only a single sheepskin for covering. How it ispossible to live in indescribable filth, half-fed, well-nigh frozenin winter, and suffering the tortures of the damned, is beyond myken--only a Mongol could live at all. 

The prison is not a Mongol invention. It was built by the Manchusand is an eloquent tribute to a knowledge of the fine arts ofcruelty that has never been surpassed. 

I have given this description of the prison not to feed morbidcuriosity, but to show that Urga, even if it has a Custom House, aMinistry of Foreign Affairs, motor cars, and telephones, is still atheart a city of the Middle Ages. 

In Urga we made a delightful and most valuable friend in the personof Mr. F. A. Larsen. Most foreigners speak of him as "Larsen ofMongolia" and indeed it is difficult for us to think of the countrywithout thinking of the man. Some thirty years ago he rode intoMongolia and liked it. He liked it so much, in fact, that he dug awell and built a house among the Tabool hills a hundred miles northof Kalgan. At first he labored with his wife as a missionary, butlater he left that field to her and took up the work which he lovedbest in all the world--the buying and selling of horses. 

During his years of residence in Mongolia hundreds of thousands ofhorses have passed under his appraising eyes and the Mongols respecthis judgment as they respect the man. I wish that I might write thestory of his life, for it is more interesting than any novel ofromance or adventure. In almost every recent event of importance tothe Mongols Mr. Larsen's name has figured. Time after time he hasbeen sent as an emissary of the Living Buddha to Peking whenmisunderstandings or disturbances threatened the political peace ofMongolia. Not only does he understand the psychology of the natives, but he knows every hill and plain of their vast plateau as well asdo the desert nomads. 

For some time he had been in charge of Andersen, Meyer's branch atUrga with Mr. E. W. Olufsen and we made their house ourheadquarters. Mr. Larsen immediately undertook to obtain an outfitfor our work upon the plains. He purchased two riding ponies for usfrom Prince Tze Tze; he borrowed two carts with harness from aRussian friend, and bought another; he loaned us a riding pony forour Mongol, a cart horse of his own, and Mr. Olufsen contributedanother. He made our equipment a personal matter and he was nevertoo busy to assist us in the smallest details. Moreover, we couldspend hours listening to the tales of his early life, for his keensense of humor made him a delightful story-teller. One of the mostcharming aspects of our wandering life is the friends we have madein far corners of the world, and for none have we a moreaffectionate regard than for "Larsen of Mongolia. "

[Illustration: Mongol Women Beside a _Yurt_]

[Illustration: The Headdress of a Mongol Married Woman]

[Illustration: The Framework of a _Yurt_]

[Illustration: Mongol Women and a Lama]

CHAPTER VII

THE LONG TRAIL TO SAIN NOIN KHAN

Our arrival in Urga was in the most approved manner of the twentiethcentury. We came in motor cars with much odor of gasoline and noiseof horns. When we left the sacred city we dropped back seven hundredyears and went as the Mongols traveled. Perhaps it was not quite asin the days of Genghis Khan, for we had three high-wheeled carts ofa Russian model, but they were every bit as springless anduncomfortable as the palanquins of the ancient emperors. 

Of course, we ourselves did not ride in carts. They were driven byour cook and the two Chinese taxidermists, each of whom sat on hisown particular mound of baggage with an air of resignation anddespondency. Their faces were very long indeed, for the suddentransition from tie back seat of a motor car to a jolting cart didnot harmonize with their preconceived scheme of Mongolian life. Butthey endured it manfully, and doubtless it added much to the storeof harrowing experience with which they could regale futureaudiences in civilized Peking. 

My wife and I were each mounted on a Mongol pony. Mine was called"Kublai Khan" and he deserved the name. Later I shall have much totell of this wonderful horse, for I learned to love him as one lovesa friend who has endured the "ordeal by fire" and has not been foundwanting. My wife's chestnut stallion was a trifle smaller thanKublai Khan and proved to be a tricky beast whom I could have shotwith pleasure. To this day she carries the marks of both his teethand hoofs, and we have no interest in his future life. Kublai Khanhas received the reward of a sunlit stable in Peking where carrotsare in abundance and sugar is not unknown. 

Besides the three Chinese we had a little Mongol priest, a yellowlama only eighteen years of age. We did not hire him for spiritualreasons, but to be our guide and social mentor upon the plains. Ofcourse, we could not speak Mongol, but both my wife and I know someChinese and our cook-boy Lu was possessed of a species of "pidginEnglish" which, by using a good deal of imagination, we couldunderstand at times. Since our lama spoke fluent Chinese, he actedas interpreter with the Mongols, and we had no difficulty. It iswonderful how much you can do with sign language when you reallyhave to, especially if the other fellow tries to understand. Youalways can be sure that the Mongols will match your efforts in thisrespect. 

An interesting part of our equipment was a Mongol tent which CharlesColtman had had made for us in Kalgan. This is an ingeniousadaptation of the ordinary wall tent, and is especially fitted forwork on the plains. No one should attempt to use any other kind. From the ridgepole the sides curve down and out to the ground, presenting a sloping surface to the wind at every angle. One cornercan be lifted to cause a draft through the door and an open fire canbe built in the tent without danger of suffocation from the smoke;moreover, it can be erected by a single person in ten minutes. Wehad an American wall tent also, but found it such a nuisance that weused it only during bad weather. In the wind which always blows uponthe plains it flapped and fluttered to such a degree that we couldhardly sleep. 

As every traveler knows, the natives of a country usually havedeveloped the best possible clothes and dwellings for the peculiarconditions under which they live. Just as the Mongol felt-covered_yurt_ and tent are all that can be desired, so do they know thatfur and leather are the only clothing to keep them warm during thebitter winter months. 

In the carts we had an ample supply of flour, bacon, coffee, tea, sugar, and dried fruit. For meat, we depended upon our guns, ofcourse, and always had as much as could be used. Although we did nottravel _de luxe_, nevertheless we were entirely comfortable. When aman boasts of the way in which he discards even necessaries in thefield, you can be morally certain that he has not done much realtraveling. "Roughing it" does not harmonize well with hard work. Onemust accept enough discomforts under the best conditions without theaddition of any which can be avoided. Good health is the primerequisite in the field. Without it you are lost. The only way inwhich to keep fit and ready to give every ounce of physical andmental energy to the problems of the day is to sleep comfortably, eat wholesome food, and be properly clothed. It is not often, then, that you will need a doctor. We have not as yet had a physician onany of our expeditions, even though we have often been very manymiles from the nearest white men. 

It never ceases to amuse me that the insurance companies alwayscancel my accident policies as soon as I leave for the field. Theexcuse is that I am not a "good risk, " although they are readyenough to renew them when I return to New York. And yet the averageperson has a hundred times more chance of being killed or injuredright on Fifth Avenue than do we who live in the open, breathingGod's fresh air and sleeping under the stars. My friend Stefansson, the Arctic explorer, often says that "adventures are a mark ofincompetence, " and he is doubtless right. If a man goes into thefield with a knowledge of the country he is to visit and with aproper equipment, he probably will have very few "adventures. " If hehas not the knowledge and equipment he had much better remain athome, for he will inevitably come to grief. 

We learned from the Mongols that there was a wonderful shootingground three hundred miles southwest of Urga in the countrybelonging to Sain Noin Khan. It was a region backed by mountainsfifteen thousand feet in height, inhabited by bighorn sheep andibex; and antelope were reported to be numerous upon the plainswhich merged gradually into the sandy wastes of the western Gobiwhere herds of wild horses (_Equus prjevalski_) and wild asses(_Equus hemionus_) could be found. 

Sain Noin, one of the four Mongolian kings, had died only a shorttime earlier under suspicious circumstances, and his widow had justvisited the capital. Monsieur Orlow, the Russian Diplomatic Agent, had written her regarding our prospective visit, and through him shehad extended to us a cordial invitation. 

Our start from Urga was on a particularly beautiful day, even forMongolia. The golden roof of the great white temple on the hillblazed with light, and the undulating crest of the Sacred Mountainseemed so near that we imagined we could see the deer and boar inits parklike openings. Our way led across the valley and over theTola River just below the palace of the Living God. We climbed along hill and emerged on a sloping plain where marmots were bobbingin and out of their burrows like toy animals manipulated by astring. Two great flocks of demoiselle cranes were daintily catchinggrasshoppers not a hundred yards away. We wanted both the cranes fordinner and the marmots for specimens, but we dared not shoot. Although not actually upon sacred soil we were in close proximity tothe Bogdo-ol and a rifle shot might have brought a horde offanatical priests upon our heads. It is best to take no chances withreligious superstitions, for the lamas do not wait to argue whenthey are once aroused. 

The first day began most beautifully, but it ended badly as allfirst days are apt to do. We met our "Waterloo" on a steep hillshortly after tiffin, for two of the horses absolutely refused topull. The loads were evidently too heavy, and the outlook for thefuture was not encouraging. An extract from my wife's journal tellswhat we did that afternoon. 

"It took two hours to negotiate the hill, and the men were almostexhausted when the last load reached the summit Ever since tiffinthe sky had been growing darker and darker, and great masses ofblack clouds gathered about the crest of the Bogdo-ol. Suddenly avivid flash of lightning cut the sky as though with a flaming knife, and the rain came down in a furious beat of icy water. In fiveminutes we were soaked and shivering with cold, so when at last wereached the plain we turned off the road toward two Mongol _yurts_, which rested beside the river a mile away like a pair of great whitebirds. 

"Roy and I galloped ahead over the soft, slushy grass, nearlyblinded by the rain, and hobbling our horses outside the nearest_yurt_, went inside with only the formality of a shout. The room wasso dark that I could hardly see, and the heavy smoke from the openfire burned and stung our eyes. On the floor sat a frowzy-lookingwoman, blowing at the fire, and a yellow lama, his saucer hat hiddenunder its waterproof covering--apparently he was a traveler likeourselves. 

"The frowzy lady smiled and motioned us to sit down on a low couchbeside the door. As we did so, I saw a small face peering out of abig sheepskin coat and two black eyes staring at us unblinkingly. Itwas a little Mongol girl whose nap had been disturbed by so manyvisitors. She was rather a pretty little thing and so small--just alittle older than my own baby in Peking--that I wanted to play withher. She was shy at first, but when I held out a pictureadvertisement from a package of cigarettes she gradually edgednearer, encouraged by her mother. Soon she was leaning on my knee. Then without taking her black eyes from my face, she solemnly putone finger in her mouth and jerked it out with a loud 'pop, ' much toher mother's gratification. But when she decided to crawl up into mylap, my interest began to wane, for she exuded such a concentrated'essence of Mongol' and rancid mutton fat that I was almostsuffocated. 

"Our hostess was busy stirring a thick, white soup in a hugecaldron, and by the time the carts arrived every one was dipping inwith their wooden bowls. We begged to be excused, since we hadalready had some experience with Mongol soup. 

"The _yurt_ really was not a bad place when we became accustomed tothe bitter smoke and the combination of native odors. There were twocouches, about six inches from the ground, covered with sheepskinsand furs. Opposite the door stood a chest--rather a nice one--on topof which was a tiny god with a candle burning before it, and aphotograph of the Hutukhtu. "

We had dinner in the _yurt_, and the boys slept there while we usedour Mongol tent. There was no difficulty in erecting it even in thewind and rain, but it would have been impossible to have put up theAmerican wall tent. Even though it was the fifth of June, there wasa sharp frost during the night, and we were thankful for our fursleeping bags. 

Always in Mongolia after a heavy rain the air is crystal-clear, andwe had a delightful morning beside the river. Hundreds of demoisellecranes were feeding in the meadowlike valley bottom where the grasswas as green as emeralds. We saw two of the graceful birds standingon a sand bar and, as we rode toward them, they showed not theslightest sign of fear. When we were not more than twenty feet awaythey walked slowly about in a circle, and the lama discovered twospotted brown eggs almost under his pony's feet. There was no signof a nest, but the eggs were perfectly protected by theirresemblance to the stones. 

Our way led close along the Tola River, and just before tiffin wesaw a line of camels coming diagonally toward us from behind adistant hill. I wish you could have seen that caravan in all itsbarbaric splendor as it wound across the vivid green plains. Threelamas, dressed in gorgeous yellow robes, and two, in flaming red, rode ahead on ponies. Then neck and neck, mounted on enormouscamels, came four men in gowns of rich maroon and a woman flashingwith jewels and silver. Behind them, nose to tail, was the long, brown line of laden beasts. It was like a painting of the MiddleAges--like a picture of the days of Kublai Khan, when the Mongolcourt was the most splendid the world has ever seen. My wife and Iwere fascinated, for this was the Mongolia of our dreams. 

But our second day was not destined to be one of unalloyedhappiness, for just after luncheon we reached a bad stretch of roadalternating between jagged rocks and deep mud holes. The whitehorse, which was so quickly exhausted the day before, gave upabsolutely when its cart became badly mired. Just then a red lamaappeared with four led ponies and said that one of his horses couldextricate the cart. He hitched a tiny brown animal between theshafts, we all put our shoulders to the wheels, and in ten minutesthe load was on solid ground. We at once offered to trade horses, and by giving a bonus of five dollars I became the possessor of thebrown pony. 

But the story does not end there. Two months later when we hadreturned to Urga a Mongol came to our camp in great excitement andannounced that we had one of his horses. He said that five animalshad been stolen from him and that the little brown pony for which Ihad traded with the lama was one of them. His proof wasincontrovertible and according to the law of the country I was boundto give back the animal and accept the loss. However, a half dozenhard-riding Mongol soldiers at once took up the trail of the lama, and the chances are that there will be one less thieving priestbefore the incident is closed. 

It is interesting to note how a similarity of conditions in westernAmerica and in Mongolia has developed exactly the same attitude ofmutual protection in regard to horses. In both countrieshorse-stealing is considered to be one of the worst crimes. It ispunishable by death in Mongolia or, what is infinitely worse, by alife in one of the prison coffins. Moreover, the spirit of mutualassistance is carried further, and several times during the summerwhen our ponies had strayed miles from the tents they were broughtin by passing Mongols, or we were told where they could be found. 

Our camp the second night was on a beautiful, grassy plateau besidea tiny stream, a tributary of the river. We put out a line of trapsfor small mammals, but in the morning were disappointed to find onlythree meadow mice (_Microtus_). There were no fresh signs ofmarmots, hares, or other animals along the river, and I began tosuspect what eventually proved to be true, viz. , that the valley wasa favorite winter camping ground for Mongols, and that all the gamehad been killed or driven far away. Indeed, we had hardly beenbeyond sight of a _yurt_ during the entire two days, and greatflocks of sheep and goats were feeding on every grassy meadow. 

But the Mongols considered cartridges too precious to waste on birdsand we saw many different species. The demoiselle cranes wereperforming their mating dances all about us, and while one waschasing a magpie it made the most amusing spectacle, as it hoppedand flapped after the little black and white bird which kept justout of reach. 

Mongolian skylarks were continually jumping out of the grass fromalmost under our horses' feet to soar about our heads, flooding theair with song. Along the sand banks of the river we saw many flocksof swan geese (_Cygnopsis cygnoides_). They are splendid fellowswith a broad, brown band down the back of the neck, and areespecially interesting as being the ancestors of the Chinesedomestic geese. They were not afraid of horses, but left immediatelyif a man on foot approached. I killed half a dozen by slipping offmy pony, when about two hundred yards away, and walking behind thehorses while Yvette rode boldly toward the flock, leading KublaiKhan. Twice the birds fell across the river, and we had to swim forthem. My pony took to the water like a duck and when we had reachedthe other bank would arch his neck as proudly as though he hadkilled the bird himself. His keen interest in sport, his gentleness, and his intelligence won my heart at once. He would let me shootfrom his back without the slightest fear, even though he had neverbeen used as a hunting pony by Prince Tze Tze from whom he had beenpurchased. 

In the ponds and among the long marsh grass we found the ruddysheldrake (_Casarca casarca_), and the crested lapwing (_Vanellusvanellus_). They were like old friends, for we had met them first infar Yün-nan and on the Burma frontier during the winter of 1916-17whence they had gone to escape the northern cold; now they were ontheir summer breeding grounds. The sheldrakes glowed like moltengold when the sun found them in the grass, and we could not havekilled the beautiful birds even had we needed them for food. Moreover, like the lapwings, they had a trusting simplicity, a wayof throwing themselves on one's mercy, which was infinitelyappealing. We often hunted for the eggs of both the sheldrakes andlapwings. They must have been near by, we knew, for the old birdswould fly about our heads uttering agonizing calls, but we neverfound the nests. 

I killed four light-gray geese with yellow bills and legs and narrowbrown bars across the head, and a broad brown stripe down the backof the neck. I could only identify the species as the bar-headedgoose of India (_Eulabeia indica_), which I was not aware evertraveled so far north to breed. Later I found my identification tobe correct, and that the bird is an occasional visitor to Mongolia. We saw only one specimen of the bean goose (_Anser fabalis_), thecommon bird of China, which I had expected would be there inthousands. There were a few mallards, redheads, and shoveler ducks, and several bustards, besides half a dozen species of plover andshore birds. 

Except for these the trip would have been infinitely monotonous, forwe were bitterly disappointed in the lack of animal life. Moreover, there was continual trouble with the carts, and on the third day Ihad to buy an extra horse. Although one can purchase, a riding ponyat any _yurt_, cart animals are not easy to find, for the Mongolsuse oxen or camels to draw most loads. The one we obtained had notbeen in the shafts for more than two years and was badly frightenedwhen we brought him near the cart. It was a liberal education to seeour Mongol handle that horse! He first put a hobble on all fourlegs, then he swung a rope about the hind quarters, trussed himtightly, and swung him into the shafts. When the pony was properlyharnessed, he fastened the bridle to the rear of the other cart anddrove slowly ahead. At first the horse tried to kick and plunge, butthe hobbles held him fast and in fifteen minutes he settled to thework. Then the Mongol removed the hobbles from the hind legs, andlater left the pony entirely free. He walked beside the animal for along time, and did not attempt to drive him from the cart for atleast an hour. 

Although Mongols seem unnecessarily rough and almost brutal, I donot believe that any people in the world can handle horses moreexpertly. From earliest childhood their real home is the back of apony. Every year, in the spring, a children's race is held at Urga. Boys and girls from four to six years old are tied on horses andride at full speed over a mile-long course. If a child falls off itreceives but scant sympathy and is strapped on again more tightlythan before. A Mongol has no respect whatever for a man or woman whocannot ride, and nothing will win his regard as rapidly as experthorsemanship. Strangely enough the Mongols seldom show affection fortheir ponies, nor do they caress them in any way; consequently, theanimals do not enjoy being petted and are prone to kick and bite. Mypony, Kublai Khan, was an extraordinary exception to this rule andwas as affectionate and gentle as a kitten--but there are fewanimals like Kublai Khan in Mongolia!

The ponies are small, of course, but they are strong almost beyondbelief, and can stand punishment that would kill an ordinary horse. The Mongols seldom side except at a trot or a full gallop, and fortyto fifty miles a day is not an unusual journey. Moreover, theanimals are not fed grain; they must forage on the plains the yearround. During the winter, when the grass is dry and sparse, theyhave poor feeding, but nevertheless are able to withstand theextreme cold. They grow a coat of hair five or six inches in length, and when Kublai Khan arrived in Peking after his long journey acrossthe plains he looked more like a grizzly bear than a horse. He hadchanged so completely from the sleek, fine-limbed animal we hadknown in Mongolia that my wife was almost certain he could not bethe same pony. He had to be taught to eat carrots, apples, and othervegetables and would only sniff suspiciously at sugar. But in a veryshort time he learned all the tastes of his city-bred companions. 

Horses are cheap in Mongolia, but not extraordinarily so. In thespring a fair pony can be purchased for from thirty to sixty dollars(silver), and especially good ones bring as much as one hundred andfifty dollars. In the fall when the Mongols are confronted with ahard winter, which naturally exacts a certain toll from any herd, ponies sell for about two-thirds of their spring price. 

In Urga we had been led to believe that the entire trip to Sain NoinKhan's village could be done in eight days and that game wasplentiful along the trail. We had already been on the road fivedays, making an average of twenty-five miles at each stage, and thenatives assured us that it would require at least ten more days ofsteady travel before we could possibly arrive at our destination; ifdifficulties arose it might take even longer. Moreover, we had seenonly one hare and one marmot, and our traps had yielded virtuallynothing. It was perfectly evident that the entire valley had beendenuded of animal life by the Mongols, and there was little prospectthat conditions would change as long as we remained on such richgrazing grounds. 

It was hard to turn back and count the time lost, but it wascertainly the wisest course for we knew that there was goodcollecting on the plains south of Urga, although the fauna would notbe as varied as at the place we had hoped to reach. The summer inMongolia is so short that every day must be made to count if resultswhich are worth the money invested are to be obtained. 

Yvette and I were both very despondent that evening when we decidedit was necessary to turn back. It was one of those nights when Iwished with all my heart that we could sit in front of our own campfire without the thought of having to "make good" to any one butourselves. However, once the decision was made, we tried to forgetthe past days and determined to make up for lost time in the future. 

[Illustration: The Traffic Policeman on Urga's "Broadway"]

[Illustration: A Mongol Lama]

[Illustration: The Grasslands of Outer Mongolia]

CHAPTER VIII

THE LURE OF THE PLAINS

On Monday, June 16, we left Urga to go south along the old caravantrail toward Kalgan. Only a few weeks earlier we had skimmed overthe rolling surface in motor cars, crossing in one day then as manymiles of plains as our own carts could do in ten. But it had anothermeaning to us now, and the first night as we sat at dinner in frontof the tent and watched the afterglow fade from the sky behind thepine-crowned ridge of the Bogdo-ol, we thanked God that for fivelong months we could leave the twentieth century with its roar andrush, and live as the Mongols live; we knew that the days ofdiscouragement had ended and that we could learn the secrets of thedesert life which are yielded up to but a chosen few. 

Within twenty-five miles of Urga we had seen a dozen marmots and aspecies of gopher (_Citellus_) that was new to us. The nextafternoon at two o'clock we climbed the last long slope from out theTola River drainage basin, and reached the plateau which stretchesin rolling waves of plain and desert to the frontier of China sixhundred miles away. Before us three pools of water flashed likesilver mirrors in the sunlight, and beyond them, tucked away in asheltered corner of the hills, stood a little temple surrounded by acluster of gray-white _yurts_. 

Our Mongol learned that the next water was on the far side of aplain thirty-five miles in width, so we camped beside the largestpond. It was a beautiful spot with gently rolling hills on eitherside, and in front, a level plain cut by the trail's white line. 

As soon as the tents were up Yvette and I rode off, accompanied bythe lama, carrying a bag of traps. Within three hundred yards ofcamp we found the first marmot. When it had disappeared undergroundwe carefully buried a steel trap at the entrance of the hole andanchored it securely to an iron tent peg. With rocks and earth weplugged all the other openings, for there are usually five or sixtunnels to every burrow. While the work was going on other marmotswere watching us curiously from half a dozen mounds, and we set ninetraps before it was time to return for dinner. 

The two Chinese taxidermists had taken a hundred wooden traps forsmaller mammals, and before dark we inspected the places they hadfound. Already one of them held a gray meadow vole (_Microtus_), quite a different species from those which had been caught along theTola River, and Yvette discovered one of the larger traps draggedhalfway into a hole with a baby marmot safely caught. He was onlyten inches long and covered with soft yellow-white fur. 

Shortly after daylight the next morning the lama came to our tent toannounce that there was a marmot in one of the traps. The boy was asexcited as a child of ten and had been up at dawn. When we weredressed we followed the Mongol to the first burrow Where a finemarmot was securely caught by the hind leg. A few yards away we hadanother female, and the third trap was pulled far into the hole. Ahuge male was at the other end, but he had twisted his body halfwayaround a curve in the tunnel and by pulling with all our strengththe Mongol and I could not move him a single inch. Finally we gaveup and had to dig him out. He had given a wonderful exhibition ofstrength for so small an animal. 

It was especially gratifying to catch these marmots so easily, forwe had been told in Urga that the Mongols could not trap them. I wasat a loss to understand why, for they are closely related to the"woodchucks" of America with which every country boy is familiar. Later I learned the reason for the failure of the natives. In theUrga market we saw some double-spring traps exactly like those ofours, but when I came to examine them I found they had been made inRussia, and the springs were so weak that they were almost useless. These were the only steel traps which the Mongols had ever seen. 

The marmots (_Marmota robusta_) were supposed to be responsible forthe spread of the pneumonia plague which swept into northern Chinafrom Manchuria a few years ago; but I understand from physicians ofthe Rockefeller Foundation in Peking, who especially investigatedthe disease, that the animal's connection with it is by no meanssatisfactorily determined. 

The marmots hibernate during the winter, and retire to their burrowsearly in October, not to emerge until April. When they first comeout in the spring their fur is bright yellow, and the animalscontrast beautifully with the green grass. After the middle of Junethe yellow fur begins to slip off in patches, leaving exposed thenew coat, which is exceedingly short and is mouse-gray in color. Then, of course, the skins are useless for commercial purposes. Asthe summer progresses the fur grows until by September first it hasformed a long, soft coat of rich gray-brown which is of considerableeconomic value. The skins are shipped to Europe and America andduring the past winter (1919-1920) were especially popular aslinings for winter coats. 

We had an opportunity to see how quickly the demand in the greatcities reaches directly to the center of production thousands ofmiles away. When we went to Urga in May prime marmot skins wereworth thirty cents each to the Mongols. Early in October, when wereturned, the hunters were selling the same skins for _one dollarand twenty-five cents apiece_. 

The natives always shoot the animals. When a Mongol has driven oneinto its burrow, he lies quietly beside the hole waiting for themarmot to appear. It may be twenty minutes or even an hour, but theOriental patience takes little note of time. Finally a yellow heademerges and a pair of shining eyes glance quickly about in everydirection. Of course, they see the Mongol but he looks only like amound of earth, and the marmot raises itself a few inches higher. The hunter lies as motionless as a log of wood until the animal iswell out of its burrow--then he shoots. 

The Mongols take advantage of the marmot's curiosity in an amusingand even more effective way. With a dogskin tied to his saddle thenative rides over the plain until he reaches a marmot colony. Hehobbles his pony at a distance of three or four hundred yards, getsdown on his hands and knees, and throws the dogskin over hisshoulders. He crawls slowly toward the nearest animal, now and thenstopping to bark and shake his head. In an instant, the marmot isall attention. He jumps up and down whistling and barking, but neverventuring far from the opening of his burrow. 

As the pseudo-dog advances there seems imminent danger that the fatlittle body will explode from curiosity and excitement. But suddenlythe "dog" collapses in the strangest way and the marmot raises onthe very tips of his toes to see what it is all about. Then there isa roar, a flash of fire and another skin is added to the millionswhich have already been sent to the seacoast from outer Mongolia. 

Mr. Mamen often spoke of an extraordinary dance which he had seenthe marmots perform, and when Mr. And Mrs. MacCallie returned toKalgan they saw it also. We were never fortunate enough to witnessit. Mac said that two marmots stood erect on their hind legs, grasping each other with their front paws, and danced slowly aboutexactly as though they were waltzing. He agreed with Mamen that itwas the most extraordinary and amusing thing he had ever seen ananimal do. I can well believe it, for the marmots have many curioushabits which would repay close study. The dance could hardly be amating performance since Mac saw it in late May and by that time theyoung had already been born. 

One morning at the "Marmot Camp, " as we named the one where we firstbegan real collecting, Yvette saw six or seven young animals on topof a mound in the green grass. We went there later with a gun andfound the little fellows playing like kittens, chasing each otherabout and rolling over and over. It was hard to make myself bringtragedy into their lives, but we needed them for specimens. A groupshowing an entire marmot family would be interesting for the Museum;especially so in view of their reported connection with thepneumonic plague. We collected a dozen others before the summer wasover to show the complete transition from the first yellow coat tothe gray-brown of winter. 

Like most rodents, the marmots grow rapidly and have so many youngin every litter that they will not soon be exterminated in Mongoliaunless the native hunters obtain American steel traps. Even then itwould take some years to make a really alarming impression upon themillions which spread over all the plains of northern Mongolia andManchuria. 

Since these marmots are a distinctly northern animal they are agreat help in determining the life zones of this part of Asia. Wefound that their southern limit is at Turin, one hundred andseventy-five miles from Urga. A few scattered families live there, but the real marmot country begins about twenty-five miles farthernorth. 

The first hunting camp was eighty miles south of Urga, after we hadpassed a succession of low hills and reached what, in prehistorictimes, was probably a great lake basin. When our tents were pitchedbeside the well they seemed pitifully small in the vastness of theplain. The land rolled in placid waves to the far horizon on everyhand. It was like a calm sea which is disturbed only by the lazyprogress of the ocean swell. Two _yurts_, like the sails ofhull-down ships, showed black against the sky-rim where it met theearth. The plain itself seemed at first as flat as a table, for theswells merged indistinguishably into a level whole. It was only whenapproaching horsemen dipped for a little out of sight and thedepressions swallowed them up that we realized the unevenness of theland. 

Camp was hardly made before our Mongol neighbors began to pay theirformal calls. A picturesque fellow, blazing with color, would dashup to our tent at a full gallop, slide off and hobble his ponyalmost in a single motion. With a "_sai bina_" of greeting he wouldsquat in the door, produce his bottle of snuff and offer us a pinch. There was a quiet dignity about these plains dwellers which waswonderfully appealing. They were seldom unduly curious, and when weindicated that the visit was at an end, they left at once. 

