n artist. He dresses in a long, loose robe of plum
color, one corner of which is usually tucked into a gorgeous sash.
On his head is perched an extraordinary hat which looks like a
saucer, with upturned edges of black velvet and a narrow cone-shaped
crown of brilliant yellow. Two streamers of red ribbon are usually
fastened to the rim at the back, or a plume of peacock feathers if
he be of higher rank.

On his feet he wears a pair of enormous leather boots with pointed
toes. These are always many sizes too large, for as the weather
grows colder he pads them out with heavy socks of wool or fur. It is
nearly impossible for him to walk in this ungainly footgear, and he
waddles along exactly like a duck. He is manifestly uncomfortable
and ill at ease, but put him on a horse and you have a different
picture. The high-peaked saddle and the horse itself become a part
of his anatomy and he will stay there happily fifteen hours of the
day.

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

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

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

Ude is the second telegraph station on the road to Urga. It has t