the niches in the mountains it roared and whistled. From somewhere in the distance came the low rumble of a pack of wolves, punctuated at intervals by the sharp individual barking that a favorable gust of wind threw up into high staccato.
As we lay by the fire, the Soyot came over to me and said: "Noyon, come with me to the obo. I want to show you something."
We went there and began to ascend the mountain. At the bottom of a very steep slope was laid up a large pile of stones and tree trunks, making a cone of some three metres in height. These obo are the Lamaite sacred signs set up at dangerous places, the altars to the bad demons, rulers of these places. Passing Soyots and Mongols pay tribute to the spirits by hanging on the branches of the trees in the obo hatyk, long streamers of blue silk, shreds torn from the lining of their coats or simply tufts of hair cut from their horses' manes; or by placing on the stones lumps of meat or cups of tea and salt.
"Look at it," said the Soyot. "The hatyks are torn off. The demons are angry, they will not allow us to pass, Noyon. …"
He caught my hand and with supplicating voice whis pered: "Let us go back, Noyon; let us! The demons do not wish us to pass their mountains. For twenty years no one has dared to pass these mountains and all bold men who have tried have perished here. The demons fell upon them with snowstorm and cold. Look! It is beginning already. … Go back to our Noyon, wait for the warmer days and then. …"
I did not listen further to the Soyot but turned back