Sometimes they brought bowls of curded milk, or great lumps ofcheese as presents, and in return we gave cigarettes or now and thena cake of soap. Having been told in Urga that soap was especiallyappreciated by the Mongols, I had brought a supply of red, blue, andgreen cakes which had a scent even more wonderful than the color. Ican't imagine why they like it, for it is carefully put away andnever used. 

Strangely enough, the Mongols have no word for "thank you" otherthan "_sai_" (good), but when they wish to express approbation, andusually when saying "good-by, " they put up the thumb with thefingers closed. In Yün-nan and eastern Tibet we noted the samecustom among the aboriginal tribesmen. I wonder if it is merely acoincidence that in the gladiatorial contests of ancient Rome"thumbs up" meant mercy or approval!

The Mongols told us that in the rolling ground to the east of campwe could surely find antelope. The first morning my wife and I wentout alone. We trotted steadily for an hour, making for the summit ofa rise seven or eight miles from camp. Yvette held the ponies, whileI sat down to sweep the country with my glasses. Directly in frontof us two small valleys converged into a larger one, and almostimmediately I discovered half a dozen orange-yellow forms in itsvery bottom about two miles away. They were antelope quietlyfeeding. In a few moments I made out two more close together, andthen four off at the right. After my wife had found them with herglasses we sat down to plan the stalk. 

It was obvious that we should try to cross the two small depressionswhich debouched into the main valley and approach from behind thehill crest nearest to the gazelles. We trotted slowly across thegully while the antelope were in sight, and then swung around atfull gallop under the protection of the rising ground. We came upjust opposite to the herd and dismounted, but were fully six hundredyards away. Suddenly one of those impulses which the hunter nevercan explain sent them off like streaks of yellow light, but theyturned on the opposite hillside, slowed down, and moved uncertainlyup the valley. 

Much to our surprise four of the animals detached themselves fromthe others and crossed the depression in our direction. When we sawthat they were really coming we threw ourselves into the saddles andgalloped forward to cut them off. Instantly the antelope increasedtheir speed and literally flew up the hill slope. I shouted toYvette to watch the holes and shook the reins over Kublai Khan'sneck. Like a bullet he was off. I could feel his great musclesflowing between my knees but otherwise there seemed hardly a motionof his body in the long, smooth run. Standing straight up in thestirrups, I glanced back at my wife who was sitting her chestnutstallion as lightly as a butterfly. Hat gone, hair streaming, thethrill of it all showed in every line of her body. She was running aclose second, almost at my side. I saw a marmot hole flash by. Asecond death trap showed ahead and I swung Kublai Khan to the right. Another and another followed, but the pony leaped them like a cat. The beat of the fresh, clean air; the rush of the splendid horse;the sight of the yellow forms fleeing like wind-blown ribbons acrossour path--all this set me mad with excitement and a wildexhilaration. Suddenly I realized that I was yelling like an Indian. Yvette, too, was screaming in sheer delight. 

The antelope were two hundred yards away when I tightened on thereins. Kublai Khan stiffened and stopped in twenty yards. The firstshot was low and to the left, but it gave the range. At the second, the rearmost animal stumbled, recovered itself, and ran wildly aboutin a circle. I missed him twice, and he disappeared over a littlehill. Leaping into the saddle, we tore after the wounded animal. Aswe thundered over the rise I heard my wife screaming frantically andsaw her pointing to the right where the antelope was lying down. There was just one more shell in the gun and my pockets were empty. I fired again at fifty yards and the gazelle rolled over, dead. 

Leading our horses, Yvette and I walked up to the beautifulorange-yellow form lying in the fresh, green grass. We both saw itshorns in the same instant and hugged each other in sheer delight. Atthis time of the year the bucks are seldom with the does and then onlyin the largest herds. This one was in full pelage, spotless and withthe hair unworn. Moreover, it had finer horns than any other whichwe killed during the entire trip. 

Kublai Khan looked at the dead animal and arched his neck, as muchas to say, "Yes, I ran him down. He had to quit when I really gotstarted. " My wife held the pony's head, while I hoisted the antelopeto his back and strapped it behind the saddle. He watched theproceedings interestedly but without a tremor, and even when Imounted, he paid not the slightest attention to the head dangling onhis flanks. Thereby he showed that he was a very exceptional pony. In the weeks which followed he proved it a hundred times, and I cameto love him as I have never loved another animal. 

Yvette and I trotted slowly back to camp, thrilled with theexcitement of the wild ride. We began to realize that we were luckyto have escaped without broken necks. The race taught us never againto attempt to guide our ponies away from the marmot holes whichspotted the plains, for the horses could see them better than wecould and all their lives had known that they meant death. 

That morning was our initiation into what is the finest sport wehave ever known. Hunting from a motor car is undeniably exciting atfirst, but a real sportsman can never care for it very long. Theantelope does not have a chance against gas and steel and along-range rifle. On horseback the conditions are reversed. Anantelope can run twice as fast as the best horse living. It can see asfar as a man with prism binoculars. All the odds are in the animal'sfavor except two--its fatal desire to run in a circle about thepursuer, and the use of a high-power rifle. But even then an antelopethree hundred yards away, going at a speed of fifty miles an hour, isnot an easy target. 

Of course, the majority of sportsmen will say that it cannot be donewith any certainty--until they go to Mongolia and do it themselves!But, as I remarked in a previous chapter, conditions on the plainsare so unusual that shooting in other parts of the world is nocriterion. After one gets the range of an animal which, like theantelope, has a smooth, even run, it is not so difficult to hit asone might imagine. Practice is the great essential. At the beginningI averaged one antelope to every eight cartridges, but later myscore was one to three. 

We spent the afternoon at the new camp, setting traps and preparingfor the days to come--days in which we knew, from long experience, we would have every waking moment full of work. The nights wereshortening rapidly, and the sun did not dip below the rim of ourvast, flat world until half past seven. Then there was an hour ofdelightful, lingering twilight, when the stars began to show in tinypoints of light; by nine o'clock the brooding silence of theMongolian night had settled over all the plain. 

Daylight came at four o'clock, and before the sun rose we hadfinished breakfast. Our traps held five marmots and a beautifulgolden-yellow polecat (_Mustela_). I have never seen such anincarnation of fury as this animal presented. It might have been theoriginal of the Chinese dragon, except for its small size. Its long, slender body twisted and turned with incredible swiftness, everyhair was bristling, and its snarling little face emitted horriblesqueaks and spitting squeals. It seemed to be cursing us in everylanguage of the polecat tribe. 

The fierce little beast was evidently bent upon a night raid on amarmot family. We could imagine easily into what terror the tinydemon would throw a nest of marmots comfortably snuggled together inthe bottom of their burrow. Probably it would be most interested inthe babies, and undoubtedly would destroy every one within a fewmoments. All the weasel family, to which the polecat belongs, killfor the pure joy of killing, and in China one such animal willentirely depopulate a hen-roost in a single night. 

At six o'clock Yvette and I left camp with the lama and rodenortheast. The plain swept away in long, grassy billows, and atevery rise I stopped for a moment to scan the horizon with myglasses. Within half an hour we discovered a herd of antelope six orseven hundred yards away. They saw us instantly and trottednervously about, staring in our direction. 

Dropping behind the crest of the rise, I directed the lama to ridetoward them from behind while we swung about to cut them off. He washardly out of sight when we heard a snort and a rush of poundinghoofs. With a shout to Yvette I loosened the reins over KublaiKhan's neck, and he shot forward like a yellow arrow. Yvette wasclose beside me, leaning far over her pony's neck. We headeddiagonally toward the herd, and they gradually swung toward us asthough drawn by a powerful magnet. On we went, down into a hollowand up again on its slope. We could not spare the horses for theantelope were already over the crest and lost to view, but ourhorses took the hill at full speed, and from the summit we could seethe herd fairly on our course, three hundred yards away. 

Kublai Khan braced himself like a polo pony when he felt thepressure of my knees, and I opened fire almost under his nose. Atthe crack of the rifle there was a spurt of brown dust near theleading animal. "High and to the left, " shouted Yvette, and I held alittle lower for the second trial. The antelope dropped like a pieceof white paper, shot through the neck. I paced the distance andfound it to be three hundred and sixty-seven yards. It seemed a verylong shot then, but later I found that almost none of my antelopewere killed at less than three hundred yards. 

As I came up to Kublai Khan with the dead animal, I accidentallystruck him on the flank with my rifle in such a way that he wasbadly frightened. He galloped off, and Yvette had a hard chasebefore he finally allowed her to catch him. Had I been alone Ishould probably have had a long walk to camp. 

It taught us never to hunt without a companion, if it could possiblybe avoided. If your horse runs away, you may be left many miles fromwater, with rather serious consequences. I think there is nothingwhich makes me feel more helpless than to be alone on the plainswithout a horse. For miles and miles there is only the rollinggrassland or the wide sweep of desert, with never a house or tree tobreak the low horizon. It seems so futile to walk, your own legscarry you so slowly and such a pitifully short distance, in thesevast spaces. 

To be left alone in a small boat on the open sea is exactly similar. You feel so very, very small and you realize then what aninsignificant part of nature you really are. I have felt it, too, amid vast mountains when I have been toiling up a peak whichstretched thousands of feet above me with others rearing theirmajestic forms on every side. Then, nature seems almost alive andfull of menace; something to be fought and conquered by brain andwill. 

Early in our work upon the plains we learned how easy it is to loseone's way. The vast sea of land seems absolutely flat, but inreality it is a gently rolling surface full of slopes and hollows, every one of which looks exactly like the others. But after a timewe developed a _land sense_. The Mongols all have it to anextraordinary degree. We could drop an antelope on the plain andleave it for an hour or more. With a quick glance about our lamawould fix the place in his mind, and dash off on a chase which mightcarry us back and forth toward every point of the compass. When itwas time to return, he would head his pony unerringly for thatsingle spot on the plain and take us back as straight as the flightof an arrow. 

At first it gave him unceasing enjoyment when we became completelylost, but in a very short time we learned to note the position ofthe sun, the character of the ground, and the direction of the wind. Then we began to have more confidence in ourselves. But only byyears of training can one hope even to approximate the Mongols. Theyhave been born and reared upon the plains, and have the inheritanceof unknown generations whose very life depended upon their abilityto come and go at will. To them, the hills, the sun, the grass, thesand--all have become the street signs of the desert. 

In the afternoon of our second day I remained at the tents tomeasure specimens, while Yvette and the lama rode out toward thescene of our morning hunt to locate an antelope which one of ourMongol neighbors had reported dead not far away. At six o'clock theycame galloping back with the news that there were two gazelleswithin three miles of camp. I saddled Kublai Khan and left with themat once. Twenty minutes of steady trotting brought us to the summitof a slope, where we could see the animals quietly feeding not fivehundred yards away. 

It was just possible to stalk them for a long-range shot, andslipping off my pony, I flattened out upon the ground. On hands andknees, and sometimes at full length, I wormed my way through thegrass for one hundred yards. The cover ended there and I must shootor come into full view of the gazelles. They were so far away thatthe front sight entirely covered the animals, and to increase thedifficulty, both were walking slowly. The first bullet struck lowand to the right, but the antelope only jumped and stared fixedly inmy direction; at the second shot one went down. The other animaldashed away like a flash of lightning, and although I sent a bulletafter its white rump-patch, the shot was hopeless. 

The antelope I had knocked over got to its feet and trieddesperately to get away, but the lama leaped on his pony and caughtit by one hind leg. My automatic pistol was not in working order, and it was necessary to knife the poor beast--a job which I hatelike poison. The lama walked away a dozen yards and covered his facewith the sleeve of his gown. It is against the laws of the Buddhistreligion to take the life of any animal or even to see it done, although there are no restrictions as to eating flesh. 

With a blanket the Mongol made a seat for himself on his pony'shaunches, and threw the antelope across his saddle; then we trottedback to camp into the painted western sky, with the cool night airbringing to us the scent of newborn grass. We would not haveexchanged our lot that night with any one on earth. 

CHAPTER IX

HUNTING ON THE TURIN PLAIN

After ten days we left the "Antelope Camp" to visit the Turin plainwhere we had seen much game on the way to Urga. One by one ourMongol neighbors rode up to say "farewell, " and each to present uswith a silk scarf as a token of friendship and good will. Wereceived an invitation to stop for tea at the _yurt_ of an old manwho had manifested an especial interest in us, but it was a verydirty _yurt_, and the preparations for tea were so uninviting thatwe managed to exit gracefully before it was finally served. 

Yvette photographed the entire family including half a dozen dogs, acalf, and two babies, much to their enjoyment. When we rode off, ourhands were heaped with cheese and slabs of mutton which werediscarded as soon as we had dropped behind a slope. Mongolhospitality is whole-souled and generously given, but one must bevery hungry to enjoy their food. 

A day and a half of traveling was uneventful, for herds of sheep andhorses indicated the presence of _yurts_ among the hills. Game willseldom remain where there are Mongols. Although it was the first ofJuly, we found a heavy coating of ice on the lower sides of a deepwell. The water was about fifteen feet below the level of the plain, and the ice would probably remain all summer. Moreover, it is saidthat the wells never freeze even during the coldest winter. 

[Illustration: Mongol Herdsmen Carrying Lassos]

[Illustration: A Lone Camp on the Desert]

The changes of temperature were more rapid than in any other countryin which I have ever hunted. It was hot during the day--about 85Fahrenheit--but the instant the sun disappeared we needed coats, andour fur sleeping bags were always acceptable at night. 

We were one hundred and fifty miles from Urga and were still goingslowly south, when we had our next real hunting camp. Great bands ofantelope were working northward from the Gobi Desert to the bettergrazing on the grass-covered Turin plain. We encountered the mainherd one evening about six o'clock, and it was a sight which made usgasp for breath. We were shifting camp, and my wife and I weretrotting along parallel to the carts which moved slowly over thetrail a mile away. We had had a delightful, as well as a profitable, day. Yvette had been busy with her camera, while I picked up anantelope, a bustard, three hares, and half a dozen marmots. We wereloafing in our saddles, when suddenly we caught sight of the cookstanding on his cart frantically signaling us to come. 

In ten seconds our ponies were flying toward the caravan, while wementally reviewed every accident which possibly could have happenedto the boys. Lu met us twenty yards from the trail, trembling withexcitement and totally incoherent. He could only point to the southand stammer, "Too many antelope. Over there. Too many, too many. "

I slipped off Kublai Khan's back and put up the glasses. Certainlythere were animals, but I thought they must be sheep or ponies. Hundreds were in sight, feeding in one vast herd and in many smallergroups. Then I remembered that the nearest well was twenty milesaway; therefore they could not be horses. I looked again and knewthey must be antelope--not in hundreds, but in thousands. 

Mr. Larsen in Urga had told us of herds like this, but we had neverhoped to see one. Yet there before us, as far as the eye couldreach, was a yellow mass of moving forms. In a moment Yvette and Ihad left the carts. There was no possibility of concealment, and ouronly chance was to run the herd. When we were perhaps half a mileaway the nearest animals threw up their heads and began to stamp andrun about, only to stop again and stare at us. We kept on veryslowly, edging nearer every moment. Suddenly they decided that wewere really dangerous, and the herd strung out like a regiment ofyellow-coated soldiers. 

Kublai Khan had seen the antelope almost as soon as we left thecarts, and although he had already traveled forty miles that day, was nervously champing the bit with head up and ears erect. When atlast I gave him the word, he gathered himself for one terrificspring; down went his head and he dashed forward with every ounce ofstrength behind his flying legs. His run was the long, smooth strideof a thoroughbred, and it sent the blood surging through my veins ina wild thrill of exhilaration. Once only I glanced back at Yvette. She was almost at my side. Her hair had loosened and was flying backlike a veil behind her head. Tense with excitement, eyes shining, she was heedless of everything save those skimming yellow formsbefore us. It was useless to look for holes; ere I had seen one wewere over or around it. With head low down and muzzle out, my ponyneeded not the slightest touch to guide him. He knew where we weregoing and the part he had to play. 

More than a thousand antelope were running diagonally across ourcourse. It was a sight to stir the gods; a thing to give one's lifeto see. But when we were almost near enough to shoot, the herdsuddenly swerved heading directly away from us. In an instant wewere enveloped in a whirling cloud of dust through which the flyinganimals were dimly visible like phantom figures. 

Khan was choked, and his hot breath rasped sharply through hisnostrils, but he plunged on and on into that yellow cloud. Standingin my stirrups, I fired six times at the wraithlike forms ahead asfast as I could work the lever of my rifle. Of course, it wasuseless, but just the same I had to shoot. 

In about a mile the great herd slowed down and stopped. We could seehundreds of animals on every side, in groups of fifty or onehundred. Probably two thousand antelope were in sight at once andmany more were beyond the sky rim to the west. We gave the poniesten minutes' rest, and had another run as unsuccessful as the first. Then a third and fourth. The antelope, for some strange reason, would not cross our path, but always turned straight away before wewere near enough to shoot. 

After an hour we returned to the carts--for Yvette was exhaustedfrom excitement--and the lama took her place. We left the great herdand turned southward, parallel to the road. A mile away we foundmore antelope; at least a thousand were scattered about feedingquietly like those we had driven north. It seemed as though all thegazelles in Mongolia had concentrated on those few miles of plain. 

The ponies were so exhausted that we decided to try a drive andleave the main herd in peace. When we were concealed from view inthe bottom of a land swell I slipped off and hobbled Kublai Khan. The poor fellow was so tired he could only stand with drooping head, even though there was rich grass beneath his feet. I sent the lamain a long circle to get behind the herd, while I crawled a fewhundred yards away and snuggled out of sight into an old wolf den. 

I watched the antelope for fifteen minutes through my binoculars. They were feeding in a vast semicircle, entirely unconscious of mypresence. Suddenly every head went up; they stared fixedly towardthe west for a moment, and were off like the wind. About fivehundred drew together in a compact mass, but a dozen smaller herdsscattered wildly, running in every direction except toward me. Theyhad seen the lama before he had succeeded in completely encirclingthem, and the drive was ruined. 

The Mongols kill great numbers of antelope in just this way. When aherd has been located, a line of men will conceal themselves atdistances of two or three hundred yards, while as many more getbehind the animals and drive them toward the waiting hunters. Sometimes the gazelles almost step on the natives and become sofrightened that they run the gantlet of the entire firing line. 

I did not have the heart to race again with our exhausted ponies, and we turned back toward the carts which were out of sight. Scoresof antelope, singly or in pairs, were visible on the sky line and aswe rode to the summit of a little rise a herd of fifty appearedalmost below us. We paid no attention to them; but suddenly my ponystopped with ears erect. He looked back at me, as much as to say, "Don't you see those antelope?" and began gently pulling at thereins. I could feel him tremble with eagerness and excitement. "Well, old chap, " I said, "if you are as keen as all that, let'sgive them a run. "

With a magnificent burst of speed Kublai Khan launched himselftoward the fleeing animals. They circled beautifully, straight intothe eye of the sun, which lay like a great red ball upon the surfaceof the plain. We were still three hundred yards away and gainingrapidly, but I had to shoot; in a moment I would be blinded by thesun. As the flame leaped from my rifle, we heard the dull thud of abullet on flesh; at the second shot, another; and then a third. "_Sanga_" (three), yelled the lama, and dashed forward, wild withexcitement. 

The three gazelles lay almost the same distance apart, each one shotthrough the body. It was interesting evidence that the actions ofworking the lever on my rifle and aiming, and the speed of theantelope, varied only by a fraction of a second. In this case, brainand eye and hand had functioned perfectly. Needless to say, I do notalways shoot like that. 

Two of the antelope were yearling bucks, and one was a large doe. The lama took the female on his pony, and I strapped the other twoon Kublai Khan. When I mounted, he was carrying a weight of twohundred and eighty-five pounds, yet he kept his steady "homewardtrot" without a break until we reached the carts six miles away. 

Yvette had been afraid that we would miss the well in the gatheringdarkness, and had made a "dry camp" beside the road. We had only alittle water for ourselves; but my pony's nose was full of dust, andI knew how parched his throat must be, so I divided my supply withhim. The poor animal was so frightened by the dish, that he wouldonly snort and back away; even when I wet his nose with some of theprecious fluid, he would not drink. 

The success of our work upon the plains depended largely upon KublaiKhan. He was only a Mongol pony but he was just as great, in his ownway, as was the Tartar emperor whose name he bore. Whatever it was Iasked him to do, he gave his very best. Can you wonder that I lovedhim?

Within a fortnight from the time I bought him, he became a perfecthunting pony. The secret of it all was that he liked the game aswell as I. Traveling with the carts bored him exceedingly but theinstant game appeared he was all excitement. Often he saw antelopebefore we did. We might be trotting slowly over the plains, whensuddenly he would jerk his head erect and begin to pull gently atthe reins; when I reached down to take my rifle from the holster, hewould tremble with eagerness to be off. 

In hunting antelope you should ride slowly toward the animals, drawing nearer gradually. They are so accustomed to see Mongols thatthey will not begin to run in earnest until a man is five or sixhundred yards away, but when they are really off, a fast pony is thegreat essential. The time to stop is just before the animals crossyour path, and then you must stop quickly. Kublai Khan learned thetrick immediately. As soon as he felt the pressure of my knees, andthe slightest pull upon the reins, his whole body stiffened and hebraced himself like a polo pony. It made not the slightestdifference to him whether I shot from his back or directly under hisnose; he stood quietly watching the running antelope. When we wereriding across the plains if a bird ran along the ground or a harejumped out of the grass, he was after it like a dog. Often I wouldfind myself flying toward an animal which I had never seen. 

Yvette's pony was useless for hunting antelope. Instead of headingdiagonally toward the gazelles he would always attempt to follow theherd. When it was time to stop I would have to put all my strengthupon the reins and the horse would come into a slow gallop and thena trot. Seconds of valuable time would be wasted before I couldbegin to shoot. I tried half a dozen other ponies, but they were allas bad. They did not have the intelligence or the love of huntingwhich made Kublai Khan so valuable. 

The morning after encountering the great herd, we camped at a wellthirty miles north of the Turin monastery. Three or four _yurts_were scattered about, and a caravan of two hundred and fifty camelswas resting in a little hollow. From the door of our tent we couldsee the blue summit of the Turin "mountain, " and have in theforeground a perpetual moving picture of camels, horses, sheep, goats, and cattle seeking water. All day long hundreds of animalscrowded about the well, while one or two Mongols filled the troughsby means of wooden buckets. 

The life about the wells is always interesting, for they are pointsof concentration for all wanderers on the plains. Just as we pitchour tents and make ourselves at home, so great caravans arrive withtired, laden camels. The huge brutes kneel, while their packs arebeing removed, and then stand in a long line, patiently waitinguntil their turn comes to drink. Groups of ten or twelve crowd aboutthe trough; then, majestically swinging their padded feet, they moveslowly to one side, kneel upon the ground, and sleepily chew theircuds until all the herd has joined them. Sometimes the caravans waitfor several days to rest their animals and let them feed; sometimesthey vanish in the first gray light of dawn. 

On the Turin plain we had a delightful glimpse of antelope babyhood. The great herds which we had found were largely composed of doesjust ready to drop their young, and after a few days they scatteredwidely into groups of from five to twenty. 

We found the first baby antelope on June 27. We had seen half adozen females circling restlessly about, and suspected that theirfawns could not be far away. Sure enough, our Mongol discovered oneof the little fellows in the flattest part of the flat plain. It waslying motionless with its neck stretched out, just where its motherhad told it to remain when she saw us riding toward her. 

Yvette called to me, "Oh, please, please catch it. We can raise iton milk and it will make such an adorable pet. "

"Oh, yes, " I said, "let's do. I'll get it for you. You can put it inyour hat till we go back to camp. "

In blissful ignorance I dismounted and slowly went toward the littleanimal. There was not the slightest motion until I tossed myoutspread shooting coat. Then I saw a flash of brown, a bobbingwhite rump-patch, and a tiny thing, no larger than a rabbit, speeding over the plain. The baby was somewhat "wobbly, " to be sure, for this was probably the first time it had ever tried its slenderlegs, but after a few hundred yards it ran as steadily as itsmother. 

I was so surprised that for a moment I simply stared. Then I leapedinto the saddle and Kublai Khan rushed after the diminutive brownfawn. It was a good half mile before we had the little chap underthe pony's nose but the race was by no means ended. Mewing withfright, it swerved sharply to the left and ere we could swing about, it had gained a hundred yards. Again and again we were almost on it, but every time it dodged and got away. After half an hour my ponywas gasping for breath, and I changed to Yvette's chestnut stallion. The Mongol joined me and we had another run, but we might have beenpursuing a streak of shifting sunlight. Finally we had to give it upand watch the tiny thing bob away toward its mother, who wascircling about in the distance. 

There were half a dozen other fawns upon the plain, but they alltreated us alike and my wife's hat was empty when we returned tocamp. These antelope probably had been born not more than two orthree days before we found them. Later, after a chase of more than amile, we caught one which was only a few hours old. Had it notinjured itself when dodging between my pony's legs we could neverhave secured it at all. 

Thus, nature, in the great scheme of life, has provided for herantelope children by blessing them with undreamed-of speed and onlyduring the first days of babyhood could a wolf catch them on theopen plain. When they are from two to three weeks old they run withthe females in herds of six or eight, and you cannot imagine what apretty sight it is to see the little fellows skimming like tiny, brown chickens beside their mothers. There is another wonderfulprovision for their life upon the desert. The digestive fluids ofthe stomach act upon the starch in the vegetation which they eat sothat it forms sufficient water for their needs. Therefore, somespecies never drink. 

The antelope choose a flat plain on which to give birth to theiryoung in order to be well away from the wolves which are theirgreatest enemy; and the fawns are taught to lie absolutelymotionless upon the ground until they know that they have beendiscovered. Apparently they are all born during the last days ofJune and in the first week of July. The great herds which weencountered were probably moving northward both to obtain bettergrazing and to drop their young on the Turin plain. During thisperiod the old bucks go off singly into the rolling ground, and theherds are composed only of does and yearling males. It was alwayspossible to tell at once if an antelope had a fawn upon the plain, for she would run in a wide circle around the spot and refuse to bedriven away. 

We encountered only two species of antelope between Kalgan and Urga. The one of which I have been writing, and with which we became bestacquainted, was the Mongolian gazelle (_Gazella gutturosa_). Theother was the goitered gazelle (_Gazella subgutturosa_). In thewestern Gobi, the Prjevalski gazelle (_Gazella prjevalski_) is moreabundant than the other species, but it never reaches the regionwhich we visited. 

The goitered antelope is seldom found on the rolling meadowlandsbetween Kalgan and Panj-kiang on the south, or between Turin andUrga on the north, according to our observations; they keep almostentirely to the Gobi Desert between Panj-kiang and Turin, and weoften saw them among the "nigger heads" or tussocks in the most aridparts. The Mongolian gazelle, on the other hand, is most abundant inthe grasslands both north and south of the Gobi, but neverthelesshas a continuous distribution across the plateau between Kalgan andUrga. 

On our northward trip in May, when we took motion pictures of theantelope on the Panj-kiang plain, both, species were present, butthe goitered gazelle far outnumbered the others--which is unusual inthat locality. It could always be distinguished from the Mongoliangazelle because of its smaller size, darker coloring, and the longtail which it carries straight up in the air at right angles to theback; the Mongolian antelope has an exceedingly short tail. Thehorns of both species differ considerably in shape and can easily bedistinguished. 

During the winter these antelope develop a coat of very long, softhair which is light brown-gray in color strongly tinged with rufouson the head and face. Its summer pelage is a beautiful orange-fawn. The winter coat is shed during May, and the animals lose their shortsummer hair in late August and early September. 

Both species have a greatly enlarged larynx from which the goiteredgazelle derives its name. What purpose this extraordinary characterserves the animal, I am at a loss to know. Certainly it is not togive them an exceptional "voice"; for, when wounded, I have heardthem make only a deep-toned roar which was by no means loud. Specimens of the larynx which we preserved in formalin are now beingprepared for anatomical study. 

Although the two species inhabit the same locality, they keep wellby themselves and only once, on the Panj-kiang plain, did we seethem running together in the same herd; then it was probably becausethey were frightened by the car. I doubt if they ever interbreedexcept in rare instances. 

The fact that these animals can develop such an extraordinary speedwas a great surprise to me, as undoubtedly it will be to mostnaturalists. Had we not been able to determine it accurately bymeans of the speedometers on our cars, I should never have daredstate that they could reach fifty-five or sixty miles an hour. Itmust be remembered that the animals can continue at such a highspeed only for a short distance--perhaps half a mile--and will neverexert themselves to the utmost unless they are thoroughlyfrightened. They would run just fast enough to keep well away fromthe cars or our horses, and it was only when we began to shoot thatthey showed what they were capable of doing. When the bullets beganto scatter about them they would seem to flatten several inches andrun at such a terrific speed that their legs appeared only as ablur. 

Of course, they have developed their fleetness as a protection fromenemies. Their greatest menace is the wolves, but since wedemonstrated that these animals cannot travel faster than aboutthirty miles an hour, the antelope are perfectly safe unless theyhappen to be caught off their guard. To prevent just this, thegazelles usually keep well out on the open plains and avoid rocks orabrupt hills which would furnish cover for a wolf. Of course, theyoften go into the rolling ground, but it is usually where the slopesare gradual and where they have sufficient space in which to protectthemselves. 

