wildly across the plain and the road was clear
save for the author of the turmoil--a black automobile.

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

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

But that night when I strolled about the mission courtyard, under
the spell of the starry, desert sky, I drifted back again in thought
to the glorious days of Kublai Khan. My heart was hot with
resentment that this thing had come. I realized then that, for
better 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 a
chosen few are open now to all, and the world and his wife will
speed their noisy course across the miles of rolling prairie,
hearing nothing, feeling nothing, knowing nothing of that resistless
desert charm which led men out into the Great Unknown.

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

For twenty or thirty miles after leaving Hei-ma-hou we bounced along
over a road which would have been splendid except for the deep ruts
cut by mule- and oxcarts. These carts are the despair of any one who
hopes some time to see good roads in Ch