my head. I was so close to the "Promised Land" of Mongolia that this Soyot, standing in the way of fulfilment of my wishes, seemed to me my worst enemy. But I lowered my flourishing hand. Into my head flashed a quite wild thought.
"Listen," I said. "If you move your horses, you will receive a bullet in the back and you will perish not at the top of the mountain but at the bottom. And now I will tell you what will happen to us. When we shall have reached these rocks above, the wind will have ceased and the snowstorm will have subsided. The sun will shine as we cross the snowy plain above and afterwards we shall descend into a small valley where there are larches growing and a stream of open running water. There we shall light our fires and spend the night."
The Soyot began to tremble with fright.
"Noyon has already passed these mountains of Darkhat Ola?" he asked in amazement.
"No," I answered, "but last night I had a vision and I know that we shall fortunately win over this ridge."
"I will guide you!" exclaimed the Soyot, and, whipping his horse, led the way up the steep slope to the top of the ridge of eternal snows.
As we were passing along the narrow edge of a precipice, the Soyot stopped and attentively examined the trail.
"Today many shod horses have passed here!" he cried through the roar of the storm. "Yonder on the snow the lash of a whip has been dragged. These are not Soyots."
The solution of this enigma appeared instantly. A volley rang out. One of my companions cried out, as