The gazelles have a perfectly smooth, even run when going at fullspeed. I have often seen them bound along when not particularlyfrightened, but never when they are really trying to get away in theshortest possible time. The front limbs, as in the case of a deer, act largely as supports and the real motive power comes from thehind legs. If an antelope has only a front leg broken no livinghorse can catch it, but with a shattered hind limb my pony could runit down. I have already related (see [the end of chapter IV]) how, in a car, we pursued an antelope with both front legs broken belowthe knee; even then, it reached a speed of fifteen miles an hour. The Mongolian plains are firm and hard with no bushes or otherobstructions and, consequently, are especially favorable for rapidtravel. 

The cheetah, or hunting leopard of Africa, has the reputation ofbeing able to reach a greater speed, for a short dash, than anyother animal in that country, and I have often wondered how it wouldfare in a race with a Mongolian gazelle. Unfortunately, conditionsin Africa are not favorable for the use of automobiles in hunting, and no actual facts as to the speed of the cheetah are available. 

At this camp, and during the journey back to Urga, we had manyglorious hunts. Each one held its own individual fascination, for notwo were just alike; and every day we learned something new aboutthe life history of the Mongolian antelope. We needed specimens fora group in the new Hall of Asiatic Life in the American Museum ofNatural History, as well as a series representing all ages of bothmales and females for scientific study. When we returned to Urga wehad them all. 

The hunting of large game was only one aspect of our work. Weusually returned to camp about two o'clock in the afternoon. As soonas tiffin had been eaten my wife worked at her photography, while Ibusied myself over the almost innumerable details of the preparationand cataloguing of our specimens. About six o'clock, accompanied bythe two Chinese taxidermists carrying bags of traps, we would leavethe tents. Sometimes we would walk several miles, meanwhilecarefully scrutinizing the ground for holes or traces of mammalworkings, and set eighty or one hundred traps. We might find acolony of meadow voles (_Microtus_) where dozens of "runways"betrayed their presence, or discover the burrows of the deserthamster (_Cricetulus_). These little fellows, not larger than ahouse mouse, have their tiny feet enveloped in soft fur, like theslippers of an Eskimo baby. 

As we walked back to camp in the late afternoon, we often saw akangaroo rat (_Alactaga mongolica_?) jumping across the plain, andwhen we had driven it into a hole, we could be sure to catch it in atrap the following morning. They are gentle little creatures, withhuge, round eyes, long, delicate ears, and tails tufted at the endlike the feathers on an arrow's shaft. The name expresses exactlywhat they are like--diminutive kangaroos--but, of course, they arerodents and not marsupials. During the glacial period of the earlyPleistocene, about one hundred thousand years ago, we know fromfossil remains that there were great invasions into Europe of mostof these types of tiny mammals, which we were catching during thisdelightful summer on the Mongolian plains. 

After two months we regretfully turned back toward Urga. Our summerwas to be divided between the plains on the south and the forests tothe north of the sacred city, and the first half of the work hadbeen completed. The results had been very satisfactory, and ourboxes contained five hundred specimens; but our hearts were sad. Thewide sweep of the limitless, grassy sea, the glorious morning rides, and the magic of the starlit nights had filled our blood. Even thelure of the unknown forests could not make us glad to go, for theplains had claimed us as their own. 

CHAPTER X

AN ADVENTURE IN THE LAMA CITY

Late on a July afternoon my wife and I stood disconsolately in themiddle of the road on the outskirts of Urga. We had halted becausethe road had ended abruptly in a muddy river. Moreover, the riverwas where it had no right to be, for we had traveled that roadbefore and had found only a tiny trickle across its dusty surface. We were disconsolate because we wished to camp that night in Urga, and there were abundant signs that it could not be done. 

At least the Mongols thought so, and we had learned that what aMongol does not do had best "give us pause. " They had accepted theriver with Oriental philosophy and had made their camps accordingly. Already a score of tents dotted the hillside, and _argul_ fires weresmoking in the doorways. Hundreds of carts were drawn up in anorderly array while a regiment of oxen wandered about the hillsideor sleepily chewed their cuds beside the loads. In a few hours ordays or weeks the river would disappear, and then they would go onto Urga. Meanwhile, why worry?

Two adventurous spirits, with a hundred camels, tried to cross. Wewatched the huge beasts step majestically into the water, only tohuddle together in a yellow-brown mass when they reached midstream. All their dignity fled, and they became merely frightened mountainsof flesh amid a chaos of writhing necks and wildly switching tails. 

But stranger still was a motor car standing on a partly submergedisland between two branches of the torrent. We learned later thatits owners had successfully navigated the first stream and enteredthe second. A flooded carburetor had resulted, and ere the car wasagain in running order, the water had risen sufficiently to maroonthem on the island. 

My wife and I both lack the philosophical nature of the Oriental, and it was a sore trial to camp within rifle shot of Urga. But wedid not dare leave our carts, loaded with precious specimens, to thecare of servants and the curiosity of an ever increasing horde ofMongols. 

For a well-nigh rainless month we had been hunting upon the plains, while only one hundred and fifty miles away Urga had had an almostdaily deluge. In midsummer heavy rain-clouds roll southward to burstagainst "God's Mountain, " which rears its green-clad summits fivethousand feet above the valley. Then it is only a matter of hoursbefore every streamlet becomes a swollen torrent. But they subsideas quickly as they rise, and the particular river which barred ourroad had lost its menace before the sun had risen in a cloudlessmorning sky. All the valley seemed in motion. We joined the motleythrong of camels, carts, and horsemen; and even the motor carcoughed and wheezed its way to Urga under the stimulus of twobearded Russians. 

[Illustration: Tibetan Yaks]

[Illustration: Our Caravan Crossing the Terelche River]

We made our camp on a beautiful bit of lawn within a few hundredyards of one of the most interesting of all the Urga temples. It isknown to the foreigners in the city as "God's Brother's House, " forit was the residence of the Hutukhtu's late brother. The templepresents a bewildering collection of carved gables and gayly paintedpavilions flaunting almost every color of the rainbow. Yvette and Iwere consumed with curiosity to see what was contained within thehigh palisades which surround the buildings. We knew it would beimpossible to obtain permission for her to go inside, and oneevening as we were walking along the walls we glanced through theopen gate. No one was in sight and from somewhere in the farinterior we heard the moaning chant of many voices. Evidently thelamas were at their evening prayers. 

We stepped inside the door intending only to take a rapid look. Theentire court was deserted, so we slipped through the second gate andstood just at the entrance of the main temple, the "holy of holies. "In the half darkness we could see the tiny points of yellow lightwhere candles burned before the altar. On either side was a doublerow of kneeling lamas, their wailing chant broken by the clash ofcymbals and the boom of drums. 

Beside the temple were a hideous foreign house and an enormous_yurt_--evidently the former residences of "God's Brother"; in thecorners of the compound were ornamental pavilions painted green andred. Except for these, the court was empty. 

Suddenly there was a stir among the lamas, and we dashed away likefrightened rabbits, dodging behind the gateposts until we were safeoutside. It was not until some days later that we learned what areally dangerous thing it was to do, for the temple is one of theholiest in Urga, and in it women are never allowed. Had a Mongolseen us, our camp would have been stormed by a mob of frenziedlamas. 

A few days later we had an experience which demonstrates how quicklytrouble can arise where religious superstitions are involved. Mywife and I had put the motion picture camera in one of the cartsand, with our Mongol driving, went to the summit of the hill abovethe Lama City to film a panoramic view of Urga. We, ourselves, wereon horseback. After getting the pictures, we drove down the mainstreet of the city and stopped before the largest temple, which Ihad photographed several times before. 

As soon as the motion picture machine was in position, about fivehundred lamas gathered about us. It was a good-natured crowd, however, and we had almost finished work, when a "black Mongol"(i. E. , one with a queue, not a lama) pushed his way among thepriests and began to harangue them violently. In a few moments heboldly grasped me by the arm. Fearing that trouble might arise, Ismiled and said, in Chinese, that we were going away. The Mongolbegan to gesticulate wildly and attempted to pull me with himfarther into the crowd of lamas, who also were becoming excited. Iwas being separated from Yvette, and realizing that it would bedangerous to get far away from her, I suddenly wrenched my arm freeand threw the Mongol to the ground; then I rushed through the lineof lamas surrounding Yvette, and we backed up against the cart. 

I had an automatic pistol in my pocket, but it would have beensuicide to shoot except as a last resort. When a Mongol "startsanything" he is sure to finish it; he is not like a Chinese, whowill usually run at the first shot. We stood for at least threeminutes with that wall of scowling brutes ten feet away. They wereundecided what to do and were only waiting for a leader to close in. One huge beast over six feet tall was just in front of me, and as Istood with my fingers crooked about the trigger of the automatic inmy pocket, I thought, "If you start, I'm going to nail you anyway. "

Just at this moment of indecision our Mongol leaped on my wife'spony, shouted that he was going to Duke Loobitsan Yangsen, aninfluential friend of ours, and dashed away. Instantly attentionturned from us to him. Fifty men were on horseback in a second, flying after him at full speed. I climbed into the cart, shouting toYvette to jump on Kublai Khan and run; but she would not leave me. At full speed we dashed down the hill, the plunging horsesscattering lamas right and left. Our young Mongol had saved us froma situation which momentarily might have become critical. 

At the entrance to the main street of Urga below the Lama City I sawthe black Mongol who had started all the trouble. I jumped to theground, seized him by the collar and one leg, and attempted to throwhim into the cart for I had a little matter to settle with him whichcould best be done to my satisfaction where we were withoutspectators. 

At the same instant a burly policeman, wearing a saber fully fivefeet long, seized my horse by the bridle. At the black Mongol'sinstigation (who, I discovered, was himself a policeman) he had beenwaiting to arrest us when we came into the city. Since it wasimpossible to learn what had caused the trouble, Yvette rode toAndersen, Meyer's compound to bring back Mr. Olufsen and hisinterpreter. She found the whole courtyard swarming with excitedMongol soldiers. A few moments later Olufsen arrived, and we wereallowed to return to his house on parole. Then he visited theForeign Minister, who telephoned the police that we were not to bemolested further. 

We could never satisfactorily determine what it was all about forevery one had a different story. The most plausible explanation wasas follows. Russians had been rather _persona non grata_ in Urgasince the collapse of the empire, and the Mongols were ready toannoy them whenever it was possible to do so and "get away with it. "All foreigners are supposed to be Russians by the average nativeand, when the black Mongol discovered us using a strange machine, hethought it an excellent opportunity to "show off" before the lamas. Therefore, he told them that we were casting a spell over the greattemple by means of the motion picture camera which I was swinging upand down and from side to side. This may not be the true explanationof the trouble but at least it was the one which sounded mostlogical to us. 

Our lama had been caught in the city, and it was with difficultythat we were able to obtain his release. The police charged that hetried to escape when they ordered him to stop. He related how theyhad slapped his face and pulled his ears before they allowed him toleave the jail, and he was a very much frightened young man when heappeared at Andersen, Meyer's compound. However, he was delighted tohave escaped so easily, as he had had excellent prospects ofspending a week or two in one of the prison coffins. 

The whole performance had the gravest possibilities, and we wereexceedingly fortunate in not having been seriously injured orkilled. By playing upon their superstitions, the black Mongol had soinflamed the lamas that they were ready for anything. I should neverhave allowed them to separate me from my wife and, to prevent it, probably would have had to use my pistol. Had I begun to shoot, death for both of us would have been inevitable. 

The day that we arrived in Urga from the plains we found the cityflooded. The great square in front of the horse market was achocolate-colored lake; a brown torrent was rushing down the mainstreet; and every alley was two feet deep in water, or a mass ofliquid mud. It was impossible to walk without wading to the kneesand even our horses floundered and slipped about, covering us withmud and water. The river valley, too, presented quite a differentpicture than when we had seen it last. Instead of open sweeps ofgrassland dotted with an occasional _yurt_, now there were hundredsof felt dwellings interspersed with tents of white or blue. It waslike the encampment of a great army, or a collection of hugebeehives. 

Most of the inhabitants were Mongols from the city who had pitchedtheir _yurts_ in the valley for the summer. Although the wealthiestnatives seem to feel that for the reception of guests their"position" demands a foreign house, they seldom live in it. DukeLoobitsan Yangsen had completed his mansion the previous winter. Itwas built in Russian style and furnished with an assortment ofhideous rugs and foreign furniture which made one shiver. But in theyard behind the house his _yurt_ was pitched, and there he lived incomfort. 

Loobitsan was a splendid fellow--one of the best types of Mongolaristocrats. From the crown of his finely molded head to the toes ofhis pointed boots, he was every inch a duke. I saw him in his houseone day reclining on a _kang_ while he received half a dozen minorofficials, and his manner of quiet dignity and conscious powerrecalled accounts of the Mongol princes as Marco Polo saw them. Loobitsan liked foreigners and one could always find a cordialreception in his compound. He spoke excellent Chinese and wasunusually well educated for a Mongol. 

Although he was in charge of the customs station at Mai-ma-cheng andowned considerable property, which he rented to the Chinese forvegetable gardens, his chief wealth was in horses. In Mongolia aman's worldly goods are always measured in horses, not in dollars. When he needs cash he sells a pony or two and buys more if he hasany surplus silver. His bank is the open plain; his herdsmen are theguardians of his riches. 

Loobitsan's wife, the duchess, was a nice-looking woman who seemedrather bored with life. She rejoiced in two gorgeous strings ofpearls, which on state occasions hung from the silver-encrustedhorns of hair to the shoulders of her brocade jacket. Ordinarily sheappeared in a loose red gown and hardly looked regal. 

Loobitsan had never seen Peking and was anxious to go. When GeneralHsu Shu-tseng made his _coup d'état_ in November, 1919, Mr. Larsenand Loobitsan came to the capital as representatives of theHutukhtu, and one day, as my wife was stepping into a millinery shopon Rue Marco Polo, she met him dressed in all his Mongol splendor. But he was so closely chaperoned by Chinese officials that he couldnot enjoy himself. I saw Larsen not long afterward, and he told methat Loobitsan was already pining for the open plains of his belovedMongolia. 

In mid-July, when we returned to Urga, the vegetable season was atits height. The Chinese, of course, do all the gardening; and thesplendid radishes, beets, onions, carrots, cabbages, and beans, which were brought every day to market, showed the wonderfulpossibilities for development along these lines. North of theBogdo-ol there is a superabundance of rain and vegetables grow sorapidly in the rich soil that they are deliciously sweet and tender, besides being of enormous size. While we were on the plains our foodhad consisted largely of meat and we reveled in the change of diet. Wewished often for fruit but that is nonexistent in Mongolia except afew, hard, watery pears, which merchants import from China. 

Mr. Larsen was in Kalgan for the summer but Mr. Olufsen turned overhis house and compound for our work. I am afraid we bothered himunmercifully, yet his good nature was unfailing and he was never toobusy to assist us in the innumerable details of packing thespecimens we had obtained upon the plains and in preparing for ourtrip into the forests north of Urga. It is men like him who makepossible scientific work in remote corners of the world. 

CHAPTER XI

MONGOLS AT HOME

Until we left Urga the second time Mongolia, to us, had meant onlythe Gobi Desert and the boundless, rolling plains. When we set ourfaces northward we found it was also a land of mountains and rivers, of somber forests and gorgeous flowers. 

A new forest always thrills me mightily. Be it of stately northernpines, or a jungle tangle in the tropics, it is so filled withglamour and mystery that I enter it with a delightful feeling ofexpectation. There is so much that is concealed from view, it is sopregnant with the possibility of surprises, that I am as excited asa child on Christmas morning. 

The forests of Mongolia were by no means disappointing. We enteredthem just north of Urga where the Siberian life zone touches theplains of the central Asian region and the beginnings of a new faunaare sharply delineated by the limit of the trees. We had learnedthat the Terelche River would offer a fruitful collecting ground. Itwas only forty miles from Urga and the first day's trip was adelight. We traveled northward up a branch valley enclosed byforested hills and carpeted with flowers. Never had we seen suchflowers! Acre after acre of bluebells, forget-me-nots, daisies, buttercups, and cowslips converted the entire valley into a vast"old-fashioned garden, " radiantly beautiful. Our camp that night wasat the base of a mountain called the Da Wat which shut us off fromthe Terelche River. 

On the second morning, instead of golden sunshine, we awoke to acloud-hung sky and floods of rain. It was one of those days wheneverything goes wrong; when with all your heart you wish to swearbut instead you must smile and smile and keep on smiling. No onewished to break camp in the icy deluge but there were three marshesbetween us and the Terelche River which were bad enough in dryweather. A few hours of rain would make them impassable, perhaps forweeks. 

My wife and I look back upon that day and the next as one of ourfew, real hardships. After eight hours of killing work, wet to theskin and almost frozen, we crossed the first dangerous swamp andreached the summit of the mountain. Then the cart, with our mostvaluable possessions, plunged off the road on a sharp descent andcrashed into the forest below. Chen and I escaped death by a miracleand the other Chinese taxidermist, who was safe and sound, promptlyhad hysterics. It was discouraging, to say the least. We camped inthe gathering darkness on a forty-five-degree slope in mud twelveinches deep. Next day we gathered up our scattered belongings, repaired the cart, and reached the river. 

I had a letter from Duke Loobitsan Yangsen to a famous old hunter, Tserin Dorchy by name, who lives in the Terelche region. He had beengone for six days on a shooting trip when we came into the beautifulvalley where his _yurts_ were pitched, but his wife welcomed us withtrue Mongolian hospitality and a great dish of cheese. Our own campwe made just within the forest, a mile away. 

For a week we hunted and trapped in the vicinity, awaiting TserinDorchy's return. Our arrival created a deal of interest among thehalf dozen families in the neighborhood and, after each had paid aformal call, they apparently agreed that we were worthy of beingaccepted into their community. We were nomads for the time, just asthey are for life. We had pitched our tents in the forest, as theyhad erected their _yurts_ in the meadow beside the river. When thebiting winds of winter swept the valley a few months later theywould move, with all their sheep and goats, to the shelter of thehills and we would seek new hunting grounds. 

Before many days we learned all the valley gossip. Moreover, wefurnished some ourselves for one of the Chinese taxidermists becameenamored of a Mongol maiden. There were two of them, to be exact, and they both "vamped" him persistently. The toilettes with whichthey sought to allure him were marvels of brilliance, and one ofthem actually scrubbed her little face and hands with a cake of myyellow, scented soap. 

Our servant's affections finally centered upon the younger girl andI smiled paternally upon the wild-wood romance. Every night, with asheepish grin, Chen would ask to borrow a pony. The responsibilitiesof chaperones sat lightly on our shoulders, but sometimes my wifeand I would wander out to the edge of the forest and watch him tothe bottom of the hill. Usually his love was waiting and they wouldride off together in the moonlight--where, we never asked!

But we could not blame the boy--those Mongolian nights were made forlovers. The marvel of them we hold among our dearest memories. Wherever we may be, the fragrance of pine trees or the sodden smellof a marsh carries us back in thought to the beautiful valley andfills our hearts again with the glory of its clear, white nights. 

No matter what the day brought forth, we looked forward to theevening hunt as best of all. As we trotted our ponies homewardthrough the fresh, damp air we could watch the shadows deepen in thesomber masses of the forest, and on the hilltops see the raggedsilhouettes of sentinel pines against the rose glow of the sky. Ribbons of mist, weaving in and out above the stream, clothed thealders in ghostly silver and rested in billowy masses upon themarshes. Ere the moon had risen, the stars blazed out like tinylanterns in the sky. Over all the valley there was peaceunutterable. 

We were soon admitted to a delightful comradeship with the Mongolsof our valley. We shared their joys and sorrows and nursed theirminor ills. First to seek our aid was the wife of the absent hunter, Tserin Dorchy. She rode up one day with a two-year-old baby on herarm. The little fellow was badly infected with eczema, and for threeweeks one of the lamas in the tiny temple near their _yurt_ had beenmumbling prayers and incantations in his behalf, without avail. Fortunately, I had a supply of zinc ointment and before the monthwas ended the baby was almost well. Then came the lama with his bill"for services rendered, " and Tserin Dorchy contributed one hundreddollars to his priestly pocket. A young Mongol with a dislocatedshoulder was my next patient, and when I had made him whole, thelama again claimed the credit and collected fifty dollars as thehonorarium for his prayers. And so it continued throughout thesummer; I made the cures, and the priest got the fees. 

Although the Mongols all admitted the efficacy of my foreignmedicines, nevertheless they could not bring themselves to dispensewith the lama and his prayers. Superstition was too strong and fearthat the priest would send an army of evil spirits flocking to their_yurts_ if they offended him brought the money, albeit reluctantly, from their pockets. Although the lama never proposed a partnershiparrangement, as I thought he might have done, he spent much timeabout our camp and often brought us bowls of curded milk and cheese. He was a wandering priest and not a permanent resident of thevalley, but he evidently decided not to wander any farther until we, too, should leave, for he was with us until the very end. 

A short time after we had made our camp near the Terelche River amessenger arrived from Urga with a huge package of mail. In it was acopy of _Harper's Magazine_ containing an account of a flying visitwhich I had made to Urga in September, 1918. [Footnote: _Harper'sMagazine_, June, 1919, pp. 1-16. ] There were half a dozen Mongolsnear our tent, among whom was Madame Tserin Dorchy. I explained thepictures to the hunter's wife in my best Chinese while Yvette "stoodby" with her camera and watched results. Although the woman hadvisited Urga several times she had never seen a photograph or amagazine and for ten minutes there was no reaction. Then sherecognized a Mongol headdress similar to her own. With a gasp ofastonishment she pointed it out to the others and burst into aperfect torrent of guttural expletives. A picture of the greattemple at Urga, where she once had gone to worship, brought forthanother volume of Mongolian adjectives and her friends literallyfought for places in the front row. 

News travels quickly in Mongolia and during the next week men andwomen rode in from _yurts_ forty or fifty miles away to see thatmagazine. I will venture to say that no American publication everreceived more appreciation or had a more picturesque audience thandid that copy of _Harper's_. 

The absent Tserin Dorchy returned one day when I was riding down thevalley with his wife. We saw two strange figures on horsebackemerging from the forest, each with a Russian rifle on his back. Their saddles were strung about with half-dried skins--four roebuck, a musk deer, a moose, and a pair of elk antlers in the "velvet. "

[Illustration: Our Base Camp at the Edge of the Forest]

[Illustration: The Mongol Village of the Terelche Valley]

With a joyful shout Madame Tserin Dorchy rode toward her husband. Hewas an oldish man, of fifty-five years perhaps, with a face as driedand weather-beaten as the leather beneath his saddle. He may havebeen glad to see her but his only sign of greeting was a "_sai_" anda nod to include us both. Her pleasure was undisguised, however, andas we rode down the valley she chattered volubly between thebusiness of driving in half a dozen horses and a herd of sheep. Themonosyllabic replies of the hunter were delivered in a voice whichseemed to come from a long way off or from out of the earth beneathhis pony's feet. I was interested to see what greeting there wouldbe upon his arrival at the _yurt_. His two daughters and his infantson were waiting at the door but he had not even a word for them andonly a pat upon the head for the baby. 

All Mongols are independent but Tserin Dorchy was an extreme inevery way. He ruled the half dozen families in the valley like anautocrat. What he commanded was done without a question. I wasanxious to get away and announced that we would start the day afterhis arrival. "No, " said he, "we will go two days from now. " Argumentwas of no avail. So far as he was concerned, the matter was closed. When it came to arranging wages he stated his terms, which wereexorbitant. I could accept them or not as I pleased; he would notreduce his demands by a single copper. 

As a matter of fact, offers of money make little impression upon theordinary Mongols. They produce well-nigh everything they need forthey dress in sheepskins during the winter and eat little else thanmutton. When they want cloth, tea, or ammunition, they simply sell asheep or a pony or barter with the Chinese merchants. 

We found that the personal equation enters very largely into anydealings with a Mongol. If he likes you, remuneration is anincident. If he is not interested, money does not tempt him Hisindependence is a product of the wild, free life upon the plains. Herelies entirely upon himself for he has learned that in the strugglefor existence, it is he himself that counts. Of the Chinaman, theopposite is true. His life is one of the community and he dependsupon his family and his village. He is gregarious above all else andhe hates to live alone. In this dependence upon his fellow men heknows that money counts--and there is very little that a Chinamanwill not do for money. 

On one of his trips across Mongolia, Mr. Coltman's car became badlymired within a stone's throw of a Mongol _yurt_. Two or three oxenwere grazing in front of the house and Coltman asked the native topull his car out of the mud. The Mongol, who was comfortably smokinghis pipe in the sun, was not at all interested in the matter, butfinally remarked casually that he would do it for eight dollars. There was no argument. Eight dollars was what he said, and eightdollars it would have to be or he would not move. The entireoperation of dragging the car to firm ground consumed just fourminutes. But this instance was an exception for usually a Mongol isthe very essence of good nature and is ready to assist whenever atraveler is in difficulty. 

Tserin Dorchy's independence kept us in a constant state ofirritation for it was manifested in a dozen different ways. We wouldgladly have dispensed with his services but his word was law in thecommunity and, if he had issued a "bull" against us, we could nothave obtained another man. For all his age, he was an excellenthunter and we came to be good friends. 

The old man's independence once led him into serious trouble. He hadoften looked at the Bogdo-ol with longing eyes and had made shortexcursions, without his gun, into its sacred forests. On one ofthese trips he saw a magnificent elk with antlers such as he hadnever dreamed were carried by any living animal. He could not forgetthat deer. Its memory was a thorn that pricked him wherever else hehunted. Finally he determined to have it, even if Mongolian law andthe Lama Church had proclaimed it sacred. 

Toward the end of July, when he deemed the antlers just ripe forplucking, he slipped into the forest during the night and climbedthe mountain. After two days he killed the elk. But the lamas whopatrol "God's Mountain" had heard the shot and drove him into agreat rock-strewn gorge where they lost his trail. Believing that hewas still within hearing distance, they shouted to one another thatit was useless to hunt longer and that they had best return. Thenthey concealed themselves and awaited results. An hour later TserinDorchy crawled out from under a bowlder directly into their hands. 

He had been well-nigh killed before the lamas brought him down toUrga and was still unconscious when they dumped him unceremoniouslyinto one of the prison coffins. He was sentenced to remain a year;but the old man would not have lived a month if Duke LoobitsanYangsen, with whom he had often hunted, had not obtained hisrelease. His independent spirit is by no means chastened, however, and I feel sure that he will shoot another deer on the Bogdo-olbefore he dies!

Three days after his return home, my wife and I left with him andthree other Mongols on our first real hunt. Our equipment consistedonly of sleeping bags and such food as could be carried on ourhorses; it was a time when living "close to nature" was reallynecessary. Eight miles away we stopped at the entrance to a tinyvalley. By arranging a bit of canvas over the low branches of alarch tree we prepared a shelter for ourselves and another for thehunters. 

In fifteen minutes camp was ready and a fire blazing. When a hugeiron basin of water had begun to warm one of the Mongols threw in ahandful of brick tea, which resembled nothing so much as powderedtobacco. After the black fluid had boiled vigorously for ten minuteseach one filled his wooden eating bowl, put in a great chunk ofrancid butter, and then a quantity of finely-ground meal. This iswhat the Tibetans call _tsamba_, and the buttered tea was preparedexactly as we had seen the Tibetans make it. The tsamba, however, was only to enable them to "carry on" until we killed some game; formeat is the Mongols' "staff of life, " and they care little foranything except animal food. 

The evening hunt yielded no results. Two of the Mongols had missed abear, I had seen a roebuck, and the old man had lost a wounded muskdeer on the mountain ridge above the camp. But the game was thereand we knew where to find it on the morrow. In the gray light ofearly morning Tserin Dorchy and I rode up the valley through thedew-soaked grass. Once the old man stopped to examine the rootingsof a _ga-hai_ (wild boar), then he continued steadily along thestream bed. In the half-gloom of the forest the bushes and treesseemed flat and colorless but suddenly the sun burned through anhorizon cloud, flooding the woods with golden light. The wholeforest seemed instantly to awaken. It was as though we had come intoa dimly lighted room and touched an electric switch. The trees andbushes assumed a dozen subtle shades of green, and the flowersblazed like jewels in the gorgeous woodland carpet. 

I should have liked to spend the morning in the forest but we knewthe deer were feeding in the open. On foot we climbed upward throughknee-high grass to the summit of a hill. There seemed nothing livingin the meadow but as we walked along the ridge a pair of grouse shotinto the air followed by half a dozen chicks which buzzed away likebrown bullets to the shelter of the trees. We crossed a flatdepression and rested for a moment on a rounded hilltop. Below us anew valley sloped downward, bathed in sunshine. Tserin Dorchywandered slowly to the right while I studied the edge of a marshwith my glasses. 

Suddenly I heard the muffled beat of hoofs. Jerking the glasses frommy eyes I saw a huge roebuck, crowned with a splendid pair ofantlers, bound into view not thirty feet away. For the fraction of asecond he stopped, with his head thrown back, then dashed along thehillside. That instant of hesitation gave me just time to seize myrifle, catch a glimpse of the yellow-red body through the rearsight, and fire as he disappeared. Leaping to my feet, I saw fourslender legs waving in the air. The bullet had struck him in theshoulder and he was down for good. 

My heart pounded with exultation as I lifted his magnificent head. He was the finest buck I had ever seen and I gloated over his bodyas a miser handles his gold. And gold, shining in the sunlight, wasnever more beautiful than his spotless summer coat. 

Right where he lay upon the hillside, amid a veritable garden ofbluebells, daisies, and yellow roses, was the setting for the groupwe wished to prepare in the American Museum of Natural History. Hewould be its central figure for his peer could not be found in allMongolia. 

As I stood there in the brilliant sunlight, mentally planning thegroup, I thought how fortunate I was to have been born a naturalist. A sportsman shoots a deer and takes its head; later, it hangs abovehis fireplace or in the trophy room. If he be one of imagination, inyears to come it will bring back to him the feel of the morning air, the fragrance of the pine trees, and the wild thrill of exultationas the buck went down. But it is a memory picture only and limitedto himself. The mounted head can never bring to others the smallestpart of the joy he felt and the scene he saw. 

The naturalist shares his pleasure and, after all, it is largelythat which counts. When the group is constructed in the Museum underhis direction he can see reproduced with fidelity and in minutestdetail this hidden corner of the world. He can share with thousandsof city dwellers the joy of his hunt and teach them something of theanimals he loves and the lands they call their own. 

To his scientific training he owes another source of pleasure. Everyanimal is a step in the solution of some one of nature's problems. Perhaps it is a new discovery, a species unknown to science. Asia isfull of such surprises--I have already found many. Be the specimenlarge or small, if it has fallen to your trap or rifle, there is thethrill of knowing that you have traced one more small line on thewhite portion of nature's map. 

While I was gazing at the fallen buck Tserin Dorchy stood like astatue on the hilltop, scanning the forest and valley with the hopethat my shot had disturbed another animal. In a few moments he camedown to me. The old man had lost some of his accustomed calm and, with thumb upraised, murmured, "_Sai_, _sai_. " Then he gave, invivid pantomime, a recital of how he suddenly surprised the buckfeeding just below the hill crest and how he had seen me jerk theglasses from my eyes and shoot. 

Sitting down beside the deer we went through the ceremony of asmoke. Then Tserin Dorchy eviscerated the animal, being careful topreserve the heart, liver, stomach, and intestines. Like all otherOrientals with whom I have hunted, the Mongols boiled and ate theviscera as soon as we reached camp and seemed to consider them anespecial delicacy. 

Some weeks later we killed two elk and Tserin Dorchy inflated anddried the intestines. These were to be used as containers for butterand mutton fat. After tanning the stomach he manufactured from it abag to contain milk or other liquids. His wife showed me some reallybeautiful leather which she had made from roebuck skins. Tanninghides and making felt were the only strictly Mongolian industrieswhich we observed in the region visited by our expedition. TheMongols do a certain amount of logging and charcoal burning and inthe autumn they cut hay; but with these exceptions we never saw themdo any work which could not be done from horseback. 

Our first hunting trip lasted ten days and in the following monthsthere were many others. We became typical nomads, spending a day ortwo in some secluded valley only to move again to other huntinggrounds. For the time we were Mongols in all essentials. Theprimitive instincts, which lie just below the surface in us all, responded to the subtle lure of nature and without an effort weslipped into the care-free life of these children of the woods andplains. 

We slept at night under starlit skies in the clean, fresh forest;the first gray light of dawn found us stealing through thedew-soaked grass on the trail of elk, moose, boar or deer; and whenthe sun was high, like animals, we spent the hours in sleep until thelengthening shadows sent us out again for the evening hunt. In thosedays New York seemed to be on another planet and very, very faraway. Happiness and a great peace was ours, such as those who dwellin cities can never know. 

In the midst of our second hunt the Mongols suddenly announced thatthey must return to the Terelche Valley. We did not want to go, butTserin Dorchy was obdurate. With the limited Chinese at our commandwe could not learn the reason, and at the base camp Lu, "theinterpreter, " was wholly incoherent. "To-morrow, plenty Mongolcome, " he said. "Riding pony, all same Peking. Two men catch hold, both fall down. " My wife was perfectly sure that he had lost hismind, but by a flash of intuition I got his meaning. If was to be afield meet. "Riding pony, all same Peking" meant races, and "two mencatch hold, both fall down" could be nothing else than wrestling. Iwas very proud of myself, and Lu was immensely relieved. 

Athletic contests are an integral part of the life of every Mongolcommunity, as I knew, and the members of our valley family were tohold their annual games. At Urga, in June, the great meet which theLiving God blesses with his presence is an amazing spectacle, reminiscent of the pageants of the ancient emperors. All the _elite_of Mongolia gather on the banks of the Tola River, dressed in theirmost splendid robes, and the archery, wrestling, and horse racingare famous throughout the East. 

This love of sport is one of the most attractive characteristics ofthe Mongols. It is a common ground on which a foreigner immediatelyhas a point of contact. The Chinese, on the contrary, despise allforms of physical exercise. They consider it "bad form, " and they donot understand any sport which calls for violent exertion. Theyprefer to take a quiet walk, carrying their pet bird in a cage foran airing; to play a game of cards; or, if they must travel, to lollback in a sedan chair, with the curtains drawn and every breath ofair excluded. 

The Terelche Valley meet was held on a flat strip of ground justbelow our camp. As my wife and I rode out of the forest, a dozenMongols swept by, gorgeous in flaming red and streaming peacockplumes. They waved a challenge to us, and we joined them in a wildrace to a flag in the center of the field. On the side of the hillsat a row of lamas in dazzling yellow gowns; opposite them were thejudges, among whom I recognized Tserin Dorchy, though he was sobedecked, behatted and beribboned that I could hardly realize thatit was the same old fellow with whom we had lived in camp. (Ipresume if he saw me in the clothes of civilization he would beequally surprised. )

In front of the judges, who represented the most respected laity ofthe community, were bowls of cheese cut into tiny cubes. Thespectators consisted of two groups of women, who sat some distanceapart in compact masses, the "horns" of their headdresses almostinterlocked. Their costumes were marvels of brilliance. They lookedlike a flock of gorgeous butterflies, which had alighted for amoment on the grass. 

The first race consisted of about a dozen ponies, ridden byfourteen-year-old boys and girls. They swept up the valley from thestarting point in full run, hair streaming, and uttering wailingyells. The winner was led by two old Mongols to the row of lamas, before whom he prostrated himself twice, and received a handful ofcheese. This he scattered broadcast, as he was conductedceremoniously to the judges, from whom he returned with palmsbrimming with bits of cheese. 

Finally, all the contestants in the races, and half a dozen of theMongols on horseback, lined up in front of the priests, each onesinging a barbaric chant. Then they circled about the lamas, beatingtheir horses until they were in a full run. After the race camewrestling matches. The contestants sparred for holds and whenfinally clinched, each with a grip on the other's waistband, endeavored to obtain a fall by suddenly heaving. When the lastwrestling match was finished, a tall Mongol raised the yellowbanner, and followed by every man and boy on horseback, circledabout the seated lamas. Faster and faster they rode, yelling likedemons, and then strung off across the valley to the nearest _yurt_. 

Although the sports in themselves were not remarkable, the scene waspicturesque in the extreme. Opposite to the grassy hill theforest-clad mountains rose, tier upon tier, in dark green masses. The brilliant yellow lamas faced by the Mongols in their blazingrobes and pointed yellow hats, the women, flashing with "jewels" andsilver, the half-wild chant, and the rush of horses, gave a barbarictouch which thrilled and fascinated us. We could picture this samescene seven hundred years ago, for it is an ancient custom which hascome down from the days of Kublai Khan. It was as though the veil ofcenturies had been lifted for a moment to allow us to carry away, inmotion pictures, this drama of Mongolian life. 

CHAPTER XII

NOMADS OF THE FOREST

Three days after the field meet we left with Tserin Dorchy and twoother Mongols for a wapiti hunt. We rode along the Terelche Riverfor three miles, sometimes splashing through the soggy edges of amarsh, and again halfway up a hillside where the ground was firm andhard; then, turning west on a mountain slope, we came to a lowplateau which rolled away in undulating sweeps of bush-land betweenthe edges of the dark pine woods. It was a truly boreal landscape;we were on the edge of the forest, which stretches in a vast, rolling sea of green far beyond the Siberian frontier. 

From the summit of the table-land we descended between dark walls ofpine trees to a beautiful valley filled with parklike openings. Justat dark Tserin Dorchy turned abruptly into the stream and crossed toa pretty grove of spruces on a little island formed by two branchesof the river. It was as secluded as a cavern, and made an idealplace in which to camp. A hundred feet away the tent was invisibleand, save for the tiny wreaths of smoke which curled above thetree-tops, there was no sign of our presence there. 

After dinner Tserin Dorchy shouldered a pack of skins and went to a"salt lick" in a meadow west of camp to spend the night. He returnedin the first gray light of dawn, just as I was making coffee, andreported that he had heard wapiti barking, but that no animals hadvisited the lick. He directed me to go along the hillsides north ofcamp, while the Mongol hunters struck westward across the mountains. 

I had not been gone an hour, and had just worked across the lowerend of a deep ravine, when I heard a wapiti bark above and behindme. It was a hoarse roar, exactly like a roebuck, except that it wasdeeper toned and louder. I was thrilled as though by an electriccurrent. It seemed very far away, much farther than it really was, and as I crept to the summit of a ridge a splendid bull wapiti brokethrough the underbrush. He had been feeding in the bottom of theravine and saw my head instantly as it appeared above the sky line. There was no chance to shoot because of the heavy cover; and evenwhen he paused for a moment on the opposite hillside a screen oftree branches was in my way. 

Absolutely disgusted with myself, I followed the animal's trailuntil it was lost in the heavy forest. The wapiti was gone for good, but on the way back to camp I picked up a roebuck which acted assome balm to my injured feelings. 

I had climbed to the crest of the mountains enclosing the valley inwhich we were camped, and was working slowly down the rim of a deepravine. In my soft leather moccasins I could walk over the springymoss without a sound, and suddenly saw a yellow-red form movingabout in a luxurious growth of grass and tinted leaves. My heartmissed a beat, for I thought it was a wapiti. 

Instantly I dropped behind a bush and, as the animal moved into theopen, I saw it was an enormous roebuck bearing a splendid pair ofantlers. I watched him for a moment, then aimed low behind theforeleg and fired. The deer bounded into the air and rolled to thebottom of the ravine, kicking feebly; my bullet had burst the heart. It was one of the few times I have ever seen an animal instantlykilled with a heart shot for usually they run a few yards, and thensuddenly collapse. 

The buck was almost as large as the first one I had killed withTserin Dorchy but it had a twisted right antler. Evidently it hadbeen injured during the animal's youth and had continued to grow atright angles to the head, instead of straight up in the normal way. 

When I reached camp I found Yvette busily picking currants in thebushes beside the stream. Her face and hands were covered with redstains and she looked like a very naughty little boy who had runaway from school for a day in the woods. Although blueberries grewon every hillside, we never found strawberries, such as the Russiansin Urga gather on the Bogdo-ol, and only one patch of raspberries ona burned-off mountain slope. But the currants were delicious whensmothered in sugar. 

Yvette and I rode out to the spot where I had killed the roebuck tobring it in on Kublai Khan and before we returned the Mongol huntershad reached camp; neither of them had seen game of any kind. Duringthe day we discovered some huge trout in the stream almost at ourdoor. We had no hooks or lines, but the Mongols devised a way tocatch the fish which brought us food, although it would have made asportsman shiver. They built a dam of stones across the stream andone man waded slowly along, beating the water with a branch to drivethe trout out of the pools into the ripples; then we dashed into thewater and tried to catch them with our hands. At least a dozen gotaway but we secured three by cornering them among the rocks. 

They were huge trout, nearly three feet long. Unfortunately I wasnot able to preserve any of them and I do not know what species theyrepresented. The Mongols and Chinese often catch the same fish inthe Tola River by means of nets and we sometimes bought them inUrga. One, which we put on the scales, weighed nine pounds. AlthoughTed MacCallie tried to catch them with a fly at Urga he never hadany success but they probably would take live bait. 

August 20 was our second day in camp. At dawn I was awakened by thepatter of rain on the tent and soon it became a steady downpour. There was no use in hunting and I went back to sleep. At seveno'clock Chen, who was fussing about the fire, rushed over to saythat he could see two wapiti on the opposite mountain. Yvette and Iscrambled out of our sleeping bags just in time to see a doe and afawn silhouetted against the sky rim as they disappeared over thecrest. Half an hour later they returned, and I tried a stalk but Ilost them in the fog and rain. Tserin Dorchy believed that theanimals had gone into a patch of forest on the other side of themountain. We tried to drive them out but the only thing thatappeared was a four-year-old roebuck which the Mongol killed with asingle shot. 

[Illustration: Wrestlers at Terelche Valley Field Meet]

[Illustration: Women Spectators at the Field Meet]

We had ridden up the mountain by zigzagging across the slope, butwhen we started back I was astounded to see Tserin Dorchy keep tohis saddle. The wet grass was so slippery that I could not evenstand erect and half the time was sliding on my back, while KublaiKhan picked his way carefully down the steep descent. The Mongolnever left his horse till we reached camp. Sometimes he even urgedthe pony to a trot and, moreover, had the roebuck strapped behindhis saddle. I would not have ridden down that mountain side for allthe deer in Mongolia!

It had begun to rain in earnest by eleven o'clock, and we spent aquiet afternoon. There is a charm about a rainy day when one canread comfortably and let it pour. The steady patter on the tentgives one the delightful sensation of immediately escaping extremediscomfort. There is no pleasure in being warm unless the weather iscold; and one never realizes how agreeable it is to be dry unlessthe day is wet. This day was very wet indeed. We had a month'saccumulation of unopened magazines which a Mongol had brought to ourbase camp just before we left, so there was no chance of beingbored. The fire had been built half under a huge, back-log whichkept a cheery glow of coals throughout all the downpour, and Chenmade us "_chowdzes_"--delicious little balls of meat mixed withonions and seasoned with Chinese sauce. The Mongols slept and ateand slept some more. We ate and slept and read. Therefore, we werevery happy. 

The weather during that summer in the forest was a source ofconstant surprise to us. We had never seen such rapid changes frombrilliant sunshine to sheets of rain. For an hour or two the skymight stretch above us like a vast blue curtain flecked with tinymasses of snow-white clouds. Suddenly, a leaden blanket would spreaditself over every inch of celestial space, while a rush of rain andwind changed the forest to a black chaos of writhing branches anddripping leaves. In fifteen minutes the storm would sweep across themountain tops, and the sun would again flood our peaceful valleywith the golden light of early autumn. 

For autumn had already reached us even though the season was onlymid-August. It was like October in New York, and we had nightlyfrosts which withered the countless flowers and turned the leaves tored and gold. In the morning, when I crossed the meadows to theforest, the grass was white with frost and crackled beneath my feetlike delicate threads of spun glass. My moccasins were powdered withgleaming crystals of frozen dew, but at the first touch of sun everytwig and leaf and blade of grass began to drip, as though from aheavy rain. My feet and legs waist-high were soaked in half an hour, and at the end of the morning hunt I was as wet as though I hadwaded a dozen rivers. 

One cannot move on foot in northern Mongolia without the certaintyof a thorough wetting. When the sun has dried the dew, there areswamps and streamlets in every valley and even far up the mountainslopes. It is the heavy rainfall, the rich soil, and the brilliantsunshine that make northern Mongolia a paradise of luxurious grassand flowers, even though the real summer lasts only from May tillAugust. Then, the valleys are like an exquisite garden and the woodsare ablaze with color. Bluebells, their stalks bending under theweight of blossoms, clothe every hillside in a glorious azure dressbespangled with yellow roses, daisies, and forget-me-nots. But Ithink I like the wild poppies best of all, for their delicate, fragile beauty is wonderfully appealing. I learned to love themfirst in Alaska, where their pale, yellow faces look up happily fromthe storm-swept hills of the Pribilof Islands in the Bering Sea. 

Besides its flowers, this northern country is one of exceedingbeauty. The dark green forests of spruce, larch and pine, broken nowand then by a grove of poplars or silver birches, the secludedvalleys and the rounded hills are strangely restful and give one asense of infinite peace. It is a place to go for tired nerves. Ragged peaks, towering mountains, and yawning chasms, splendid asthey are, may be subtly disturbing, engendering a feeling ofrestlessness and vague depression. There is none of this in theforests of Mongolia. We felt as though we might be happy there allour lives--the mad rush of our other world seemed very far away andnot much worth while. 

As yet this land has been but lightly touched by the devastatinghand of man. A log road cuts the forest here and there and sometimeswe saw a train of ox-carts winding through the trees; but theprimitive beauty of the mountains remains unmarred, save where ahillside has been swept by fire. In all our wanderings through theforests we saw no evidences of occupation by the Mongols except thewood roads and a few scattered charcoal pits. These were old andmoss-grown, and save for ourselves the valleys were deserted. 

One morning while I was hunting north of camp, I heard a wapiti roaron the summit of a mountain. I found its tracks in the soft earth ofa game trail which wound through forest so dense that I could hardlysee a dozen yards. As I stole along the path I heard a sudden sneezeexactly like that of a human being and saw a small, dark animal dashoff the trail. I stopped instantly and slowly sank to the ground, kneeling motionless, with my rifle ready. For five minutes Iremained there--the silence of the forest broken only by theclucking of a hazel grouse above my head. Then came that sneezeagain, sounding even more human than before. I heard a nervouspatter of tiny hoofs, and the animal sneezed from the bushes at myright. I kept as motionless as a statue, and the sneezes followedeach other in rapid succession, accompanied by impatient stampingsand gentle rustlings in the brush. Then I saw a tiny head emergefrom behind a leafy screen and a pair of brilliant eyes gazing at mesteadily. 

Very, very slowly I raised the rifle until the stock nestled againstmy cheek; then I fired quickly. 

Running to the spot where the head had been I found a beautifulbrown-gray animal lying behind a bush. It was no larger than ahalf-grown fawn, but on either side of its mouth two daggerlike tusksprojected, slender, sharp and ivory white. It was a musk deer--thefirst living, wild one I had ever seen. Even before I touched thebody I inhaled a heavy, not unpleasant, odor of musk and discoveredthe gland upon the abdomen. It was three inches long and two incheswide, but all the hair on the rump and belly was stronglyimpregnated with the odor. 

These little deer are eagerly sought by the natives throughout theOrient, as musk is valuable for perfume. In Urga the Mongols couldsell a "pod" for five dollars (silver) and in other parts of Chinait is worth considerably more. When we were in Yün-nan we frequentlyheard of a musk buyer whom the Paris perfumer, Pinaud, maintained inthe remote mountain village of Atunzi, on the Tibetan frontier. 

Because of their commercial value the little animals arerelentlessly persecuted in every country which they inhabit and insome places they have been completely exterminated. Those inMongolia are particularly difficult to kill, since they live only onthe mountain summits in the thickest forests. Indeed, were it notfor their insatiable curiosity it would be almost impossible ever toshoot them. 

They might be snared, of course, but I never saw any traps ordevices for catching animals which the Mongols used; they seem todepend entirely upon their guns. This is quite unlike the Chinese, Koreans, Manchus, Malays, and other Orientals with whom I havehunted, for they all have developed ingenious snares, pitfalls andtraps. 

The musk sac is present only in the male deer and is, of course, forthe purpose of attracting the does. Unfortunately, it is notpossible to distinguish the sexes except upon close examination, forboth are hornless, and as a result the natives sometimes killfemales which they would prefer to leave unmolested. 

The musk deer use their tusks for fighting and also to dig up thefood upon which they live. I frequently found new pine cones whichthey had torn apart to get at the soft centers. During the winterthey develop an exceedingly long, thick coat of hair which, however, is so brittle that it breaks almost like dry pine needles;consequently, the skins have but little commercial value. 

Late one rainy afternoon Tserin Dorchy and I rode into a beautifulvalley not far from where we were camped. When well in the upperend, we left our horses and proceeded on foot toward the summit of aridge on which he had killed a bear a month earlier. 

Motioning me to walk to the crest of the ridge from the other side, the old man vanished like a ghost among the trees. When I was nearlyat the top I reached the edge of a small patch of burned forest. Inthe half darkness the charred stumps and skeleton trees were asblack as ebony. As I was about to move into the open I saw an objectwhich at first seemed to be a curiously shaped stump. I looked at itcasually, then something about it arrested my attention. Suddenly atail switched nervously and I realized that the "stump" was anenormous wild boar standing head-on, watching me. 

I fired instantly, but even as I pressed the trigger the animalmoved and I knew that the bullet would never reach its mark. But mybrain could not telegraph to my finger quickly enough to stop itsaction and the boar dashed away unharmed. It was the largest pig Ihave ever seen. As he stood on the summit of the ridge he lookedalmost as big as a Mongol pony. It was too dark to follow the animalso I returned to camp, a very dejected man. 

I have never been able to forget that boar and I suppose I nevershall. Later, I killed others but they can never destroy the memoryof that enormous animal as he stood there looking down at me. Had Irealized that it was a pig only the fraction of a second sooner itwould have been a different story. But that is the fortune ofshooting. In no other sport is the line between success and failureso closely drawn; of course, it is that which makes it sofascinating. At the end of a long day's hunt one chance may begiven; then all depends on a clear eye, a steady hand and, aboveall, judgment. In your action in that single golden second rests thesuccess or failure of, perhaps, a season's trip. You may havetraveled thousands of miles, spent hundreds of dollars, and had justone shot at the "head of heads. "

Some men tell me that they never get excited when they hunt. ThankGod, I do. There would be no fun at all for me if I _didn't_ getexcited. But, fortunately, it all comes after the crucial moment. When the stock of the rifle settles against my cheek and I lookacross the sights, I am as cold as steel. I can shoot, and keep onshooting, with every brain cell concentrated on the work in hand butwhen it is done, for better or worse, I get the reaction which makesit all worth while. 

One morning, a week after we had been in camp, Tserin Dorchy and Idiscovered a cow and a calf wapiti feeding in an open forest. It wasa delight to see how the old Mongol stalked the deer, slipping fromtree to bush, sometimes on his knees or flat on his face in the softmoss carpet. When we were two hundred yards away we drew up behind astump. I took the cow, while Tserin Dorchy covered the calf and atthe sound of our rifles both animals went down for good. I was gladto have them for specimens because we never got a shot at a bull inMongolia, although twice I lost one by the merest chance. One of ourhunters brought in a three-year-old moose a short time after we gotthe wapiti and another had a long chase after a wounded bear. 

It was the first week in September when we returned to the basecamp, our ponies heavily loaded with skins and antlers. The Chinesetaxidermists under my direction had made a splendid collection ofsmall mammals, and we had pretty thoroughly exhausted the resourcesof the forests in the Terelche region. Therefore, Yvette and Idecided that it would be well to ride into Urga and makearrangements for our return to Peking. 

We did the fifty miles with the greatest ease and spent the nightwith Mamen in Mai-ma-cheng. Next day Mr. And Mrs. MacCallie arrived, much to our delight. They were to spend the winter in Urga onbusiness and they brought a supply of much needed ammunition, photographic plates, traps and my Mannlicher rifle. This equipmenthad been shipped from New York ten months earlier but had only justreached Peking and been released from the Customs through the heroicefforts of Mr. Guptil. 

We had another two weeks' hunting trip before we said good-by toMongolia but it netted few results. All the valleys, which had beendeserted when we were there before, were filled with Mongols cuttinghay for the winter feed of their sheep and goats. Of course, everycamp was guarded by a dog or two, and their continual barking haddriven the moose, elk, and bear far back into the deepest forestswhere we had no time to follow. 

Mr. And Mrs. MacCallie had taken a house in Urga, just opposite theRussian Consulate, and they entertained us while I packed ourcollections which were stored in Andersen, Meyer's godown. It was afull week's work, for we had more than a thousand specimens. Theforests of Mongolia had yielded up their treasures is we had notdared to hope they would, and we left them with almost as muchregret as we had left the plains. 

October first the specimens started southward on camel back. KublaiKhan, my pony, went with them, while we left in the ChineseGovernment motor cars. For two hundred miles we rushed over the sameplains which, a few months earlier, we had laboriously crossed withour caravan. Every spot was pregnant with delightful memories. Atthis well we had camped for a week and hunted antelope; in thatragged mass of rocks we had killed a wolf; out on the Turin plain wehad trapped twenty-six marmots in an enormous colony. 

Those had been glorious days and our hearts were sad as we racedback to Peking and civilization. But one bright spot remained--weneed not yet leave our beloved East! Far to the south, inbrigand-infested mountains on the edge of China, there dwelt a herdof bighorn sheep, the _argali_ of the Mongols. Among them was a greatram, and we had learned his hiding place. How we got him is anotherstory. 

CHAPTER XIII

THE PASSING OF MONGOLIAN MYSTERY

I know of no other country about which there is so much_misinformation_ as about Mongolia. Because the Gobi Desertstretches through its center the popular conception appears to bethat it is a waste of sand and gravel incapable of producinganything. In the preceding chapters I have attempted to give apicture of the country as we found it and, although our interestswere purely zoölogical, I should like to present a few notesregarding its commercial possibilities, for I have never seen a landwhich is readily accessible and is yet so undeveloped. 

Every year the Far East is becoming increasingly important to theWestern World, and especially to the people of the United States, for China and its dependencies is the logical place for theinvestment of American capital. It is the last great undevelopedfield, and I am interested in seeing the American business manappreciate the great opportunities which await him in the Orient. 

It is true that the Gobi Desert is a part of Mongolia, but only inits western half is it a desolate waste; in the eastern section itgradually changes into a rolling plain covered with "Gobi sagebrush" and short bunch grass. When one looks closely one sees thatthe underlying soil is very fine gravel and sand. 

There is little water in this region except surface ponds, which areusually dry in summer, and caravans depend upon wells. The water inthe desert area contains some alkali but, except in a few instances, the impregnation is so slight that it is not especially disagreeableto the taste. Mr. Larsen told me that there is no part of thecountry between Kalgan and Urga in which water cannot be foundwithin ten or twenty feet of the surface. I am not prepared to saywhat this arid region could be made to produce. Doubtless, from thestandpoint of agriculture it would be of little importance but sheepand goats could live upon its summer vegetation, I am sure. 

It is difficult to say where the Gobi really begins or ends whencrossing it between Kalgan and Urga, for the grasslands both on thesouth and north merge so imperceptibly into the arid central partthat there is no real "edge" to the desert; however, it is safe totake Panj-kiang as the southern margin, and Turin as the northernlimit, of the Gobi. Both in the north and south the land is rich andfertile--much like the plains of Siberia or the prairies of Kansasand Nebraska. 

Such is the eastern Gobi from June to mid-September. In the winter, when the dried vegetation exposes the surface soil, the whole aspectof the country is changed and then it does resemble the popularconception of a desert. But what could be more desertlike than ournorth China landscape when frost has stripped away the greenclothing of its hills and fields?

The Chinese have already demonstrated the agricultural possibilitiesin the south and every year they reap a splendid harvest of oats, wheat, millet, buckwheat and potatoes. On the grass-coveredmeadowlands, both north and south of the Gobi, there are vast herdsof sheep, goats, cattle and horses, but they are only a fraction ofthe numbers which the pasturage could support. The cattle and sheepwhich are exported through China can be sent to Kalgan "on thehoof, " for since grass is plentiful, the animals can graze at nightand travel during the day. This very materially reduces the cost oftransportation. 

Besides the great quantities of beef and mutton which could beraised and marketed in the Orient, America or Europe, thousands ofpounds of wool and camel hair could be exported. Of course both ofthese articles are produced at the present time, but only in limitedquantities. In the region where we spent the summer, the Mongolssometimes do not shear their sheep or camels but gather the woolfrom the ground when it has dropped off in the natural process ofshedding. Probably half of it is lost, and the remainder is full ofdirt and grass which detracts greatly from its value. Moreover, whenit is shipped the impurities add at least twenty per cent to itsweight, and the high cost of transportation makes this an importantfactor. Indeed, under proper development the pastoral resources ofMongolia are almost unlimited. 

The Turin-Urga region has another commercial asset in the enormouscolonies of marmots which inhabit the country for hundreds of milesto the north, east and west. The marmots are prolific breeders--eachpair annually producing six or eight young--and, although their furis not especially fine, it has always been valuable for coats. Several million marmot pelts are shipped every year from Mongolia, the finest coming from Uliassutai in the west, and were Americansteel traps introduced the number could be doubled. 

Urga is just being discovered as a fur market. Many skins which havebeen taken well across the Russian frontier are sold in Urga, and asthe trade increases it will command a still wider area. Wolves, foxes, lynx, bear, wildcats, sables, martens, squirrels and marmotsare brought in by thousands; and great quantities of sheep, goat, cow and antelope hides are sent annually to Kalgan. Several foreignfur houses of considerable importance already have theirrepresentatives in Urga and more are coming every year. Thepossibilities for development in this direction are almostboundless, and I believe that within a very few years Urga willbecome one of the greatest fur markets of the Orient. 

As in the south the Chinese farmer cultivates the grasslands of theMongols, so in the north the Chinese merchant has assumed the trade. Many firms in Peking and Tientsin have branches in Urga and makehuge profits in the sale of food, cloth and other essentials to theMongols and foreigners and in the export of furs, skins and wool. Itis well-nigh impossible to touch business in Mongolia at any pointwithout coming in contact with the Chinese. 

All work not connected with animals is assumed by Chinese, for theMongols are almost useless for anything which cannot be done fromthe back of a horse. Thus the Chinese have a practical monopoly andthey exercise all their prerogatives in the enormous prices whichthey charge for the slightest service. Mongols and foreigners suffertogether in this respect, but there is no alternative--the Chinamancan charge what he pleases, for he knows full well that no one elsewill do the work. 

Although there is considerable mineral wealth in northern Mongolia, up to the present time very little prospecting has been done. Forseveral years a Russian company has carried on successful operationsfor gold at the Yero mines, between Urga and Kiakhta on the Siberianfrontier, but they have had to import practically all their laborfrom China. We often passed Chinese in the Gobi Desert walkingacross Mongolia pushing a wheelbarrow which contained all theirearthly belongings. They were on their way to the Yero mines for thesummer's work; in the fall they would return on foot the way theyhad come. Now that Mongolia is once more a part of the ChineseRepublic, the labor problem probably will be improved for there willcertainly be an influx of Chinese who are anxious to work. 

Transportation is the greatest of all commercial factors in theOrient and upon it largely depends the development of any country. In Mongolia the problem can be easily solved. At the present time itrests upon camel caravans, ox and pony carts and upon automobilesfor passengers. Camel traffic begins in September and is virtuallyended by the first of June. Then their places on the trail are takenby ox- and pony carts. Camels make the journey from Kalgan to Urgain from thirty to fifty days, but the carts require twice as long. They travel slowly, at best, and the animals must be given time tograze and rest. Of course, they cannot cross the desert when thegrass is dry, so that transportation is divided by theseason--camels in winter and carts in summer. Each camel carriesfrom four hundred and fifty to five hundred pounds, and the chargesfor the journey from Kalgan to Urga vary with conditions at from fiveto fifteen cents (silver) per _cattie_ (one and one-third pounds). Thus, by the time goods have reached Urga, their value has increasedtremendously. 

I can see no reason why motor trucks could not make the trip and amintending to use them on my next expedition. Between Panj-kiang andTurin, the first and third telegraph stations, there is some badgoing in spots, but a well made truck with a broad wheel base and apowerful engine certainly could negotiate the sand areas withoutdifficulty. After Turin, where the Gobi may be said to end, the roadis like a boulevard. 

The motor service for passengers which the Chinese Governmentmaintains between Kalgan and Urga is a branch of the Peking-SuiyuanRailway and has proved successful after some initial difficultiesdue to careless and inexperienced chauffeurs. Although the servicebadly needs organization to make it entirely safe and comfortable, still it has been effective even in its crude form. 

At the present time a great part of the business which is done withthe Mongols is by barter. The Chinese merchants extend credit to thenatives for material which they require and accept in return cattle, horses, hides, wool, etc. , to be paid at the proper season. Inrecent years Russian paper _rubles_ and Chinese silver have been thecurrency of the country, but since the war Russian money has sodepreciated that it is now practically valueless. Mongolia greatlyneeds banking facilities and under the new political conditionsundoubtedly these will be materially increased. 

A great source of wealth to Mongolia lies in her magnificent forestsof pine, spruce, larch and birch which stretch away in an almostunbroken line of green to far beyond the Siberian frontier. As yetbut small inroads have been made upon these forests, and as I stoodone afternoon upon the summit of a mountain gazing over the miles oftimbered hills below me, it seemed as though here at least was aninexhaustible supply of splendid lumber. But no more pernicious termwas ever coined than "inexhaustible supply!" I wondered, as Iwatched the sun drop into the somber masses of the forest, how longthese splendid hills would remain inviolate. Certainly not manyyears after the Gobi Desert has been crossed by lines of steel, andrailroad sheds have replaced the gold-roofed temples of sacred Urga. 

We are at the very beginning of the days of flying, and no landwhich contains such magnificent spruce can keep its treasure boxesunspoiled for very long. Even as I write, aeroplanes are waiting inPeking to make their first flight across Mongolia. The desert nomadshave not yet ceased to wonder at the motor cars which cover as manymiles of plain in one day as their camels cross in ten. But what_will_ they think when twenty men leave Kalgan at noon and dine inUrga at seven o'clock that night! Seven hundred miles mean verylittle to us now! The start has been made already and, after all, itis largely that which counts. The automobile has come to stay, weknow; and motor trucks will soon do for freight what has alreadybeen done for passengers, not only from Kalgan to Urga, but west toUliassutai, and on to Kobdo at the very edge of the Altai Mountains. Few spots in Mongolia need remain untouched, if commercial calls arestrong enough. 

Last year the first caravans left Feng-chen with wireless equipmentfor the eighteen hundred mile journey across Mongolia to Urumchi inthe very heart of central Asia. Construction at Urga is welladvanced and it will soon begin at Kashgar. When these stations arecompleted Kobdo in Mongolia, Hami in Chinese Turkestan and Sian-fuin Shensi will see wireless shafts erected; and old Peking will bein touch with the remotest spots of her far-flung lands at any timeby day or night. 

These things are not idle dreams--they are hard business factsalready in the first stages of accomplishment. Why, then, should therailroad be long delayed? It may be built from Kalgan to Urga, or byway of Kwei-hua-cheng--either route is feasible. It will mean adirect connection between Shanghai, China's greatest port, andVerkhin Udinsk on the Trans-Siberian Railroad via Tientsin, Peking, Kalgan, Urga, Kiakhta. It will shorten the trip to London by atleast four days for passengers and freight. It will open forsettlement and commercial development a country of boundlesspossibilities and unknown wealth which for centuries has been allbut forgotten. 

Less than seven hundred years ago Mongolia well-nigh ruled theworld. Her people were strong beyond belief, but her empire crumbledas quickly as it rose, leaving to posterity only a glorioustradition and a land of mystery. The tradition will endure forcenturies; but the motor car and aeroplane and wireless havedispelled the mystery forever. 

CHAPTER XIV

THE GREAT RAM OF THE SHANSI MOUNTAINS

Away up in northern China, just south of the Mongolian frontier, isa range of mountains inhabited by bands of wild sheep. They arewonderful animals, these sheep, with horns like battering-rams. Butthe mountains are also populated by brigands and the two do not forman agreeable combination from the sportsman's standpoint. 

In reality they are perfectly nice, well-behaved brigands, butoccasionally they forget their manners and swoop down upon thecaravan road less than a dozen miles away. This is done only whenscouts bring word that cargo valuable enough to make it worth whileis about to pass. Each time the brigands make a foray a return raidby Chinese soldiers can be expected. Occasionally these are real, "honest-to-goodness" fights, and blood may flow on both sides, butthe battle sometimes takes a different form. 

With bugles blowing, the soldiers march out to the hills. Through"middle men" the battle ground has been agreed upon, and a "David"is chosen from the soldiers to meet the "Goliath" of the brigands. But David is particularly careful to leave his gun behind, and tohave his "sling" well stuffed with rifle shells. Goliath advances tothe combat armed only with a bag of silver dollars. Then an eventrade ensues--a dollar for a cartridge--and the implement of warchanges hands. 

[Illustration: Cave Dwellings in North Shansi Province]

[Illustration: An Asiatic Wapiti]

[Illustration: Harry R. Caldwell and a Mongolian Bighorn]

The soldiers return to the city with bugles sounding as merrily aswhen they left. The commander sends a report to Peking of adesperate battle with the brigands. He says that, through theextreme valor of his soldiers, the bandits have been dispersed andmany killed; that hundreds of cartridges were expended in the fight;therefore, kindly send more as soon as possible. 

All this because the government has an unfortunate way of forgettingto pay its soldiers in the outlying provinces. When no money isforthcoming and none is visible on the horizon, it is not surprisingthat they take other means to obtain it. "Battles" of this type areby no means exceptions--they are more nearly the rule in manyprovinces of China. 

But what has all this to do with the wild sheep? Its relation isvery intimate, for the presence of brigands in those Shansimountains has made it possible for the animals to exist, The huntinggrounds are only five days' travel from Peking and many foreignershave turned longing eyes toward the mountains. But the brigandsalways had to be considered. Since Sir Richard Dane, formerly ChiefInspector of the Salt Gabelle, and Mr. Charles Coltman were drivenout by the bandits in 1913, the Chinese Government has refused togrant passports to foreigners who wished to shoot in that region. The brigands themselves cannot waste cartridges at one dollar eachon the sheep, so the animals have been allowed to breed unmolested. 

Nevertheless, there are not many sheep there. They are the lastsurvivors of great herds which once roamed the mountains of northChina. The technical name of the species is _Ovis commosa_ (formerly_O. Jubata_) and it is one of the group of bighorns known tosportsmen by the Mongol name of _argali_. In size, as well asancestry, the members of this group are the grandfathers of all thesheep. The largest ram of our Rocky Mountains is a pygmy comparedwith a full-grown _argali_. Hundreds of thousands of years ago thebighorns, which originated in Asia, crossed into Alaska by way ofthe Bering Sea, where there was probably a land connection at thattime From Alaska they gradually worked southward, along themountains of the western coast, into Mexico and Lower California. Inthe course of time, changed environment developed different species;but the migration route from the Old World to the New is there forall to read. 

The supreme trophy of a sportsman's life is the head of a Mongolianbighorn sheep. I think it was Rex Beach who said, "Some men canshoot but not climb. Some can climb but not shoot. To get a sheepyou must be able to climb and shoot, too. "

For its Hall of Asiatic Life, the American Museum of Natural Historyneeded a group of _argali_. Moreover, we wanted a ram which wouldfairly represent the species, and that meant a very big one. TheReverend Harry R. Caldwell, with whom I had hunted tiger in southChina, volunteered to get them with me. The brigands did not worryus unduly, for we both have had considerable experience with Chinesebandits and we feel that they are like animals--if you don't teasethem, they won't bite. In this case the "teasing" takes the form ofcarrying anything that they could readily dispose of--especiallymoney. I decided that my wife must remain in Peking. She was in openrebellion but there was just a possibility that the brigands mightannoy us, and we had determined to have those sheep regardless ofconsequences. 

Although we did not expect trouble, I knew that Harry Caldwell couldbe relied upon in any emergency. When a man will crawl into atiger's lair, a tangle of sword grass and thorns, just to find outwhat the brute has had for dinner; when he will walk into the openin dim light and shoot, with a . 22 high-power rifle, a tiger whichis just ready to charge; when he will go alone and unarmed into themountains to meet a band of brigands who have been terrorizing thecountry, it means that he has more nerve than any one man needs inthis life!

After leaving the train at Feng-chen, the journey was like allothers in north China; slow progress with a cart over atrociousroads which are either a mass of sticky mud or inches deep in finebrown dust. We had four days of it before we reached the mountainsbut the trip was full of interest to us both, for along the roadthere was an ever-changing picture of provincial life. To Harry itwas especially illuminating because he had spent nineteen years insouth China and had never before visited the north. He began torealize what every one soon learns who wanders much about the MiddleKingdom--that it is never safe to generalize in this strange land. Conditions true of one region may be absolutely unknown a fewhundred miles away. He was continually irritated to find that hisperfect knowledge of the dialect of Fukien Province was utterlyuseless. He was well-nigh as helpless as though he had never been inChina, for the languages of the north and the south are almost asunlike as are French and German. Even our "boys" who were fromPeking had some difficulty in making themselves understood, althoughwe were not more than two hundred miles from the capital. 

Instead of hills thickly clothed with sword grass, here the slopeswere bare and brown. We were too far north for rice; corn, wheat, and _kaoliang_ took the place of paddy fields. Instead ofbrick-walled houses we found dwellings made of clay like the "adobe"of Mexico and Arizona. Sometimes whole villages were dug into thehillside and the natives were cave dwellers, spending their liveswithin the earth. 

All north China is spread with _loess_. During the Glacial Period, about one hundred thousand years ago, when in Europe and Americagreat rivers of ice were descending from the north, central andeastern Asia seems to have suffered a progressive dehydration. Therewas little moisture in the air so that ice could not be formed. Instead, the climate was cold and dry, while violent winds carriedthe dust in whirling clouds for hundreds upon hundreds of miles, spreading it in ever thickening layers over the hills and plains. Therefore, the "Ice Age" for Europe and America was a "Dust Age" fornortheastern Asia. 

The inns were a constant source of interest to us both. Theirspacious courtyards contrasted strangely with the filthy "hotels" ofsouthern China. In the north all the traffic is by cart, and theremust be accommodation for hundreds of vehicles; in the south wheregoods are carried by boats, coolies, or on donkey back, extensivecompounds are unnecessary. Each night, wherever we arrived, we foundthe courtyard teeming with life and motion. Line after line of ladencarts wound in through the wide swinging gates and lined up inorderly array; there was the steady "crunch, crunch, crunch" offeeding animals, shouts for the _jonggweda_ (landlord), andgood-natured chaffing among the carters. In the great kitchen, whichis also the sleeping room, over blazing fires fanned by bellows, potsof soup and macaroni were steaming. On the two great _kangs_ (bedplatforms), heated from below by long flues radiating outward fromthe cooking fires, dozens of _mafus_ were noisily sucking in theirfood or already snoring contentedly, rolled in their dusty coats. 

Many kinds of folk were there; rich merchants enveloped in splendidsable coats and traveling in padded carts; peddlers with packs oftrinkets for the women; wandering doctors selling remedies of herbs, tonics made from deerhorns or tigers' teeth, and wonderful potionsof "dragons' bones. " Perhaps there was a Buddhist priest or two, abarber, or a tailor. Often a professional entertainer satcross-legged on the _kang_ telling endless stories or singing forhours at a time in a high-pitched, nasal voice, accompanying himselfupon a tiny snakeskin violin. It was like a stage drama ofconcentrated Chinese country life. 

Among this polyglot assembly perhaps there may be a single man whohas arrived with a pack upon his back. He is indistinguishable fromthe other travelers and mingles among the _mafus_, helping now andthen to feed a horse or adjust a load. But his ears and eyes areopen. He is a brigand scout who is there to learn what is passing onthe road. He hears all the gossip from neighboring towns as well asof those many miles away, for the inns are the newspapers of ruralChina, and it is every one's business to tell all he knows. Thescout marks a caravan, then slips away into the mountains to reportto the leader of his band. The attack may not take place for manydays. While the unsuspecting _mafus_ are plodding on their way, thebands are hovering on the outskirts among the hills until the timeis ripe to strike. 

I have learned that these brigand scouts are my best protection, forwhen a foreigner arrives at a country inn all other subjects ofconversation lose their interest. Everything about him is discussedand rediscussed, and the scouts discover all there is to know. Probably the only things I ever carry which a bandit could use ordispose of readily, are arms and ammunition. But two or three gunsare hardly worth the trouble which would follow the death of aforeigner. The brigands know that there would be no sham battle withChinese soldiers in that event, for the Legations at Peking have ahabit of demanding reparation from the Government and insisting thatthey get it. 

As a _raison d'étre_ for our trip Caldwell and I had been huntingducks, geese, and pheasants industriously along the way, and noteven the "boys" knew our real destination. 

We had looked forward with great eagerness to the Tai Hai, a largelake, where it was said that water fowl congregated in thousandsduring the spring and fall. We reached the lake the second nightafter leaving Feng-cheng. Darkness had just closed about us when wecrossed the summit of a high mountain range and descended into anarrow, winding cut which eventually led us out upon the flat plainsof the Tai Hai basin. While we were in the pass a dozen flocks ofgeese slipped by above our heads, flying very low, the "wedges"showing black against the starlit sky. 

With much difficulty we found an inn close beside the lake and, after a late supper, snuggled into our fur bags to be lulled tosleep by that music most dear to a sportsman's heart, the subduedclamor of thousands of waterfowl settling themselves for the night. 

At daylight we dressed hurriedly and ran to the lake shore. Harrytook a station away from the water at the base of the hills, while Idropped behind three conical mounds which the natives hadconstructed to obtain salt by evaporation. 

I was hardly in position before two geese came straight for me. Waiting until they were almost above my head, I knocked down bothwith a right and left. The shots put thousands of birds in motion. Flock after flock of geese rose into the air, and long lines ofducks skimmed close to the surface, settling away from shore or onthe mud flats near the water's edge. 

No more birds came near me, and in fifteen minutes I returned to theinn for breakfast. Harry appeared shortly after with only a mallardduck, for he had guessed wrong as to the direction of the flight, and was entirely out of the shooting. 

When the carts had started at eight o'clock Harry and I rode downthe shore of the lake to the south, with Chen to hold our horses. The mud flats were dotted with hundreds of ruddy sheldrakes, theirbeautiful bodies glowing red and gold in the sunlight. A hundredyards from shore half a dozen swans drifted about like floating snowbanks, and ducks and geese by thousands rose or settled in the lake. We saw a flock of mallards alight in the short marsh grass and whenI fired at least five hundred greenheads, yellow-nibs, and pintailsrose in a brown cloud. 

Crouched behind the salt mounds, we had splendid shooting and thenrode on to join the carts, our ponies loaded with ducks and geese. The road swung about to the north, and we saw geese in tens ofthousands coming into the lake across the mountain passes from theirsummer breeding grounds in Mongolia and far Siberia. Regiment afterregiment swept past, circled away to the west, and dropped into thewater as though at the command of a field marshal. 

Although we were following the main road to Kwei-hua-cheng, a cityof considerable importance not far from the mountains whichcontained the sheep, we had no intention of going there. Neither didwe wish to pass through any place where there might be soldiers, soon the last day's march we left the highway and followed anunimportant trail to the tiny village of Wu-shi-tu, which nestlesagainst the mountain's base. Here we made our camp in a Chinesehouse and obtained two Mongol hunters. We had hoped to live intents, but there was not a stick of wood for fuel. The natives burneither coal or grass and twigs, but these would not keep us warm inan open camp. 

About the village rose a chaotic mass of saw-toothed mountains cut, to the east, by a stupendous gorge. We stood silent with awe, whenwe first climbed a winding, white trail to the summit of themountain and gazed into the abysmal depths. My eye followed an eaglewhich floated across the chasm to its perch on a projecting crag;thence, down the sheer face of the cliff a thousand feet to thestream which has carved this colossal canon from the living rock. Like a shining silver tracing it twisted and turned, foaming overrocks and running in smooth, green sheets between vertical walls ofgranite. To the north we looked across at a splendid panorama ofsaw-toothed peaks and ragged pinnacles tinted with delicate shadesof pink and lavender. Beneath our feet were slabs of pure whitemarble and great blocks of greenish feldspar. Among the peaks weredeep ravines and, farther to the east, rolling uplands carpeted withgrass. There the sheep are found. 

We killed only one goral and a roebuck during the first two days, for a violent gale made hunting well-nigh impossible. On the thirdmorning the sun rose in a sky as blue as the waters of a tropic sea, and not a breath of air stirred the silver poplar leaves as wecrossed the rocky stream bed to the base of the mountains north ofcamp. Fifteen hundred feet above us towered a ragged granite ridgewhich must be crossed ere we could gain entrance to the grassyvalleys beyond the barrier. 

We had toiled halfway up the slope, when my hunter sank into thegrass, pointed upward, and whispered, "_pan-yang_" (wild sheep). There, on the very summit of the highest pinnacle, stood amagnificent ram silhouetted against the sky. It was a stageintroduction to the greatest game animal in all the world. 

Motionless, as though sculptured from the living granite, it gazedacross the valley toward the village whence we had come. Through myglasses I could see every detail of its splendid body--the wash ofgray with which many winters had tinged its neck and flanks, thefinely drawn legs, and the massive horns curling about a head asproudly held as that of a Roman warrior. He stood like a statue forhalf an hour, while we crouched motionless in the trail below; thenhe turned deliberately and disappeared. 

When we reached the summit of the ridge the ram was nowhere to beseen, but we found his tracks on a path leading down a knifelikeoutcrop to the bottom of another valley. I felt sure that he wouldturn eastward toward the grassy uplands, but Na-mon-gin, my Mongolhunter, pointed north to a sea of ragged mountains. We groaned as welooked at those towering peaks; moreover, it seemed hopeless to huntfor a single animal in that chaos of ravines and canons. 

We had already learned, however, that the Mongol knew almost as muchabout what a sheep would do as did the animal itself. It waspositively uncanny. Perhaps we would see a herd of sheep half a mileaway. The old fellow would seat himself, nonchalantly fill his pipeand puff contentedly, now and then glancing at the animals. In a fewmoments he would announce what was about to happen, and he wasseldom wrong. 

Therefore, when he descended to the bottom of the valley we acceptedhis dictum without a protest. At the creek bed Harry and his younghunter left us to follow a deep ravine which led upward a little tothe left, while Na-mon-gin and I climbed to the crest by way of aprecipitous ridge. 

Not fifteen minutes after we parted, Harry's rifle banged threetimes in quick succession, the reports rolling out from the gorge inmajestic waves of sound. A moment later the old Mongol saw threesheep silhouetted for an instant against the sky as they scrambledacross the ridge. Then a voice floated faintly up to me from out thecañon. 

"I've got a f-i-n-e r-a-m, " it said, "a b-e-a-u-t-y, " and even atthat distance I could hear its happy ring. 

"Good for Harry, " I thought. "He certainly deserved it after hiswork of last night;" for on the way home his hunter had seen anenormous ram climbing a mountain side and they had followed it tothe summit only to lose its trail in the gathering darkness. Harryhad stumbled into camp, half dead with fatigue, but with hisenthusiasm undiminished. 

When Na-mon-gin and I had reached the highest peak and found a trailwhich led along the mountain side just below the crest, we keptsteadily on, now and then stopping to scan the grassy ravines andvalleys which radiated from the ridge like the ribs of a giant fan. At half past eleven, as we rounded a rocky shoulder, I saw foursheep feeding in the bottom of a gorge far below us. 

Quite unconscious of our presence, they worked out of the ravineacross a low spur and into a deep gorge where the grass still showeda tinge of green. As the last one disappeared, we dashed down theslope and came up just above the sheep. With my glasses I could seethat the leader carried a fair pair of horns, but that the otherthree rams were small, as _argali_ go. 

Lying flat, I pushed my rifle over the crest and aimed at thebiggest ram. Three or four tiny grass stems were directly in my lineof sight, and fearing that they might deflect my bullet, I drew backand shifted my position a few feet to the right. 

One of the sheep must have seen the movement, although we weredirectly above them, and instantly all were off. In four jumps theyhad disappeared around a bowlder, giving me time for only a hurriedshot at the last one's white rump-patch. The bullet struck a fewinches behind the ram, and the valley was empty. 

Looking down where they had been so quietly feeding only a fewmoments before, I called myself all known varieties of a fool. Ifelt very bad indeed that I had bungled hopelessly my first chanceat an _argali_. But the sympathetic old hunter patted me on theshoulder and said in Chinese, "Never mind. They were small onesanyway--not worth having. " They were very much worth having to me, however, and all the light seemed to have gone out of the world. Wesmoked a cigarette, but there was no consolation in that, and Ifollowed the hunter around the peak with a heart as heavy as lead. 

Half an hour later we sat down for a look around. I studied everyridge and gully with my glasses without seeing a sign of life. Thefour sheep had disappeared as completely as though one of theyawning ravines had swallowed them up; the great valley bathed ingolden sunlight was deserted and as silent as the tomb. 

I was just tearing the wrapper from a piece of chocolate when thehunter touched me on the arm and said quietly, "_Pan-yang li la_" (Asheep has come). He pointed far down a ridge running out at a rightangle to the one on which we were sitting, but I could see nothing. Then I scanned every square inch of rock, but still saw no sign oflife. 

The hunter laughingly whispered, "I can see better than you can evenwith your foreign eyes. He is standing in that trail--he may comeright up to us. "

I tried again, following the thin, white line as it wound from usalong the side of the knifelike ridge. Just where it vanished intospace I saw the sheep, a splendid ram, standing like a statue ofgray-brown granite and gazing squarely at us. He was fully half amile away, but the hunter had seen him the instant he appeared. Without my glasses the animal was merely a blur to me, but themarvelous eyes of the Mongol could detect its every movement. 

"It is the same one we saw this morning, " he said. "I was sure wewould find him over here. He has very big horns--much better thanthose others. "

That was quite true; but the others had given me a shot and thisram, splendid as he was, seemed as unobtainable as the stars. For anhour we watched him. Sometimes he would turn about to look acrossthe ravines on either side and once he came a dozen feet toward usalong the path. The hunter smoked quietly, now and then lookingthrough my glasses. "After a while he will go to sleep, " he said, "then we can shoot him. "

I must confess that I had but little hope. The ram seemed toosplendid and much, much too far away. But I could feast my eyes onhis magnificent head and almost count the rings on his curlinghorns. 

A flock of red-legged partridges sailed across from the oppositeridge, uttering their rapid-fire call and alighted almost at ourfeet. Then each one seemed to melt into the mountain side, vanishinglike magic among the grass and stones. I wondered mildly why theyhad concealed themselves so suddenly, but a moment later theresounded a subdued whir, like the motor of an aeroplane far up in thesky. Three shadows drifted over, and I saw three huge black eaglesswinging in ever lowering circles about our heads. I knew then thatthe partridges had sought the protection of our presence from theirmortal enemies, the eagles. 

When I looked at the sheep again he was lying down squarely in thetrail, lazily raising his head now and then to gaze about. Thehunter inspected the ram through my glasses and prepared to go. Werolled slowly over the ridge and then hurried around to theprojecting spur at the end of which the ram was lying. 

The going was very bad indeed. Pieces of crumbled granite werecontinually slipping under foot, and at times we had to cling likeflies to a wall of rock with a sheer drop of hundreds of feet belowus. Twice the Mongol cautiously looked over the ridge, but each timeshook his head and worked his way a little farther. At last hemotioned me to slide up beside him. Pushing my rifle over the rockbefore me, I raised myself a few inches and saw the massive head andneck of the ram two hundred yards away. His body was behind a rockyshoulder, but he was looking squarely at us and in a second would beoff. 

I aimed carefully just under his chin, and at the roar of thehigh-power shell, the ram leaped backward. "You hit him, " said theMongol, but I felt he must be wrong; if the bullet had found theneck he would have dropped like lead. 

Never in all my years of hunting have I had a feeling of suchintense surprise and self-disgust. I had been certain of the shotand it was impossible to believe that I had missed. A lump rose inmy throat and I sat with my head resting on my hands in theuttermost depths of dejection. 

And then the impossible happened! Why it happened, I shall neverknow. A kind Providence must have directed the actions of the sheep, for, as I raised my eyes, I saw again that enormous head and neckappear from behind a rock a hundred yards away; just that head withits circlet of massive horns and the neck--nothing more. Almost in adaze I lifted my rifle, saw the little ivory bead of the front sightcenter on that gray neck, and touched the trigger. A thousand echoescrashed back upon us. There was a clatter of stones, a confusedvision of a ponderous bulk heaving up and back--and all was still. But it was enough for me; there could be no mistake this time. Theram was mine. 

The sudden transition from utter dejection to the greatest triumphof a sportsman's life set me wild with joy. I yelled and pounded theold Mongol on the back until he begged for mercy; then I whirled himabout in a war dance on the summit of the ridge. I wanted to leapdown the rocks where the sheep had disappeared but the hunter heldmy ann. For ten minutes we sat there waiting to make sure that theram would not dash away while we were out of sight in the ravinebelow. But I knew in my heart that it was all unnecessary. My bullethad gone where I wanted it to go and that was quite enough. No sheepthat ever walked could live with a Mannlicher ball squarely in itsneck. 

When we finally descended, the animal lay halfway down the slope, feebly kicking. What a huge brute he was, and what a glorious head!I had never dreamed that an _argali_ could be so splendid. His hornswere perfect, and my hands could not meet around them at the base. 

Then, of course, I wanted to know what had happened at my firstshot. The evidence was there upon his face. My bullet had gone aninch high, struck him in the corner of the mouth, and emerged fromhis right cheek. It must have been a painful wound, and I shallnever cease to wonder what strange impulse brought him back after hehad been so badly stung. The second ball had been centered in theneck as though in the bull's-eye of a target. 

The skin and head of the sheep made a pack weighing nearly onehundred pounds, and the old Mongol groaned as he looked up at themountain barriers which separated us from camp. On the summit of thefirst ridge we found the trail over which we had passed in themorning. Half an hour later the hunter jerked me violently behind aledge of rock. "_Pan-yang_, " he whispered, "there, on the mountainside. Can't you see him?" I could not, and he tried to point to itwith my rifle. Just at that instant what I had supposed to be abrown rock came to life in a whirl of dust and vanished into theravine below. 

We waited breathlessly for perhaps a minute--it seemed hours--thenthe head and shoulders of a sheep appeared from behind a bowlder. Iaimed low and fired, and the animal crumpled in its tracks. A secondlater two rams and a ewe dashed from the same spot and stopped uponthe hillside less than a hundred yards away. Instinctively I sightedon the largest but dropped my rifle without touching the trigger. The sheep was small, and even if we did need him for the group wecould not carry his head and skin to camp that night. The wolveswould surely have found his carcass before dawn, and it would havebeen a useless waste of life. 

The one I had killed was a fine young ram. With the skin, head, andparts of the meat packed upon my shoulders we started homeward atsix o'clock. Our only exit lay down the river bed in the bottom of agreat cañon, for in the darkness it would have been dangerous tofollow the trail along the cliffs. In half an hour it was blacknight in the gorge. The vertical walls of rock shut out even thestarlight, and we could not see more than a dozen feet ahead. 

I shall never forget that walk. After wading the stream twenty-eighttimes I lost count. I was too cold and tired and had fallen over toomany rocks to have it make the slightest difference how many morethan twenty-eight times we went into the icy water. Thehundred-pound pack upon my back weighed more every hour, but thethought of those two splendid rams was as good as bread and wine. 

Harry was considerably worried when we reached camp at eleveno'clock, for in the village there had been much talk of bandits. Even before dinner we measured the rams and found that the horns ofthe one he had killed exceeded the published records for the speciesby half an inch in circumference. The horns were forty-seven inchesin length, but were broken at the tips; the original length wasfifty-one inches; the circumference at the base was twenty inches. Moreover, mine was not far behind in size. 

As I snuggled into my fur sleeping bag that night, I realized thatit had been the most satisfactory hunting day of my life. Thesuccess of the group was assured, with a record ram for the centralfigure. We had three specimens already, and the others would not behard to get. 

The next morning four soldiers were waiting in the courtyard when weawoke. With many apologies they informed us that they had been sentby the commander of the garrison at Kwei-hua-cheng to ask us to goback with them. The mountains were very dangerous; brigands wereswarming in the surrounding country; the commandant was greatlyworried for our safety. Therefore, would we be so kind as to breakcamp at once. 

We told them politely, but firmly, that it was impossible for us tocomply with their request. We needed the sheep for a great museum inNew York, and we could not return without them. As they could seefor themselves our passports had been properly viséed by the ForeignOffice in Peking, and we were prepared to stay. 

The soldiers returned to Kwei-hua-cheng, and the following day wewere honored by a visit from the commandant himself. To him werepeated our determination to remain. He evidently realized that wecould not be dislodged and suggested a compromise arrangement. Hewould send soldiers to guard our house and to accompany us while wewere hunting. We assented readily, because we knew Chinese soldiers. Of course, the sentinel at the door troubled us not at all, and theones who were to accompany us were easily disposed of. For the firstday's hunt with our guard we selected the roughest part of themountain, and set such a terrific pace up the almost perpendicularslope that before long they were left far behind. They neverbothered us again. 

CHAPTER XV

MONGOLIAN _ARGALI_

Although we had seen nearly a dozen sheep where we killed our firstthree rams, the mountains were deserted when Harry returned thefollowing morning. He hunted faithfully, but did not see even aroebuck; the sheep all had left for other feeding grounds. Iremained in camp to superintend the preparation of our specimens. 

The next day we had a glorious hunt. By six o'clock we were climbingthe winding, white trail west of camp, and for half an hour we stoodgazing into the gloomy depths of the stupendous gorge, as yetunlighted by the morning sun. Then we separated, each making towardthe grassy uplands by different routes. 

Na-mon-gin led me along the summit of a broken ridge, but, evidently, he did not expect to find sheep in the ravines, for hekept straight on, mile after mile, with never a halt for rest. Atlast we reached a point where the plateau rolled away in grassywaves of brown. We were circling a rounded hill, just below thecrest, when, not thirty yards away, three splendid roe deer jumpedto their feet and stood as though frozen, gazing at us; then, with asnort, they dashed down the slope and up the other side. They hadnot yet disappeared, when two other bucks crossed a ridge into thebottom of the draw. It was a sore trial to let them go, but the oldhunter had his hand upon my arm and shook his head. 

Passing the summit of the hill, we sat down for a look around. Before us, nearly a mile away, three shallow, grass-filled valleysdropped steeply from the rolling meadowland. Almost instantlythrough my binoculars caught the moving forms of three sheep in thebottom of the central draw. "_Pan-yang_, " I said to the Mongol. "Yes, yes, I see them, " he answered. "One has very big horns. " Hewas quite right; for the largest ram carried a splendid head, andthe other was by no means small. The third was a tiny ewe. Theanimals wandered about nibbling at the grass, but did not move outof the valley bottom. After studying them awhile the hunterremarked, "Soon they will go to sleep. We'll wait till then. Theywould hear or smell us if we went over now. "

I ate one of the three pears I had brought for tiffin and smoked acigarette. The hunter stretched himself out comfortably upon thegrass and pulled away at his pipe. It was very pleasant there, forwe were protected from the wind, and the sun was delightfully warm. I watched the sheep through the glasses and wondered if I shouldcarry home the splendid ram that night. Finally the little ewe laydown and the others followed her example. 

We were just preparing to go when the hunter touched my arm. "_Pan-yang_, " he whispered. "There, coming over the hill. Don't move. "Sure enough, a sheep was trotting slowly down the hillside in ourdirection. Why he did not see or smell us, I cannot imagine, for thewind was in his direction. But he came on, passed within one hundredfeet, and stopped on the summit of the opposite swell. What a shot!He was so close that I could have counted the rings on hishorns--and they were good horns, too, just the size we wanted for thegroup. But the hunter would not let me shoot. His heart was set uponthe big ram peacefully sleeping a mile away. 

"A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush" is a motto which Ihave followed with good success in hunting, and I was loath to letthat _argali_ go even for the prospect of the big one across thevalley. But I had a profound respect for the opinion of my hunter. He usually guessed right, and I had found it safe to follow hisadvice. 

So we watched the sheep walk slowly over the crest of the hill. TheMongol did not tell me then, but he knew that the animal was on hisway to join the others, and his silence cost us the big ram. You maywonder how he knew it. I can only answer that what that Mongol didnot know about the ways of sheep was not worth learning. He seemedto think as the sheep thought, but, withal, was a most intelligentand delightful companion. His ready sympathy, his keen humor, andhis interest in helping me get the finest specimens of the animals Iwanted, endeared him to me in a way which only a sportsman canunderstand. His Shansi dialect and my limited Mandarin made acurious combination of the Chinese language, but we could alwayspiece it out with signs, and we never misunderstood each other onany important matter. 

We had many friendly differences of opinion about the way in whichto conduct a stalk, and his childlike glee when he was provedcorrect was most refreshing. One morning I got the better of him, and for days he could not forget it. We were sitting on a hillside, and with my glasses I picked up a herd of sheep far away on theuplands. "Yes, " he said, "one is a very big ram. " How he could tellat that distance was a mystery to me, but I did not question hisstatement for he had proved too often that his range of sight wasalmost beyond belief. 

We started toward the sheep, and after half a mile I looked again. Then I thought I saw a grasscutter, and the animals seemed likedonkeys. I said as much but the hunter laughed. "Why, I saw thehorns, " he said. "One is a big one, a _very_ big one. " I stopped asecond time and made out a native bending over, cutting grass. But Icould not convince the Mongol. He disdained my glasses and would noteven put them to his eyes. "I don't have to--I _know_ they aresheep, " he laughed. But I, too, was sure. "Well, we'll see, " hesaid. When we looked again, there could be no mistake; the sheepwere donkeys. It was a treat to watch the Mongol's face, and I mademuch capital of his mistake, for he had so often teased me when Iwas wrong. 

But to return to the sheep across the valley which we were stalkingon that sunlit Thursday noon. After the ram had disappeared we madeour way slowly around the hilltop, whence he had come, to gain aconnecting meadow which would bring us to the ravine where the_argali_ were sleeping. On the way I was in a fever of indecision. Ought I to have let that ram go? He was just what we wanted for thegroup, and something might happen to prevent a shot at the others. It was "a bird in the hand" again, and I had been false to the mottowhich had so often proved true. 

Then the "something" I had feared did happen. We saw a grasscutterwith two donkeys emerge from a ravine on the left and strike alongthe grassy bridge five hundred yards beyond us. If he turned to theright across the upper edge of the meadows, we could whistle for oursheep. Even if he kept straight ahead, possibly they might scenthim. The Mongol's face was like a thundercloud. I believe he wouldhave strangled that grasscutter could he have had him in his hands. But the Fates were kind, and the man with his donkeys kept to theleft across the uplands. Even then my Mongol would not hurry. Hismotto was "Slowly, slowly, " and we seemed barely to crawl up theslope of the shallow valley which I hoped still held the sheep. 

On the summit of the draw the old hunter motioned me behind him andcautiously raised his head. Then a little farther. Another step anda long look. He stood on tiptoe, and, settling back, quietlymotioned me to move up beside him. 

Just then a gust of wind swept across the hilltop and into theravine. There was a rush of feet, a clatter of sliding rock, andthree _argali_ dashed into view on the opposite slope. They stoppedtwo hundred yards away. My hunter was frantically whispering, "Onemore. Don't shoot. Don't shoot. " I was at a loss to understand, forI knew there were only three sheep in the draw. The two rams bothseemed enormous, and I let drive at the leader. He went down likelead--shot through the shoulders. The two others ran a few yards andstopped again. When I fired, the sheep whirled about but did notfall. I threw in another shell and held the sight well down. The"putt" of a bullet on flesh came distinctly to us, but the ram stoodwithout a motion. 

The third shot was too much, and he slumped forward, rolled over, and crashed to the bottom of the ravine. All the time Na-mon-gin wasfrantically whispering, "Not right. Not right. The big one. The bigone. " As the second sheep went down I learned the reason. Out fromthe valley directly below us rushed a huge ram, washed with white onthe neck and shoulders and carrying a pair of enormous, curlinghorns. I was too surprised to move. How could four sheep be there, when I knew there were only three!

Usually I am perfectly cool when shooting and have all my excitementwhen the work is done, but the unexpected advent of that ram turnedon the thrills a bit too soon. I forgot what I had whispered tomyself at every shot, "Aim low, aim low. You are shooting downhill. " I held squarely on his gray-white shoulder and pulled thetrigger. The bullet just grazed his back. He ran a few steps andstopped. Again I fired hurriedly, and the ball missed him by thefraction of an inch. I saw it strike and came to my senses with ajerk; but it was too late, for the rifle was empty. Before I couldcram in another shell the sheep was gone. 

Na-mon-gin was absolutely disgusted. Even though I had killed twofine rams, he wanted the big one. "But, " I said, "where did thefourth sheep come from? I saw only three. " He looked at me inamazement. "Didn't you know that the ram which walked by us wentover to the others?" he answered. "Any one ought to have known thatmuch. "

Well, I hadn't known. Otherwise, I should have held my fire. Rightthere the Mongol read me a lecture on too much haste. He said I waslike every other foreigner--always in a rush. He said a lot of otherthings which I accepted meekly, for I knew that he was right. Ialways _am_ in a hurry. Missing that ram had taken most of the joyout of the others; and to make matters worse, the magnificent animalstationed himself on the very hillside where we had been sittingwhen we saw them first and, with the little ewe close beside him, watched us for half an hour. 

Na-mon-gin glared at him and shook his fist. "We'll get youto-morrow, you old rabbit, " he said; and then to me, "Don't you care. I won't eat till we kill him. "

For the next ten minutes the kindly old Mongol devoted himself tobringing a smile to my lips. He told me he knew just where that ramwould go; we couldn't have carried in his head anyway; that it wouldbe much better to save him for to-morrow; and that I had killed theother two so beautifully that he was proud of me. 

I continued to feel better when I saw the two dead _argali_. Theywere both fine rams, in perfect condition, with beautiful horns. Oneof them was the sheep which had walked so close to us; there was nodoubt of that, for I had been able to see the details of his "faceand figure. " Every _argali_ has its own special characters which areunmistakable. In the carriage of his head, the curve of his horns, and in coloration, he is as individual as a human being. 

While we were examining the sheep, Harry and his hunter appearedupon the rim of the ravine. They brought with them, on a donkey, theskin and head of a fine two-year-old ram which he had killed an hourearlier far beyond us on the uplands. It fitted exactly into ourseries, and when we had another big ram and two ewes, the groupwould be complete. 

Poor Harry was hobbling along just able to walk. He had strained atendon in his right leg the previous morning, and had been enduringthe most excruciating pain all day. He wanted to stay and help usskin the sheep, but I would not let him We were a long way fromcamp, and it would require all his strength to get back at all. 

At half-past four we finished with the sheep, and tied the skins andmuch of the meat on the two donkeys which Harry had commandeered. Our only way home lay down the river bed, for in the darkness wecould not follow the trail along the cliffs. By six o'clock it wasblack night in the gorge. 

The donkeys were our only salvation, for by instinct--it couldn'thave been sight--they followed the trail along the base of thecliffs. By keeping my hands upon the back of the rearmost animal, and the two Mongols close to me, we got out of the cañon and intothe wider valley. When we reached the village I was hungry enough toeat chips, for I had had only three pears since six o'clock in themorning, and it was then nine at night. 

Harry, limping into camp just after dark, had met my cousin, Commander Thomas Hutchins, Naval Attache of the American Legation, and Major Austin Barker of the British Army, whom we had beenexpecting. They had reached the village about ten o'clock in themorning and spent the afternoon shooting hares near a beautifultemple which Harry had discovered among the hills three miles fromcamp. The boys had waited dinner for me, and we ate it amid a galeof laughter--we were always laughing during the five days that Tomand Barker were with us. 

Harry was out of the hunting the next day because his leg needed acomplete rest. I took Tom out with me, while Barker was piloted byan old Mongol who gave promise of being a good hunter. Tom and Iclimbed the white trail to the summit of the ridge, while Barkerturned off to the left to gain the peaks on the other side of thegorge. Na-mon-gin was keen for the big ram which I had missed theday before. He had a very definite impression of just where thatsheep was to be found, and he completely ignored the ravines oneither side of the trail. 

Not half a mile from the summit of the pass, the Mongol stopped andsaid, "_Pan-yang_-on that ridge across the valley. " He looked againand turned to me with a smile. "It is the same ram, " he said. "Iknew he would be here. " Sure enough, when I found the sheep with myglasses, I recognized our old friend. The little ewe was with him, and they had been joined by another ram carrying a circlet of horns, not far short of the big fellow's in size. 

For half an hour we watched them while the Mongols smoked. The sheepwere standing on the very crest of a ridge across the river, movinga few steps now and then, but never going far from where we firstdiscovered them. My hunter said that soon they would go to sleep, and in less than half an hour they filed down hill into the valley;then we, too, went down, crossed a low ridge, and descended to theriver's edge. The climb up the other side was decidedly stiff, andit was nearly an hour before we were peering into the ravine wherethe sheep had disappeared. They were not there, and the hunter saidthey had gone either up or down the valley--he could not tell whichway. 

We went up first, but no sheep. Then we crossed to the ridge wherewe had first seen the _argali_ and cautiously looked over a ledge ofrocks. There they were, about three hundred yards below, and on thealert, for they had seen Tom's hunter, who had carelessly exposedhimself on the crest of the ridge. Tom fired hurriedly, neglectingto remember that he was shooting down hill, and, consequently, overshot the big ram. They rushed off, two shots of mine fallingshort at nearly four hundred yards as they disappeared behind arocky ledge. 

My Mongol said that we might intercept them if we hurried, and heled me a merry chase into the bottom of the ravine and up the otherside. The sheep were there, but standing in an amphitheater formedby inaccessible cliffs. I advocated going to the ridge above andtrying for a shot, but the hunter scoffed at the idea. He said thatthey would surely scent or hear us long before we could see them. 

Tom and his Mongol joined us in a short time, and for an hour we layin the sunshine waiting for the sheep to compose themselves. It wasdelightfully warm, and we were perfectly content to remain all theafternoon amid the glorious panorama of encircling peaks. 

At last Na-mon-gin prepared to leave. He indicated that we were togo below and that Tom's hunter was to drive the sheep toward us. When we reached the river, the Mongol placed Tom behind a rock atthe mouth of the amphitheater. He took me halfway up the slope, andwe settled ourselves behind two bowlders. 

I was breathing hard from the strenuous climb, and the old fellowwaited until I was ready to shoot; then he gave a signal, and Tom'shunter appeared at the very summit of the rocky amphitheater. Instantly the sheep were on the move, running directly toward us. They seemed to be as large as elephants, for never before had I beenas close to a living _argali_. Just as the animals mounted the crestof a rocky ledge, not more than fifty yards away, Na-mon-ginwhistled sharply, and the sheep stopped as though turned to stone. 

"Now, " he whispered, "shoot. " As I brought my rifle to the level itbanged in the air. I had been showing the hunters how to use thedelicate set-trigger, and had carelessly left it on. The sheepinstantly dashed away, but there was only one avenue of escape, andthat was down hill past me. My second shot broke the hind leg of thebig ram; the third struck him in the abdomen, low down, and hestaggered, but kept on. The sheep had reached the bottom of thevalley before my fourth bullet broke his neck. 

Tom opened fire when the other ram and the ewe appeared at the mouthof the amphitheater, but his rear sight had been loosened in theclimb down the cliff, and his shots went wild. It was hard luck, forI was very anxious to have him kill an _argali_. 

The abdomen shot would have finished the big ram eventually, and Imight have killed the other before it crossed the creek; butexperience has taught me that it is best to take no chances with awounded animal in rough country such as this. I have lost too manyspecimens by being loath to finish them off when they were badlyhit. 

[Illustration: Where the Bighorn Sheep Are Found]

[Illustration: A Mongolian Roebuck]

My ram was a beauty. His horns were almost equal to those of therecord head which Harry had killed on the first day, but one of themwas marred by a broken tip. The old warrior must have weatherednearly a score of winters and have had many battles. But his newcoat was thick and fine--the most beautiful of any we had seen. Ashe lay in the bottom of the valley I was impressed again by theenormous size of an _argali's_ body. There was an excellentopportunity to compare it with a donkey's, for before we hadfinished our smoke, a Mongol arrived driving two animals before him. The sheep was about one-third larger than the donkey, and with histremendous neck and head must have weighed a great deal more. 

After the ram had been skinned Tom and I left the men to pack in themeats skin, and head, while we climbed to the summit of the pass andwandered slowly home in the twilight. Major Barker came in shortlyafter we reached the village. He was almost done, for his man hadtaken him into the rough country north of camp. A strenuous day fora man just from the city, but Barker was enthusiastic. Even thoughhe had not killed a ram, he had wounded one in the leg and hadcounted twenty sheep--more than either Harry or I had seen duringthe entire time we had been at Wu-shi-tu. 

When we awoke at five o'clock in the morning, Torn stretched himselfvery gingerly and remarked that the only parts of him which weren'tsore were his eyelids! Harry was still _hors de combat_ with thestrained tendon in his leg, and I had the beginning of an attack ofinfluenza. Barker admitted that his joints "creaked" considerably;still, he was full of enthusiasm. We started off together butseparated when six miles from camp. He found sheep on the uplandsalmost at once, but did not get a head. Barker was greatlyhandicapped by using a special model U. S. Army Springfield rifle, which weighed almost as much as a machine gun, and could not havebeen less fitted for hunting in rough country. No man ever workedharder for an _argali_ than he did, and he deserved the best head inthe mountains. By noon I was burning with fever and almost unable todrag myself back to camp. I arrived at four o'clock, just after Tomreturned. He had not seen a sheep. 

The Major hunted next day, but was unsuccessful, and none of us wentto the mountains again, for I had nearly a week in bed, and Harrywas only able to hobble about the court. On the 28th of October, Tomand Barker left for Peking. Harry and I were sorry to have themleave us. I have camped with many men in many countries of theworld, but with no two who were better field companions. NeitherHarry nor I will ever forget the happy days with them. 

It was evident that I could not hunt again for at least a week, although I could sit a horse. We had seven sheep, and the group wasassured; therefore, we decided to shift camp to the wapiti country, fifty miles away hoping that by the time we reached there, we bothwould be fit again. 

CHAPTER XVI

THE "HORSE-DEER" OF SHANSI

All the morning our carts had bumped and rattled over the stones ina somber valley one hundred and fifty _li_ from where we had killedthe sheep [Footnote: A _li_ equals about one-third of a mile]. Withevery mile the precipitous cliffs pressed in more closely upon usuntil at last the gorge was blocked by a sheer wall of rock. Ourdestination was a village named Wu-tai-hai, but there appeared to beno possible place for a village in that narrow cañon. 

We were a quarter of a mile from the barrier before we coulddistinguish a group of mud-walled huts, seemingly plastered againstthe rock like a collection of swallows' nests. No one but a Chinesewould have dreamed of building a house in that desolate place. Itwas Wu-tai-hai, without a doubt, and Harry and I rode forward toinvestigate. 

At the door of a tiny hut we were met by one of our Chinesetaxidermists. He ushered us into the court and, with a wave of hishand, announced, "This is the American Legation. " The yard was amass of straw and mud. From the gaping windows of the house bits oftorn paper fluttered in the wind; inside, at one end of the largestroom, was a bed platform made of mud; at the other, a fat mother hogwith five squirming "piglets" sprawled contentedly on the dirtfloor. Six years before Colonel (then Captain) Thomas Holcomb, ofthe United States Marine Corps, had spent several days at this butwhile hunting elk. Therefore, it will be known to Peking Chineseuntil the end of time as the "American Legation. "

An inspection of the remaining houses in the village disclosed nobetter quarters, so our boys ousted the sow and her family, sweptthe house, spread the _kang_ and floor with clean straw, and pastedfresh paper over the windows. We longed to use our tents, but therewas nothing except straw or grass to burn, and cooking would beimpossible. The villagers were too poor to buy coal fromKwei-hua-cheng, forty miles away, and there was not a sign of wood onthe bare, brown hills. 

At the edge of the _kang_, in these north Shansi houses, there isalways a clay stove which supports a huge iron pot. A hand bellowsis built into the side of the stove, and by feeding straw or grasswith one hand and energetically manipulating the bellows with theother, a fire sufficient for simple cooking is obtained. 

Except for a few hours of the day the house is as cold as the yardoutside, but the natives mind it not at all. Men and women alikedress in sheepskin coats and padded cotton trousers. They do notexpect to remove their clothing when they come indoors, and warmth, except at night, is a nonessential in their scheme of life. A systemof flues draws the heat from the cooking fires underneath the_kang_, and the clay bricks retain their temperature for severalhours. 

At best the north China natives lead a cheerless existence inwinter. The house is not a home. Dark, cold, dirty, it is merely aplace in which to eat and sleep. There is no home-making instinct inthe Chinese wife, for a centuries' old social system, based on theConfucian ethics, has smothered every thought of the privileges ofwomanhood. Her place is to cook, sew, and bear children; to reflectonly the thoughts of her lord and master--to have none of her own. 

Wu-tai-hai was typical of villages of its class in all north China;mud huts, each with a tiny courtyard, built end to end in a cornerof the hillside. A few acres of ground in the valley bottom and onthe mountain side capable of cultivation yield enough wheat, corn, turnips, cabbages, and potatoes to give the natives food. Their lifeis one of work with few pleasures, and yet they are content becausethey know nothing else. 

Imagine, then, what it meant when we suddenly injected ourselvesinto their midst. We had come from a world beyond the mountains--aworld of which they had sometimes heard, but which was as unreal tothem as that of another planet. Europe and America were merelynames. A few had learned from passing soldiers that these strangemen in that dim, far land had been fighting among themselves andthat China, too, was in some vague way connected with the struggle. 

But it had not affected them in their tiny rock-bound village. Theirworld was encompassed within the valley walls or, in its uttermostlimits, extended to Kwei-hua-cheng, forty miles away. They knew, even, that a "fire carriage" running on two rails of steel cameregularly to Feng-chen, four days' travel to the east, but few ofthem had ever seen it. So it was almost as unreal as stories of thewar and aeroplanes and automobiles. 

All the village gathered at the "American Legation" while weunpacked our carts. They gazed in silent awe at our guns and camerasand sleeping bags, but the trays of specimens brought forth anactive response. Here was something that was a part of their ownlife--something they could understand. Mice and rabbits like thesethey had seen in their own fields; that weasel was the same kind ofanimal which sometimes stole their chickens. They pointed to therocks when they saw a red-legged partridge, and told us there weremany there; also pheasants. 

Why we wanted the skins they could not understand, of course. I toldthem that we would take them far away across the ocean to Americaand put them in a great house as large as that hill across thevalley; but they smilingly shook their heads. The ocean meantnothing to them, and as for a house as large as a hill--well, therenever could be such a place. They were perfectly sure of that. 

We had come to Wu-tai-hai to hunt wapiti--_ma-lu_ (horse-deer) thenatives call them--and they assured us that we could find them onthe mountains behind the village. Only last night, said one of themen, he had seen four standing on the hillside. Two had antlers aslong as that stick, but they were no good now--the horns werehard--we should have come in the spring when they were soft. Then eachpair was worth $150, at least, and big ones even more. The doctorsmake wonderful medicine from the horns--only a little of it wouldcure any disease no matter how bad it was. They themselves could notget the _ma-lu_, for the soldiers had long since taken away alltheir guns, but they would show us where they were. 

It was pleasant to hear all this, for we wanted some of those wapitivery badly, indeed. It is one of the links in the chain of evidenceconnecting the animals of the Old World and the New--the problemwhich makes Asia the most fascinating hunting ground of all theearth. 

When the early settlers first penetrated the forests of America theyfound the great deer which the Indians called "wapiti. " It wassupposed for many years that it inhabited only America, but not longago similar deer were discovered in China, Manchuria, Korea, Mongolia, Siberia, and Turkestan, where undoubtedly the Americanspecies originated. Its white discoverers erroneously named theanimal "elk, " but as this title properly belongs to the European"moose, " sportsmen have adopted the Indian name "wapiti" to avoidconfusion. Of course, changed environment developed different"species" in all the animals which migrated from Asia either toEurope or America, but their relationships are very close, indeed. 

The particular wapiti which we hoped to get at Wu-tai-hairepresented a species almost extinct in China. Because of relentlesspersecution when the antlers are growing and in the "velvet" andcontinual cutting of the forests only a few individuals remain inthis remote corner of northern Shansi Province. These will soon allbe killed, for the railroad is being extended to within a few milesof their last stronghold, and sportsmen will flock to the hills fromthe treaty ports of China. 

Our first hunt was on November first. We left camp by a short cutbehind the village and descended to the bowlder-strewn bed of thecreek which led into a tremendous gorge. We felt very small andhelpless as our eyes traveled up the well-nigh vertical walls to theragged edge of the chasm a thousand feet above us. The mightiness ofit all was vaguely depressing, and it was with a distinct feeling ofrelief that we saw the cañon widen suddenly into a giganticamphitheater. In its very center, rising from a ragged granitepedestal, a pinnacle of rock, crowned by a tiny temple, shot intothe air. It was three hundred feet, at least, from the stream bed tothe summit of the spire--and what a colossal task it must have beento transport the building materials for the temple up the sheersides of rock! The valley sinners must gain much merit from thedanger and effort involved in climbing there to worship. 

Farther on we passed two villages and then turned off to the rightup a tributary valley. We were anxiously looking for signs offorest, but the only possible cover was in a few ravines where asparse growth of birch and poplar bushes, not more than six or eightfeet high, grew on the north slope. Moreover, we could see that thevalley ended in open rolling uplands. 

[Illustration: The Head of the Record Ram]

[Illustration: Map of Mongolia and China, Showing Route of SecondAsiatic Expedition in Broken Lines]

Turning to Na-mon-gin, I said, "How much farther are the _ma-lu_?""Here, " he answered. "We have already arrived. They are in thebushes on the mountain side. "

Caldwell and I were astounded. The idea of looking for wapiti insuch a place seemed too absurd! There was hardly enough coversuccessfully to conceal a rabbit, to say nothing of an animal aslarge as a horse. Nevertheless, the hunters assured us that the_ma-lu_ were there, and we began to take a new interest in the birchscrub. Almost immediately we saw three roebuck near the rim of oneof the ravines, their white rump-patches showing conspicuously asthey bobbed about in the thin cover. We could have killed themeasily, but the hunters would not let us shoot, for we were afterlarger game. 

A few moments later we separated, Harry keeping on up the mainvalley, while my hunter and I turned into a patch of brush directlyabove us. We had not gone fifty yards when there was a crash, a rushof feet, and four wapiti dashed through the bushes. The three cowskept straight on, but the bull stopped just on the crest of theridge directly behind a thick screen of twigs. My rifle was sightedat the huge body dimly visible through the branches. In a moment Iwould have touched the trigger, but the hunter caught my arm, whispering frantically, "Don't shoot! Don't shoot!"

Of course I knew it was a long chance, for the bullet almostcertainly would have been deflected by the twigs, but those splendidantlers seemed very near and very, very desirable. I lowered myrifle reluctantly, and the bull disappeared over the hill crestwhence the cows had gone. 

"They'll stop in the next ravine, " said the hunter, but when wecautiously peered over the ridge the animals were not there--norwere they in the next. At last we found their trail leading into thegrassy uplands; but the possibility of finding wapiti, these animalsof the forests, on those treeless slopes seemed too absurd even toconsider. Yet, the old Mongol kept straight on across the rollingmeadow. 

Suddenly, off at the right, Harry's rifle banged three times inquick succession--then an interval, and two more shots. Ten secondslater three wapiti cows showed black against the sky line. They werecoming fast and straight toward us. We flattened ourselves in thegrass, lying as motionless as two gray bowlders, and a moment lateranother wapiti appeared behind the cows. As the sun glistened on hisbranching antlers there was no doubt that he was a bull, and a bigone, too. 

The cows were headed to pass about two hundred yards above us andbehind the hill crest. I could easily have reached the summit wherethey, would have been at my mercy, but lower down the big bull alsowas coming, and the hunter would not let me move. "Wait, wait, " hewhispered, "we'll surely get him. Wait, we can't lose him. "

"What about that ravine?" I answered. "He'll go into the cover. Hewill never come across this open hillside. I'm going to shoot. "

"No, no, he won't turn there. I am sure he won't. " The Mongol wasright. The big fellow ran straight toward us until he came to theentrance to the valley. My heart was in my mouth as he stopped foran instant and looked down into the cover. Then, for some strangereason, he turned and cane on. Three hundred yards away he haltedsuddenly, swung about, and looked at the ravine again as if halfdecided to go back. 

He was standing broadside, and at the crash of my rifle we couldhear the soft thud of the bullet striking flesh; but without a signof injury he ran forward and stopped under a swell of ground. Icould see just ten inches of his back and the magnificent head. Itwas a small target at three hundred yards, and I missed him twice. With the greatest care I held the little ivory bead well down onthat thin brown line, but the bullet only creased his back. It wasno use--I simply could not hit him. Running up the hill a few feet, I had his Whole body exposed, and the first shot put him down forgood. 

With a whoop of joy my old Mongol dashed down the steep slope. I hadnever seen him excited while we were hunting sheep, but now he waswild with delight. Before he had quieted we saw Harry coming overthe hill where the wapiti had first appeared. He told us that he hadknocked the bull down at long range and had expected to find himdead until he heard me shooting. We found where his bullet hadstruck the wapiti in the shoulder, yet the animal was running asthough untouched. 

I examined the bull with the greatest interest, for it was the firstAsiatic wapiti of this species that I had ever seen. Its splendidantlers carried eleven points but they were not as massive in thebeam or as sharply bent backward at the tips as are those of theAmerican elk. Because of its richer coloration, however, it wasdecidedly handsomer than any of the American animals. 

But the really extraordinary thing was to find the wapiti there atall. It seemed as incongruous as the first automobile that I sawupon the Gobi Desert, for in every other part of the world theanimal is a resident of the park-like openings in the forests. Herenot a twig or bush was in sight, only the rolling, grass-covereduplands. Undoubtedly these mountains had been wooded many years ago, and as the trees were cut away, the animals had no alternativeexcept to die or adapt themselves to almost plains conditions. Thesparse birch scrub in the ravines still afforded them limitedprotection during the day, but they could feed only at night. It wasa case of rapid adaptation to changed environment such as I haveseen nowhere else in all the world. 

The wapiti, of course, owed their continued existence to the factthat the Chinese villagers of the valley had no firearms; otherwise, when the growing antlers set a price upon their heads, they wouldall have been exterminated within a year or two. 

CHAPTER XVII

WAPITI, ROEBUCK, AND GORAL

After the first day we left the "American Legation" and moved campto one of two villages at the upper end of the valley about a milenearer the hunting grounds. There were only half a dozen huts, butthey were somewhat superior to those of Wu-tai-hai, and we were ableto make ourselves fairly comfortable. The usual threshing floor ofhard clay adjoined each house, and all day we could hear the steadybeat, beat, beat, of the flails pounding out the wheat. 

The grain was usually freed from chaff by the simple process ofthrowing it into the air when a brisk wind was blowing, but we sawseveral hand winnowing machines which were exceedingly ingenious andvery effective. The wheat was ground between two circular stonesoperated by a blindfolded donkey which plodded round and round tiedto a shaft. Of course, had the animal been able to see he would nothave walked continuously in a circle without giving trouble to hismaster. 

Behind our new house the cliffs rose in sheer walls for hundreds offeet, and red-legged partridges, or chuckars, were always callingfrom some ledge or bowlder. We could have excellent shooting atalmost any hour of the day and often picked up pheasants, beardedpartridges, and rabbits in the tiny fields across the stream. Besides the wapiti and roebuck, goral were plentiful on the cliffsand there were a few sheep in the lower valley. Altogether it was averitable game paradise, but one which I fear will last only a fewyears longer. 

We found that the wapiti were not as easy to kill as the first day'shunt had given us reason to believe. The mountains, separated bydeep ravines, were so high and precipitous that if the deer becamealarmed and crossed a valley it meant a climb of an hour or more toreach the crest of the new ridge. It was killing work, and wereturned to camp every night utterly exhausted. 

The concentration of animal life in these scrub-filled gorges wasreally extraordinary, and I hope that a "game hog" never finds thatvalley. Probably in no other part of China can one see as manyroebuck in a space so limited. It is due, of course, to the unusualconditions. Instead of being scattered over a large area, as isusual in the forest where there is an abundance of cover, theanimals are confined to the few ravines in which brush remains. Thesurrounding open hills isolate them almost as effectively as thoughthey were encircled by water; when driven from one patch of coverthey can only run to the next valley. 

The facility with which the roebuck and wapiti had adaptedthemselves to utterly new conditions was a continual marvel to me, and I never lost the feeling of surprise when I saw the animals onthe open hillside or running across the rolling, treeless uplands. Had an elephant or a rhinoceros suddenly appeared in place of adeer, it would not have seemed more incongruous. 

After we had killed the first wapiti we did not fire a shot for twodays, even though roebuck were all about us and we wanted a seriesfor the Museum. This species, _Capreolus bedfordi_, is smaller bothin body and in antlers than the one we obtained in Mongolia anddiffers decidedly in coloration. 

On the second hunt I, alone, saw forty-five roebuck, and Harry, whowas far to the north of me, counted thirty-one. The third day wewere together and put out at least half as many. During that time wesaw two wapiti, but did not get a shot at either. Both of us werebecoming decidedly tired of passing specimens which we wanted badlyand decided to go for roebuck regardless of the possibility offrightening wapiti by the shooting. Na-mon-gin and the other hunterswere disgusted with our decision, for they were only interested inthe larger game. For the first two drives they worked onlyhalf-heartedly, and although seventeen deer were put out of oneravine, they escaped without giving us a shot. 

Harry and I held a council of war with the natives and impressedupon them the fact that we were intending to hunt roebuck that dayregardless of their personal wishes. They realized that we were notto be dissuaded and prepared to drive the next patch of cover in areally businesslike manner. 

Na-mon-gin took me to a position on the edge of a projecting rock toawait the natives. As they appeared on the rim of the ravine we sawfive roe deer move in the bushes where they had been asleep. Four ofthem broke back through the line of beaters, but one fine buck camestraight toward us. He ran up the slope and crossed a rock-saddlealmost beneath me, but I did not fire until he was well away on theopposite hillside; then he plunged forward in his tracks, dead. 

Without moving from our position we sent the men over the crest ofthe mountain to drive the ravines on the other side. The old Mongoland I stretched out upon the rock and smoked for half an hour, whileI tried to tell him in my best Chinese--which is very bad--the storyof a bear hunt in Alaska. I had just killed the bear, in mynarrative, when we saw five roebuck appear on the sky line. Theytrotted straight toward Harry, and in a moment we heard two shots inquick succession. I knew that meant at least one more deer. 

Five minutes later we made out a roebuck rounding the base of thespur on which we sat. It seemed no larger than a brown rabbit atthat distance, but the animal was running directly up the bottom ofthe ravine which we commanded. It was a buck carrying splendidantlers and we watched him come steadily on until he was almostbelow us. 

Na-mon-gin whispered, "Don't shoot until he stops"; but it seemedthat the animal would cross the ridge without a pause. He was almostat the summit when he halted for an instant, facing directly awayfrom us. I fired, and the buck leaped backward shot through theneck. 

Na-mon-gin was in high good humor, for I had killed two deer withtwo shots. Harry brought a splendid doe which he had bored neatlythrough the body as it dashed at full speed across the valley belowhim. Even the old Mongol had to admit that the wapiti could not havebeen greatly disturbed by the shooting, and all the men were aspleased as children. There was meat enough for all our boys as wellas for the beaters. 

Our next day's hunt was for goral on the precipitous cliffs north ofcamp. Goral belong to a most interesting group of mammals known asthe "goat-antelopes" because of the intermediate position which theyoccupy between the true antelope and the goats. The takin, serow, and goral are the Asiatic members of this sub-family, the_Rupicaprinae_, which is represented in America by the so-calledRocky Mountain goat and in Europe by the chamois. The goral might becalled the Asiatic chamois, for its habits closely resemble those ofits European relative. 

I had killed twenty-five goral in Yün-nan on the first Asiaticexpedition and, therefore, was not particularly keen, from thesporting standpoint, about shooting others. But we did need severalspecimens, since the north China goral represents a differentspecies, _Nemorhaedus caudatus_, from the one we had obtained inYün-nan, which is _N. Griseus_. 

Moreover, Harry was exceedingly anxious to get several of theanimals for he had not been very successful with them. He had shotone at Wu-shi-tu, while we were hunting sheep, and after woundingtwo others at Wu-tai-hai had begun to learn how hard they are tokill. 

The thousand-foot climb up the almost perpendicular cliff was one ofthe most difficult bits of going which we encountered anywhere inthe mountains, and I was ready for a rest in the sun when we reachedthe summit. Although my beaters were not successful in putting out agoral, we heard Harry shoot once away to the right; and half an hourlater I saw him through my binoculars accompanied by one of his menwho carried a goral on his shoulders. 

On the way Harry disturbed a goral which ran down the sheer wallopposite to us at full speed, bouncing from rock to rock as thoughmade of India rubber. It was almost inconceivable that anythingexcept a bird could move along the face of that cliff, and yet thegoral ran apparently as easily as though it had been on levelground. I missed it beautifully and the animal disappeared into acave among the rocks. Although I sent two bullets into the hole, hoping to drive out the beast, it would not move. Two beaters madetheir way from above to within thirty feet of the hiding place andsent down a shower of dirt and stones, but still there was no signof action. Then another native climbed up from below at the risk ofhis life, and just as he gained the ledge which led to the cave thegoral leaped out. The Mongol yelled with fright, for the animalnearly shoved him off the rocks and dashed into the bottom of theravine where it took refuge in another cave. 

I would not have taken that thousand-foot climb again for all thegorals in China, but Harry started down at once. The animal againremained in its cave until a beater was opposite the entrance andthen shot out like an arrow almost into Harry's face. He was sostartled that he missed it twice. 

I decided to abandon goral hunting for that day. Na-mon-gin took meover the summit of the ridge with two beaters and we found roebuckat once. I returned to camp with two bucks and a doe. In the lowervalley I met Harry carrying a shotgun and accompanied by a boystrung about with pheasants and chuckars. After losing the goral hehad toiled up the mountain again but had found only two roebuck, oneof which he shot. 

Our second wapiti was killed on November seventh. It was a raw daywith an icy wind blowing across the ridges where we lay for half anhour while the beaters bungled a drive for twelve roebuck which hadgone into a scrub-filled ravine. The animals eluded us by runningacross a hilltop which should have been blocked by a native, and Igot only one shot at a fox. The report of my rifle disturbed eightwapiti which the beaters discovered as they crossed the uplands inthe direction of another patch of cover a mile away. 

It was a long, cold walk over the hills against the biting wind, andafter driving one ravine unsuccessfully Harry descended to thebottom of a wide valley, while I continued parallel with him on thesummit of the ridge. Three roebuck suddenly jumped from a shallowravine in front of me, and one of them, a splendid buck, stoppedbehind a bush. It was too great a temptation, so I fired; but thebullet went to pieces in the twigs and never reached its mark. Harrysaw the deer go over the hill and ran around the base of a rockyshoulder just in time to intercept three wapiti which my shot hadstarted down the ravine. He dropped behind a bowlder and let a cowand a calf pass within a few yards of him, for he saw the antlers ofa bull rocking along just behind a tiny ridge. As the animal cameinto view he sent a bullet into his shoulder, and a second ball afew inches behind the first. The elk went down but got to his feetagain, and Harry put him under for good with a third shot in thehip. 

Looking up he saw another bull, alone, emerging from a patch ofcover on the summit of the opposite slope four hundred yards away. He fired point-blank, but the range was a bit too long and hisbullet kicked up a cloud of snow under the animal's belly. 

I was entirely out of the race on the summit of the hill, for thenearest wapiti was fully eight hundred yards away. Harry's bull wassomewhat smaller than the first one we had killed, but had an evenmore beautiful coat. 

We were pretty well exhausted from the week's strenuous climbing andspent Sunday resting and looking after the small mammal work whichour Chinese taxidermists had been carrying on under my direction. 

Monday morning we were on the hunting grounds shortly after sunrise. At the first drive a beautiful buck roe deer ran out of a ravineinto the main valley where I was stationed. Suddenly he caught sightof us where we sat under a rock and stopped with head thrown up andone foot raised. I shall never forget the beautiful picture which hemade standing there against the background of snow with the sunglancing on his antlers. Before I could shoot he was off at topspeed bounding over the bushes parallel to us. My first shot justcreased his back, but the second caught him squarely in theshoulder, while he was in mid-air, turning him over in a completesomersault. 

A few moments later we saw the two beaters on the hill run towardeach other excitedly and felt sure they had seen something besidesroebuck. When they reached us they reported that seven wapiti hadrun out directly between them and over the ridge. 

The climb to the top of the mountain was an ordeal. It was thehighest ridge on that side of the valley and every time we reachedwhat appeared to be the crest, another and higher summit loomedabove us. We followed the tracks of the animals into a series ofravines which ran down on the opposite side of the mountain andtried a drive. It was too large a territory for our four beaters, and the animals escaped unobserved up one of the valleys. Na-mon-ginand I sat on the hillside for an hour in the icy wind. We were bothshaking with cold and I doubt if I could have hit a wapiti if it hadstopped fifty feet away. 

Harry saw a young elk go into a mass of birch scrub in the bottom ofthe valley, and when he descended to drive it out, his hunterdiscovered a huge bull walking slowly up a ravine not two hundredyards from me but under cover of the hill and beyond my sight. 

A little before dark we started home by way of a deep ravine whichextended out to the main valley. We were talking in a low tone and Iwas smoking a cigarette--my rifle slung over my shoulder. SuddenlyHarry exclaimed, "Great Scott, Roy! There's a _ma-lu_. "

On the instant his rifle banged, and I looked up just in time to seea bull wapiti stop on an open slope of the ravine about ninety yardsaway. Before I had unslung my rifle Harry fired again, but he couldnot see the notch in his rear sight and both bullets went high. 

Through the peep sight in my Mannlicher the animal was perfectlyvisible, and when I fired, the bull dropped like lead, rolling overand over down the hill. He attempted to get to his feet but wasunable to stand, and I put him down for good with a second shot. Itall happened so quickly that we could hardly realize that a day ofdisappointment had ended in success. 

On our way back to camp Harry and I decided that this would end ourhunt, for we had three fine bulls, and it was evident that only avery few wapiti remained. The species is doomed to early extinctionfor, with the advent of the railroad, the last stand which the elkhave made by means of their extraordinary adaptation to changedconditions will soon become easily accessible to foreign sportsmen. We at least could keep our consciences clear and not hasten theinevitable day by undue slaughter. In western China other species ofwapiti are found in greater numbers, but there can be only one endto the persecution to which they are subjected during the seasonwhen they are least able to protect themselves. 

It is too much to hope that China will make effective game lawsbefore the most interesting and important forms of her wild lifehave disappeared, but we can do our best to preserve in museums forfuture generations records of the splendid animals of the present. Not only are they a part of Chinese history, but they belong to allthe world, for they furnish some of the evidence from which it ispossible to write the fascinating story of those dim, dark ages whenman first came upon the earth. 

CHAPTER XVIII

WILD PIGS-ANIMAL AND HUMAN

Shansi Province is famous for wild boar among the sportsmen ofChina. In the central part there are low mountains and deep ravinesthickly forested with a scrub growth of pine and oak. The acorns area favorite food of the pigs, and the pigs are a favorite food of theChinese--and of foreigners, too, for that matter. No domestic porkthat I have ever tasted can excel a young acorn-fed wild pig! Even afull-grown sow is delicious, but beware of an old boar; not only ishe tough beyond description, but his flesh is so "strong" that itannoys me even to see it cooked. I tried to eat some boar meat, onceupon a time--that is why I feel so deeply about it. 

It is useless to hunt wild pig until the leaves are off the trees, for your only hope is to find them feeding on the hillsides in themorning or early evening. Then they will often come into the open orthe thin forests, and you can have a fair shot across a ravine orfrom the summit of a hill. If they are in the brush it is well-nighimpossible to see them at all. A wild boar is very clever at eludinghis pursuers, and for his size can carry off more lead and requiresmore killing than any other animal of which I know. Therefore, youmay be sure of a decidedly interesting hunt. On the other hand, anunsuspecting pig is easy to stalk, for his eyesight is not good; hissense of smell is not much better; and he depends largely uponhearing to protect him from enemies. 

In Tientsin and Shanghai there are several sportsmen who year afteryear go to try for record tusks--they are the real authorities onwild boar hunting. My own experience has been limited to perhaps adozen pigs killed in Korea, Mongolia, Celebes, and various parts ofChina. 

Harry Caldwell and I returned from our bighorn sheep and wapiti hunton November 19. He was anxious to go with me for wild boar, butbusiness required his presence in Foochow, and Everett Smith, whohad been my companion on a trip to the Eastern Tombs the previousspring, volunteered to accompany me. We left on November 28 by thePeking-Hankow Railroad for Ping-ting-cho, arriving the followingafternoon at two o'clock. There we obtained donkeys for pack andriding animals. All the traffic in this part of Shansi is by mulesor donkeys. As a result the inns are small, with none of thespacious courtyards which we had found in the north of the province. They were not particularly dirty, but the open coal fires whichburned in every kitchen sometimes drove us outside for a breath ofuntainted air. How it is possible for human beings to exist in roomsso filled with coal gas is beyond my knowledge. Of course, deathfrom gas poisoning is not unusual, but I suppose the natives havebecome somewhat immune to its effects. 

Our destination was a tiny village in the mountains about eightmiles beyond Ho-shun, a city of considerable size in the very centerof the province. Tai-yuan-fu, the capital, at the end of therailway, is a famous place for pigs; but they have been hunted sopersistently in recent years that few remain within less than two orthree days' journey from the city. 

It was a three days' trip from the railroad to Ho-shun, and therewas little of interest to distinguish the road from any other innorth China. It is always monotonous to travel with pack animals orcarts, for they go so slowly that you can make only two or threemiles an hour, at best. If there happens to be shooting along theway, as there is in most parts of Shansi, it helps to pass the time. We picked up a few pheasants, some chuckars, and a dozen pigeons, but did not stop to do any real hunting until we entered a woodedvalley and established ourselves in a fairly comfortable Chinese butat the little village of Kao-chia-chuang. On the way in we met aparty of Christian Brother missionaries who had been hunting in thevicinity for five days. They had seen ten or twelve pigs and hadkilled a splendid boar weighing about three hundred and fifty poundsas well as two roebuck. 

The mountains near the village had been so thoroughly hunted thatthere was little chance of finding pigs, but nevertheless we decidedto stay for a day or two. I killed a two-year-old roebuck on thefirst afternoon; and the next morning, while Smith and I wereresting on a mountain trail, one of our men saw an enormous wildboar trot across an open ridge and disappear into a heavily forestedravine. I selected a post on a projecting shoulder, while oneChinese went with Smith to pick up the trail of the pig. There wereso many avenues of escape open to the boar that I had to remainwhere it was possible to watch a large expanse of country. 

Smith had not yet reached the bottom of the ravine when the nativewho had remained with me suddenly began to gesticulate wildly and topoint to a wooded slope directly in front of us. He hopped aboutlike a man who has suddenly lost his mind and succeeded in keepingin front of me so that I could see nothing but his waving arms andwrithing body. Finally seizing him by the collar, I threw him to theground so violently that he realized his place was behind me. Then Isaw the pig running along a narrow trail, silhouetted against thesnow which lay thinly on the shaded side of the hill. 

He was easily three hundred and fifty yards away and I had littlehope of hitting him, but I selected an open patch beyond a bit ofcover and fired as he emerged. The boar squealed and plunged forwardinto the bushes. A moment later he reappeared, zigzagging his way upthe slope and only visible through the trees when he crossed a patchof snow. I emptied the magazine of my rife in a futile bombardment, but the boar crossed the summit and disappeared. 

We picked up his bloody trail and for two hours followed it througha tangled mass of scrub and thorns. It seemed certain that we mustfind him at any moment, for great red blotches stained the snowwherever he stopped to rest. At last the trail led us across an openridge, and the snow and blood suddenly ceased. We could not followhis footprints in the thick grass and abandoned the chase justbefore dark. 

Two more days of unsuccessful hunting convinced us that themissionaries had driven the pigs to other cover. There was a regiontwelve miles away to which they might have gone, and we shifted campto a village named Tziloa a mile or more from the scrub-coveredhills which we wished to investigate. 

The natives of this part of the country were in no sense hunters. They were farmers who, now that the crops were harvested, had plentyof leisure time and were glad to roam the hills with us. Althoughtheir eyesight was remarkable and they were able to see a pig twiceas far as we could, they had no conception of stalking the game orof how to hunt it. When we began to shoot, instead of watching thepigs, they were always so anxious to obtain the empty cartridgecases that a wild scramble ensued after every shot. They were likestreet boys fighting for a penny. It was a serious handicap forsuccessful hunting, and they kept me in such a state of irritationthat I never shot so badly in all my life. 

We found pigs at Tziloa immediately. The carts went by road to thevillage, while Smith and I, with two Chinese, crossed the mountains. On the summit of a ridge not far from the village we met eightnative hunters. Two of them had ancient muzzle-loading guns but theothers only carried staves. Evidently their method of hunting was tosurround the pigs and drive them close up to the men with firearms. 

We persuaded one of the Chinese, a boy of eighteen, with cross-eyesand a funny, dried-up little face, to accompany us, for our twoguides wished to return that night to Kao-chia-chuang. He led usdown a spur which projected northward from the main ridge, and inten minutes we discovered five pigs on the opposite side of a deepravine. The sun lay warmly on the slope, and the animals were lazilyrooting in the oak scrub. They were a happy family--a boar, a sow, and three half-grown piglets. 

We slipped quietly among the trees until we were directly oppositeto them and not more than two hundred yards away. The boar and thesow had disappeared behind a rocky corner, and the others wereslowly following so that the opportunity for a shot would soon belost. Telling Smith to take the one on the left, I covered anotherwhich stood half facing me. At the roar of my rifle the ravine wasfilled with wild squeals, and the pig rolled down the hill bringingup against a tree. The boar rushed from behind the rock, and I firedquickly as he stood broadside on. He plunged out of sight, and thegorge was still!

Smith had missed his pig and was very much disgusted. The threeChinese threw themselves down the slope, slipping and rolling overlogs and stones, and were up the opposite hill before we reached thebottom of the ravine. They found the pig which I had killed and ablood-splashed trail leading around the hill where the boar haddisappeared. 

My pig was a splendid male in the rich red-brown coat ofadolescence. The bullet had struck him "amidships" and shattered thehip on the opposite side. From the blood on the trail we decidedthat I had shot the big boar through the center of the body aboutten inches behind the forelegs. 

We had learned by experience how much killing a full-grown pigrequired, and had no illusions about finding him dead a few yardsaway, even though both sides of his path were blotched with red atevery step. Therefore, while the Chinese followed the trail, Smithand I sprinted across the next ridge into a thickly forested ravineto head off the boar. 

We took stations several yards apart, and suddenly I heard Smith'srifle bang six times in quick succession. The Chinese had disturbedthe pig from a patch of cover and it had climbed the opposite hillslope in full view of Smith, who apparently had missed it everytime. Missing a boar dodging about among the bushes is not such adifficult thing to do, and although poor Smith was too disgustedeven to talk about it, I had a good deal of sympathy for him. 

We had little hope of getting the animal when we climbed to thesummit of the ridge and saw the tangle of brush into which it haddisappeared, but nevertheless we followed the trail which was stillshowing blood. I was in front and was just letting myself down asnow-covered bowlder, when far below me I saw a huge sow and a youngpig walking slowly through the trees. I turned quickly, lost mybalance, and slipped feet first over the rock into a mass of thornsand scrub. A locomotive could not have made more noise, and Iextricated myself just in time to see the two pigs disappear into agrove of pines. I was bleeding from a dozen scratches, but I climbedto the summit of the ridge and dashed forward hoping to cut them offif they crossed below me. They did not appear, and we tried to drivethem out from the cover into which they had made their way; but wenever saw them again. It was already beginning to grow dark and toolate to pick up the trail of the wounded boar, so we had to call ita day and return to the village. 

One of our men carried my shotgun and we killed half a dozenpheasants on the way back to camp. The birds had come into the opento feed, and small flocks were scattered along the valley every fewhundred yards. We saw about one hundred and fifty in less than anhour, besides a few chuckars. 

I have never visited any part of China where pheasants were soplentiful as in this region. Had we been hunting birds we could havekilled a hundred or more without the slightest difficulty during thetime we were looking for pigs. We could not shoot, however, withoutthe certainty of disturbing big game and, consequently, we onlykilled pheasants when on the way back to camp. During the day thebirds kept well up toward the summits of the ridges and only leftthe cover in the morning and evening. 

Our second hunt was very amusing, as well as successful. We met thesame party of Chinese hunters early in the morning, and agreed todivide the meat of all the pigs we killed during the day if theywould join forces with us. Among them was a tall, fine-looking youngfellow, evidently the leader, who was a real hunter--the only one wefound in the entire region. He knew instinctively where the pigswere, what they would do, and how to get them. 

He led us without a halt along the summit of the mountain into aravine and up a long slope to the crest of a knifelike ridge. Thenhe suddenly dropped in the grass and pointed across a cañon to abare hillside. Two pigs were there in plain sight--one a very largesow. They were fully three hundred yards away and on the edge of abushy patch toward which they were feeding slowly. Smith left me tohurry to the bottom of the cañon where he could have a shot at closerange if either one went down the hill, while I waited behind astone. Before he was halfway down the slope the sow moved toward thepatch of cover into which the smaller pig had already disappeared. It must be then, if I was to have a shot at all. I fired ratherhurriedly and registered a clean miss. Both pigs, instead of stayingin the cover where they would have been safe, dashed down the openslope toward the bottom of the cañon. At my first shot all eight ofthe Chinese had leaped for the empty rifle shell and were rollingabout like a pack of dogs after a bone. One of them struck my legjust as I fired the second time and the bullet went into the air; Idelivered a broadside of my choicest Chinese oaths and the man drewoff. I sent three shots after the fleeing sow, but she disappearedunhurt. 

One shell remained in my rifle, and I saw the other pig running likea scared rabbit in the very bottom of the cañon. It was so far awaythat I could barely see the animal through my sights, but when Ifired it turned a complete somersault and lay still; the bullet hadcaught it squarely in the head. 

Meanwhile, Smith was having a lively time with the old sow. He hadswung around a corner of rock just in time to meet the pig coming atfull speed from the other side not six yards away. He tried to checkhimself, slipped, and sat down suddenly but managed to fire once, breaking the animal's left foreleg. It disappeared into the brushwith Smith after it. 

He began an intermittent bombardment which lasted half an hour. _Bang_, _bang_, _bang_--then silence. _Bang_, _bang_, _bang_--silence again. I wondered what it all meant and finally randown the bottom of the valley until I saw Smith opposite to me justunder the rim of the ravine. He was tearing madly through the brushnot far behind the sow. As the animal appeared for an instant on thesummit of a rise he dropped on one knee and fired twice. Then, I sawhim race over the hill, leaping the bushes like a roebuck. Once herolled ten feet into a mass of thorn scrub, but he was up again inan instant, hurdling the brush and fallen logs, his eye on the pig. 

It was screamingly funny and I was helpless with laughter. "Go it, Smith, " I yelled. "Run him down. Catch him in your hands. " He had nobreath to waste in a reply, for just then he leaped a fallen log andI saw the sow charge him viciously. The animal had been lying undera tree, almost done, but still had life enough to damage Smith badlyif it had reached him. As the man landed on his feet, he fired againat the pig which was almost on him. The bullet caught the brute inthe shoulder at the base of the neck and rolled it over, but itstruggled to its feet and ran uncertainly a few steps; then itdropped in a little gully. 

By the time I had begun to climb the bill Smith shouted that the pigmight charge again, and I kept my rifle ready, but the animal was"all in. " I circled warily and, creeping up from behind, drove myhunting knife into its heart; even then it struggled to get at mebefore it rolled over dead. 

Smith was streaming blood from a score of scratches, and his clotheswere in ribbons, but his face was radiant. "I'd have chased theblasted pig clear to Peking, " he said. "All my shells are gone, butI wasn't going to let him get away. If I hadn't kept that lastcartridge he'd have caught me, surely. "

It was fine enthusiasm and, if ever a man deserved his game, Smithdeserved that sow. The animal had been shot in half a dozen places;two legs were broken, and at least three of the bullets had reachedvital spots. 

Still the brute kept on. Any one who thinks pigs are easy to killought to try the ones in Shansi! The sow weighed well over threehundred pounds, and it required six men to carry the two pigs intocamp. We got no more, although we saw two others, but still we feltthat the day had not been ill spent. As long as I live I shall neverforget Smith's hurdle race after that old sow. 

Although I killed two roebuck, the next day I returned to camp withrage in my heart. Smith and I had separated late in the afternoon, and I was hunting with an old Chinese when we discovered threepigs--a huge boar, a sow, and a shote--crossing an open hill. Crawlingon my face, I reached a rock not seventy yards from the animals. Atthe first shot the boar pitched over the bluff into a tangle ofthorns, squealing wildly. My second bullet broke the shoulder of thesow, and I had a mad chase through a patch of scrub, but finally losther. 

When I returned to get the big boar I discovered my Chinese squattedon his haunches in the ravine. He blandly informed me that the pigcould not be found. I spent the half hour of remaining daylightburrowing in the thorn scrub without success. I learned later thatthe native had concealed the dead pig under a mass of stones andthat during the night he and his _confrères_ had carried it away. Moreover, after we left, they also got the sow which I had wounded. Although at the time I did not suspect the man's perfidy, nevertheless it was apparent that he had not kept his eyes on theboar as I had told him to do; otherwise the pig could not possiblyhave escaped. 

We had one more day of hunting because Smith had obtained two weeks'leave. The next morning dawned dark and cloudy with spurts ofhail--just the sort of weather in which animals prefer to staycomfortably snuggled under a bush in the thickest cover. Consequentlywe saw nothing all day except one roebuck, which I killed. It wasrunning at full speed when I fired, and it disappeared over the crestof a hill without a sign of injury. Smith was waiting on the otherside, and I wondered why he did not shoot, until we reached the summitand discovered the deer lying dead in the grass. Smith had seen thebuck plunge over the ridge, and just as he was about to fire, itcollapsed. 

We found that my bullet had completely smashed the heart, yet theanimal had run more than one hundred yards. As it fell, one of itsantlers had been knocked off and the other was so loose that itdropped in my hand when I lifted the head. This was on December 11. The other bucks which I had killed still wore their antlers, butprobably they would all have been shed before Christmas. The growthtakes place during the winter, and the velvet is all off the newantlers by the following May. 

On the way back to camp we saw a huge boar standing on an openhillside. Smith and I fired hurriedly and both missed a perfectlyeasy shot. With one of the Chinese I circled the ridge, while Smithtook up the animal's trail. We arrived on the edge of a deep ravinejust as the boar appeared in the very bottom. I fired as it rushedthrough the bushes, and the pig squealed but never hesitated. Thesecond shot struck behind it, but at the third it squealed again anddived into a patch of cover. When we reached the spot we found agreat pool of blood and bits of entrails--but no pig. A broad redpatch led through the snow, and we followed, expecting at every stepto find the animal dead. Instead, the track carried us down thehill, up the bottom of a ravine, and onto a hill bare of snow butthickly covered with oak scrub. 

While Smith and I circled ahead to intercept the pig, the Chinesefollowed the trail. It was almost dark when we went back to the men, who announced that the blood had ceased and that they had lost thetrack. It seemed incredible; but they had so trampled the trailwhere it left the snow that we could not find it again in the gloom. 

Then Smith and I suspected what we eventually found to be true, viz. , that the men had discovered the dead pig and had purposely ledus astray. We had no proof, however, and they denied the charge soviolently that we began to think our suspicions were unfounded. 

We had to leave at daylight next morning in order to reach Pekingbefore Smith's leave expired. Two days after we left, one of myfriends arrived at Kao-chia-chuang, where we had first hunted, andreported that the Chinese had brought in all four of the pigs whichwe had wounded. One of them, probably the boar we lost on the lastnight, was an enormous animal which the natives said weighed morethan five hundred pounds. Of course, this could not have been true, but it probably did reach nearly four hundred pounds. 

What Smith and I said when we learned that the scoundrels hadcheated us would not look well in print. However, it taught usseveral things about boar hunting which will prove of value in thefuture. The Chinese can sell wild pig meat for a very high pricesince it is considered to be a great delicacy. Therefore, if I wounda pig in the future I shall, myself, follow its trail to the bitterend. Moreover, I learned that, to knock over a wild boar and keephim down for good, one needs a heavy rifle. The bullet of my 6. 5 mm. Mannlicher, which has proved to be a wonderful killer for anythingup to and including sheep, has not weight enough behind it to stop apig in its tracks. These animals have such wonderful vitality that, even though shot in a vital spot, they can travel an unbelievabledistance. Next time I shall carry a rifle especially designed forpigs and thieving Chinese!

CHAPTER XIX

THE GREAT PARK OF THE EASTERN TOMBS

The sunshine of an early spring day was flooding the flower-filledcourtyards of Duke Tsai Tse's palace in Peking when Dr. G. D. Wilder, Everett Smith, and I alighted from our car at the hugebrass-bound gate. We came by motor instead of rickshaw, for we wereon an official visit which had been arranged by the AmericanMinister. We would have suffered much loss of "face" had we come inany lesser vehicle than an automobile, for we were to be received bya "Royal Highness, " an Imperial Duke and a man in whose veins flowedthe bluest of Manchu blood. Although living in retirement, Duke TsaiTse is still a powerful and a respected man. 

We were ushered through court after court into a large receptionhall furnished in semi-foreign style but in excellent taste. A fewmoments later the duke entered, dressed in a simple gown of darkblue silk. Had I met him casually on the street I should have knownhe was a "personality. " His high-bred features were those of a makerof history, of a man who has faced the ruin of his own ambitions;who has seen his emperor deposed and his dynasty shattered; but whohas lost not one whit of his poise or self-esteem. He carriedhimself with a quiet dignity, and there was a royal courtesy in hisgreeting which inspired profound respect. Had he been marked fordeath in the revolution I am sure that he would have received hisexecutioners in the same calm way that he met us in the receptionhall. He listened with a courteous interest while we explained theobject of our visit. We had come, we told him, to ask permission tocollect natural history specimens in the great hunting park at the_Tung Ling_, Eastern Tombs. Here, and at the _Hsi Ling_, or WesternTombs, the Manchu emperors and their royal consorts sleep insplendid mausoleums among the fragrant pines. 

The emperors are buried at the lower end of a vast, walled park, more than one hundred miles in length. True to their reverence forthe dead, the Chinese conquerors have never touched these sacredspots, and doubtless will never do so. They belong unquestionably tothe Manchus, even if their dynasty has been overthrown by force ofarms. According to custom, some member of the royal court is alwaysin residence at the Eastern Tombs. This fact Tsai Tse gravelyexplained, and said that he would commend us in a letter to DukeChou, who would be glad to grant us the privileges we asked. Then, by touching his teacup to his lips, he indicated that our interviewwas ended. With the same courtesy he would have shown to a visitingdiplomat he ushered us through the courtyards, while at each doorwaywe begged him to return. Such is the custom in China. That sameafternoon a messenger from the duke arrived at my house in Wu LiangTajen Hutung bearing a letter beautifully written in Chinesecharacters. 

Everett Smith and I left next morning for the Eastern Tombs. We wentby brain to Tung-cho, twelve miles away, where a _mafu_ was waitingwith our ponies and a cart for baggage. The way to the _Tung Ling_is a delight, for along it north China country life passes beforeone in panoramic completeness. For centuries this road has been animperial highway. I could imagine the gorgeous processions that hadpassed over it and the pomp and ceremony of the visits of the livingemperors to the resting places of the dead. 

Most vivid of all was the picture in my mind of the last greatfuneral only nine years ago. I could see the imperial yellow bierslowly, solemnly, borne over the gray Peking hills. In it lay thedead body of the Dowager Empress, Tz'u-hsi--most dreaded yet mostbeloved--the greatest empress of the last century, the woman whotasted of life and power through the sweetest joys to their bittercore. 

We spent the first night at an inn on the outskirts of a tinyvillage. It was a clean inn, too--very different from those in southChina. The great courtyard was crowded with arriving carts. In thekitchen dozens of tired _mafus_ were noisily gulping huge bowls ofmacaroni, and others, stretched upon the _kang_, had already becomemere, shapeless bundles of dirty rags. After dinner Smith and Iwandered outside the court. An open-air theater was in fulloperation a few yards from the inn, and all the village had gatheredin the street. But we were of more interest to the audience than thedrama itself, and in an instant a score of men and women hadsurrounded us. They were all good-natured but frankly curious. Finally an old man joined the crowd. "Why, " said he, "there are twoforeigners!" Immediately the hum of voices ceased, for Age wasspeaking. "They've got foreign clothes, " he exclaimed; "and whatfunny hats! It is true that foreign hats are much bigger thanChinese caps, and they cost a lot more, too! See that gun the tallone is carrying! He could shoot those pigeons over there as easilyas not--all of them with one shot--probably he will in a minute. "

The old man continued the lecture until we strolled back to the inn. Undoubtedly he is still discussing us, for there is little to talkabout in a Chinese village, except crops and weather and localgossip. 

We reached the Eastern Tombs in the late afternoon of the same day. Emerging from a rocky gateway on the summit of a hill, we had thewhole panorama of the _Tung Ling_ spread out before us. It was likea vast green sea where wave after wave of splendid forests rolledaway to the blue haze of distant mountains. 

The islands in this forest-ocean were the yellow-roofed tombs, whichgave back the sun in a thousand points of golden light. After themonotonous brown of the bare north China hills, the vivid green ofthe trees was as refreshing as finding an unknown oasis in a sandydesert. To the right was the picturesque village of Ma-lin-yu, theresidence of Duke Chou. 

From the wide veranda of the charming temple which we were invitedto occupy we could look across the brown village to the splendidpark and the glistening yellow roofs of the imperial tombs. We foundnext day that it is a veritable paradise, a spot of exquisite beautywhere profound artistic sentiment has been magnificently expressed. Broad, paved avenues, bordered by colossal animals sculptured insnow-white marble, lead through the trees to imposing gates of redand gold. There is, too, a delightful appreciation of climax. As onewalks up a spacious avenue, passing through gate after gate, eachmore magnificent than the last, one is being prepared by thiscumulative splendor for the tomb itself. One feels everywhere thedignity of space. There is no smallness, no crowding. One feels thegreatness of the people that has done these things: a race thatlooks at life and death with a vision as broad as the skiesthemselves. 

At the _Tung Ling_ Nature has worked hand in hand with man toproduce a harmonious whole. Most of the trees about the tombs havebeen planted, but the work has been cleverly done. There is nothing, glaringly artificial, and you feel as though you were in awell-groomed forest where every tree has grown just where, inNature's scheme of things, it ought to be. 

Although the tombs are alike in general plan, they are, at the sametime, as individual as were the emperors themselves. Each is asubtle expression of the character of the one who sleeps beneath theyellow roof. The tomb of Ch'ien-Lung, the artist emperor, lies notfar away from that of the Empress Dowager. Stately, beautiful in itssimplicity, it is an indication of his life and deeds. In strikingcontrast is the palace built by the Empress for her eternaldwelling. A woman of iron will, holding her place by force andintrigue, a lover of lavish display--she has expressed it all in hergorgeous tomb. The extravagance of its decoration and the wealth ofgold and silver seem to declare to all the world her desire to beknown even in death as the greatest of the great. It is said thather tomb cost ten million dollars, and I can well believe it. But ahundred years from now, when Ch'ien-Lung's mausoleum, like thepainting of an old master, has grown even more beautiful by thetouch of age, that of the Empress will be worn and tarnished. 

Charmed with the calm, the peace, the exquisite beauty of the spot, we spent a delightful day wandering among the red and goldpavilions. But fascinating as were the tombs, we were reallyconcerned with the "hinterland, " the hunting park itself. Sixtymiles to the north, but still within the walls, are toweringmountains and glorious forests; these were what we had come to see. 

All day, behind three tiny donkeys, we followed a tortuous, foamingstream in the bottom of a splendid valley, ever going upward. Atnight we slept in the open, and next day crossed the mountain into aforest of oak and pine sprinkled with silver birches. Hundreds ofwood-cutters passed us on the trail, each carrying a single log uponhis back. Before we reached the village of Shing Lung-shan we cameinto an area of desolation. Thousands of splendid trees were lyingin a chaos of charred and blackened trunks. It was the wantonness ofit all that depressed and horrified me. 

The reason was perfectly apparent. On every bit of open groundManchu farmers were at work with plow and hoe. The land was beingcleared for cultivation, regardless of all else. North China hasvery little timber--so little, in fact, that one longs passionatelyto get away from the bare hills. Yet in this forest-paradise thetrees were being sacrificed relentlessly simply to obtain a few moreacres on which the farmer could grow his crops. If it had to bedone--and Heaven knows it need not have been--the trees might havebeen utilized for timber. Many have been cut, of course, butthousands upon thousands have been burned simply to clear thehillside. 

At Shing Lung-shan we met our hunters and continued up the valleyfor three hours. With every mile there were fewer open spaces; wehad come to a region of vast mountains, gloomy valleys, and heavyforests. The scenery was superb! It thrilled me as did the mountainsof Yün-nan and the gorges of the Yangtze. Yet all this grandeur isless than one hundred miles from Peking!

On a little ridge between two foaming streams we made our camp inthe forest. From the door of the tent we could look over the tops ofthe trees into the blue distance of the valley; behind us was a wallof forests broken only by the winding corridor of the mountaintorrent. 

We had come to the _Tung Ling_ especially to obtain specimens of thesika deer (_Cervus hortulorum_) and the Reeves's pheasant(_Syrmaticus reevesi_). The former, a noble animal about the size ofour Virginia deer in America, has become exceedingly rare in northChina. The latter, one of the most beautiful of living birds, isfound now in only two localities--near Ichang on the Yangtze River, and at the _Tung Ling_. When the forests of the Eastern Tombs havebeen cleared this species will be extinct in all north China. 

Early in the morning we left with six hunters. Our way led up thebottom of the valley toward a mountain ridge north of camp. As wewalked along the trail, suddenly one of the hunters caught me by thearm and whispered, "_Sang-chi_" (wild chicken). There was a whir ofwings, a flash of gold--and I registered a clean miss! The birdalighted on the mountain side, and in the bliss of ignorance Smithand I dashed after it. Ten minutes later we were exhausted from theclimb and the pheasant had disappeared. We learned soon that it isuseless to chase a Reeves's pheasant when it has once been flushed, for it will invariably make for a mountain side, run rapidly to thetop, and, once over the summit, fly to another ridge. 

On the way home I got my first pheasant, and an hour later put uphalf a dozen. I should have had two more, but instead of shooting Ionly stared, fascinated by the beauty of the thing I saw. It waslate in the afternoon and the sun was drawing oblique paths ofshimmering golden light among the trees. In a clearing near thesummit of a wooded shoulder I saw six pheasants feeding and Irealized that, by skirting the base of the ridge, I could slip upfrom behind and force them to fly across the open valley. The stalkprogressed according to schedule. When I crossed the ridge there wasa whir of wings and six birds shot into the air not thirty feetaway. The sun, glancing on their yellow backs and streaming plumes, transformed them into golden balls, each one with a comet-trail ofliving fire. 

The picture was so indescribably beautiful that I watched them sailacross the valley with the gun idle in my hands. Not for worldswould I have turned one of those glorious birds into a crumpled massof flesh and feathers. For centuries the barred tail plumes, whichsometimes are six feet long, have been worn by Chinese actors, andthe bird is famous in their literature. It will be a real tragedywhen this species has passed out of the fauna of north China, as itwill do inevitably if the wanton destruction of the _Tung Ling_forests is continued unchecked. 

The next afternoon four sika deer gave me a hard chase up and downthree mountain ridges. Finally, we located the animals in a deepvalley, and I had an opportunity to examine them through my glasses. Much to my disgust I saw that the velvet was not yet off the antlersand that their winter coats were only partly shed. They werevalueless as specimens and forthwith I abandoned the hunt. Beforeleaving Peking I had visited the zoölogical garden to make sure thatthe captive sika had assumed their summer dress and antlers. But atthe _Tung Ling_, spring had not yet arrived, and the animals werelate in losing their winter hair. 

In summer the sika is the most beautiful of all deer. Its bright redbody, spotted with white, is, when seen among the green leaves ofthe forest, one of the loveliest things in nature. We wished toobtain a group of these splendid animals for the new Hall of AsiaticLife in the American Museum of Natural History, but the specimenshad to be in perfect summer dress. 

My hunter was disgusted beyond expression when I refused to shootthe deer. The antlers of the sika when in the velvet are of greatervalue to the natives than those of any other species. A good pair ofhorns in full velvet sometimes sells for as much as $450. Thegrowing antlers are called _shueh-chiao_ (blood horns) by theChinese, who consider them of the highest efficacy as a remedy forcertain diseases: Therefore, the animals are persecuted relentlesslyand very few remain even in the _Tung Ling_. 

The antlers of the wapiti are also of great value to the nativedruggists, but strangely enough they care little for those of themoose and the roebuck. Hundreds of thousand of deerhorns are sentfrom the interior provinces of China to be sold in the large cities, and the complete extermination of certain species is only a matterof a few decades. Moreover, the female elk, just before the calvingseason, receive unmerciful persecution, for it is believed that theunborn fawns have great medicinal properties. 

Since the roebuck at the _Tung Ling_ were in the same condition asthe sika, they were useless for our purposes. The goral, however, which live high up on the rocky peaks, had not begun to shed theirhair, and they gave us good shooting. One beautiful morning Smithkilled a splendid ram just above our camp. We had often looked at aragged, granite outcrop, sparsely covered with spruce and pinetrees, which towered a thousand feet above us. We were sure theremust be goral somewhere on the ridge, and the hunters told us thatthey had sometimes killed them there. It was a stiff climb, and wewere glad to rest when we reached the summit. The old hunter placedSmith opposite an almost perpendicular face of rock and stationed mebeyond him on the other side. Three beaters had climbed the mountaina mile below us and were driving up the ridge. 

For half an hour I lay stretched out in the sun luxuriating in thewarmth and breathing in the fragrant odor of the pines. While I waslazily watching a Chinese green woodpecker searching for grubs in atree near by, there came the faintest sound of a loosened pebble onthe cliff above my head. Instantly I was alert and tense. A secondlater Smith's rifle banged once. Then all was still. 

In a few moments he shouted to me that he had fired at a big goral, but that it had disappeared behind the ridge and he was afraid ithad not been hit. The old hunter, however, had seen the animalscramble into a tiny grove of pine trees. As it had not emerged, Iwas sure the goral was wounded, and when the men climbed up thecliff they found it dead, bored neatly through the center of thechest. 

Gorals, sika, and roebuck are by no means the only big game animalsin the _Tung Ling_. Bears and leopards are not uncommon, andoccasionally a tiger is killed by the natives. Among other speciesis a huge flying squirrel, nearly three feet long, badgers, andchipmunks, a beautiful squirrel with tufted ears which is almostblack in summer and now is very rare, and dozens of small animals. But perhaps most interesting of all the creatures of these nobleforests are the only wild monkeys to be found in northeastern China. 

The birds are remarkable in variety and numbers. Besides theReeves's pheasant, of which I have spoken, there are two otherspecies of this most beautiful family. One, the common ring-neckedpheasant, is very abundant; the other is the rare Pucrasia, a graybird with a dark-red breast, and a yellow striped head surmounted bya conspicuous crest. It is purely a mountain form requiring a mixedforest of pine and oak and, although more widely distributed thanthe Reeves's pheasant, it occurs in comparatively few localities ofnorth China. 

One morning as Smith and I were coming back from hunting we saw ourthree boys perched upon a ledge above the stream peering into thewater. They called to us, "Would you like some fish?" "Of course, "we answered, "but how can you get them?"

In a second they had slipped from the rock and were stripping offtheir clothes. Then one went to the shallows at the lower end of thepool and began to beat the surface with a leafy branch, while theother two crouched on the bowlders in midstream. Suddenly, one ofthe boys plunged his head and arms into the water and emerged with abeautiful speckled trout clutched tightly in both hands. He had seenthe fish swim beneath the rock where it was cornered and had caughtit before it could escape. 

For an hour the two boys sat like kingfishers, absolutely motionlessexcept when they dived into the water. Of course, they often missed;but when we were ready to go home they had eight beautiful trout, several of them weighing as much as two pounds. The stream was fullof fish, and we would have given worlds for a rod and flies. 

Lu baked a loaf of corn bread in his curious little oven made from aStandard Oil tin, and we found a jar of honey in our stores. Brooktrout fried in deep bacon fat, regular "southern style" corn breadand honey, apple pie, coffee, and cigarettes--the "hardships ofcamping in the Orient!"

When we had been in camp a week we awoke one morning to find a heavycloud of smoke drifting up the valley. Evidently a tremendous firewas raging, and Smith and I set out at once on a tour ofinvestigation. A mile down the valley we saw the whole mountain sideablaze. It was a beautiful sight, I admit, but the destruction ofthat magnificent forest appalled us. Fortunately, the wind wasblowing strongly from the east, and there was no danger that thefire might sweep northward in the direction of our camp. As weemerged into a tiny clearing, occupied by a single log hut, we sawtwo Chinese sitting on their heels, placidly watching the roaringfurnace across the valley. 

With a good deal of excitement we asked them how the fire possiblycould have originated. 

"Oh, " said one, "we started it ourselves. " "In the name of the fivegods why did you do it?" Smith asked. "Well, you see, " returned theChinese, "there was quite a lot of brush here in our clearing and wehad to get rid of it. To-day the wind was right, so we set it onfire. "

"But don't you see that you have burned up that whole mountain'sside, destroyed thousands of trees, and absolutely ruined this endof the valley?"

"Oh, yes, but never mind; it can't be helped, " the native answered. Then I exploded. I frankly confess that I cursed that Chinese andall his ancestors; which is the only proper way to curse in China. Iassured him that he was an "old rabbit" and that his father and hisgrandfather and his great-grandfather were rabbits. To tell a manthat he is even remotely connected with a rabbit is decidedlyuncomplimentary in China. 

But when it was all said I had accomplished nothing. The man lookedat me in blank amazement as though I had suddenly lost my mind. Hehad not the faintest idea that burning up that beautiful forest wasreprehensible in the slightest degree. To him and all his kind, theonly thing worth while was to clear that bit of land in the valley. If every tree on the mountain was destroyed in the process, whatdifference did it make? It would be done eventually, anyway. Land, whether it be on a hill or in a valley, was made to grow crops andto be cultivated by Chinese farmers. 

The wanton destruction which is being wrought at the _Tung Ling_makes me sick at heart. Here is one of the most beautiful spots inall China, within less than one hundred miles of Peking, which isbeing ruined utterly as fast as ax and fire can do the work. One cantravel the length and breadth of the whole Republic and not findelsewhere so much glorious scenery in so small a space. Moreover, itis the last sanctuary of much of north China's wild life. When theforests of the _Tung Ling_ are gone, half a dozen species of birdsand mammals will become extinct. How much of the original flora ofnorth China exists to-day only in these forests I would not daresay, for I am not a botanist, but it can be hardly less than thefauna of which I know. 

If China could but realize before it is too late how priceless atreasure is being hewed and burned to nothingness and take the firststep in conservation by making a National Park of the Eastern Tombs!

Politically there are difficulties, it is true. The _Tung Ling_, andall the surroundings, as I have said, belong unquestionably to theManchus, and they can do as they wish with their own. But it islargely a question of money, and were the Republic to pay the pricefor the forests and mountains beyond the Tombs it would not bedifficult to do the rest. No country on earth ever had a moresplendid opportunity to create for the generations of the presentand the future a living memorial to its glorious past. 

THE END

INDEX [Topics only, page numbers not reproduced]

Aeroplanes

Altai Mountains

American Museum of Natural History, Asiatic Explorations of;trustees of

Anderson, Dr. J. G. , Mining Adviser to Chinese Republic

Anderson, Meyer and Co. , assistance rendered to expedition by

Andrews, Yvette B. , extract from "Journal" of

Antelope, description of hunt for; speed of

_Anthropoides virgo_

_Argali_

_Argul_, desert fuel

Asia

_Asia Magazine_

Asian plateau

Asiatic mammals

Asiatic zoölogical explorations

Asses, wild (_Equus Hemionus_)

Atunzi

Avocets

Baikal Lake

Barker, Major Austin

Beach, Rex, quoted

Bear

Bennett, C. R. 

Bernheimer, Mr. And Mrs. Charles L. 

Bighorn sheep (_Argali_)

Boar

_Bogdo-ol_ (God's Mountain)

Bolsheviki

Bolshevism

Buriats

Burma

Bustard

Caldwell, Rev. Harry R. 

Canadian Pacific Ocean Service, transportation to America ofcollections by

_Capreolus bedfordi_

Caravans, camel

_Casarca casarca_

Castle, Rev. H. 

Cathay

_Cervus hortulorum_

Cheetah

Che-kiang, Province of

Chen, Chinese taxidermist

Chinese

Chinese Turkestan

Chou, Duke

_Citellus mongolicus umbratus_

Coltman, Charles L. , Mr. And Mrs. 

Cranes; demoiselle

_Cricetulus_

Cunningham, Hon. E. S. , American Consul General

_Cygnopsis cygnoides_

Czechs

Dane, Sir Richard

Da Wat Mountain, camped at foot of

Delco Electric lighting plant

De Tarascon, Tartarin

Dogs

Dorchy, Tserin

Ducks, mallard; ducks, shoveler

Eagles

Elk

_Equus hemionus_

_Equus prejevalski_

_Eulabeia indica_

_Fabalis anser_

Fauna, Mongolian

Faxon, H. C. 

Feng-chen

Fuel

_Gazella gutturosa_

_Gazella prejevalski_

_Gazella subgutturosa_

Gazelles

Genghis Khan

Gillis, I. V. 

Gobi Desert

God's Mountain (_Bogdo-ol_)

Goose, bar-headed; bean

Gophers (_Citellus mongolicus umbratus_)

Goral

Great Wall of China, Grouse, sand

Guptil, A. M. 

Hami

Hamster, desert (_Cricetulus_)

Hares

_Harper's Magazine_

Hei-ma-hou

Holcomb, Captain Thomas

Honan

Horses, wild (_Equus prejevalski_)

Ho-shun

Hsi Ling

Hsu Shu-tseng, General

Hupeh

Hutchins, C. T. , Naval Attache, American Legation

Hutukhtu, the Living Buddha

Ibex

Irkutsk

Jackson, G. M. , General Passenger Agent, Canadian Pacific OceanService, appreciation for assistance in transportation ofcollections by

Jardine, Matheson and Co. , of Shanghai

Kalgan

Kang, Chinese taxidermist

Kang Hsi, Emperor

Kao-chia-chuang

Kendrick, J. 

Khans

Kiakhta

Kobdo

Korostovetz, M. 

Kublai Khan

Kwei-hua-cheng

Lake Baikal

Lama church

Lama City

Lamaism

Lamas; monastery of

Lapwing (_Vanellus vanellus_)

Lapwings

Larsen, F. A. 

"Little Hsu"

Loo-choo Islands

Lucander, Mr. And Mrs. 

Lucas, Dr. F. A. , acknowledgment to

Lu, cook for expedition

Lung Chi'en, Emperor, tomb of

MacCallie, Mr. And Mrs. E. L. 

Magyars

Mai-ma-cheng

Mallards

Ma-lin-yu, residence of Duke Chou

_Ma-lu_

Mamen, Mr. And Mrs. Oscar

Mammals, Asiatic

Manchu; dynasty of

Manchus

Mannlicher

_Marmota robusta_

Marmot; Mongols' method of capturing

Mauser

Meadow mice (_Microtus_)

Memorial addressed to President of Chinese Republic

_Microtus_

Ministry of Foreign Affairs

Mongolia, fauna of; religion of

Mongolian Trading Company

Mongols, dislike for the body of the dead; dress of; food of; mannerof riding of; manner of catching trout by; morals of; Southern

Motion picture photography

Motor cars; Ford; hunting from; troubles with

Musk deer

_Mustela_

Naha

Na-mon-gin, Mongol hunter

Nankou Pass

_Natural History_

_Nemorhaedus caudatus_

_Nemorhaedus griseus_

Olufsen, E. V. 

Omsk

Orlow, A. , Russian Diplomatic Agent

Osborn, Henry Fairfield

Outer Mongolia

_Ovis comosa_

_Ovis jubata_

Owen

Panj-kiang, telegraph station at

_Pan-yang_ wild sheep

Peck, Willys

Peking

Peking-Hankow Railroad

Peking Press, quoted from

Peking-Suiyuan Railway; motor service of

Perry, Commodore

Pheasant, Reeves's (_Syrmaticus reevesi_)

Photography, motion picture

Ping-ting-cho

Plover

_Pluvialis dominicus fulvus_

Polecat (_Mustela_)

Polo, Marco

Prayer wheels

President, Chinese Republic, Memorial addressed to, xiii

Price, Ernest B. 

Prisons, description of

Pucrasia

Rat, kangaroo (_Alactaga mongolica_?)

Ravens

Red Army

Redheads

Reinsch, Paul S. 

Rifles used on expedition; Mannlicher; Savage

Rockefeller Foundation

Roebuck

_Rupicaprinae_

Russia

Russian Consulate

Russians

Russo-Chinese

Sain Noin Khan

Savage rifle

Serow

Shanghai

Shansi Mountains

Shantung

Sheep, bighorn

Sheldrake (_Casarca casarca_)

Shensi

Sherwood, George H. , assistance rendered to expedition by

Shing Lung-shan

Shuri, Palace

Sian-fu

Siberian frontier

Sika deer (_Cervus hortulorum_)

Skylarks

Smith, E. G. 

Stefansson

Swan geese (_Cygnopsis cygnoides_)

_Syrmaticus reevesi_

Tabool

Tai Hai

Tai yuan-fu

Takin

Tanu Ulianghai

Tao Kwang, Emperor

Teal

Telegraph poles, method of protection of

Tenney, Dr. C. D. 

Tent, American wall; Mongol

Terelche region

Terelche River

Terelche Valley

Tibet, vii

Tientsin

Tola River

Tola Valley

Tombs

Trans-Pacific Magazine

Trans-Siberian Railroad

Trout, manner of catching by Mongols

Tsai Tse, Duke, visit to palace of

Tung-cho

Tung-Ling; pheasants and deer found at

Turin; lamasery at

Tziloa, pigs found at

Tz'u-hsi, Dowager Empress, funeral of

Ude, telegraph station

Uliassutai

Urga, important fur market

Urumchi

Verkin Udinsk

Vole, meadow (_Microtus_)

Wai Chiao Pu, (Ministry of Foreign Affairs)

Wapiti

Warner, Langdon

Weatherall, M. E. 

Weinz, Father, Belgian priest

Wells, description of

White Army

Wilder, Dr. George D. 

Wireless station in course of erection

Wolf

Wu Liang Tajen Hutung

Wu-shi-tu

Wu-tai-hai

Yangsen, Loobitsan, Duke

Yero mines, gold found at

Yün-nan

Yurt, Mongol house, description of