this wood and began the passage of it in the morning. At noon the guide
began leading us by zigzags in and out but everywhere our trail was
blocked by deep ravines, great jams of fallen trees and walls of rock
caught in their mad tobogganings from the mountain top. We struggled for
several hours, wore out our horses and, all of a sudden, turned up at
the place where we had made our last halt. It was very evident our Soyot
had lost his way; and on his face I noticed marked fear.

"The old devils of the cursed forest will not allow us to pass," he
whispered with trembling lips. "It is a very ominous sign. We must
return to Kharga to the Noyon."

But I threatened him and he took the lead again evidently without hope
or effort to find the way. Fortunately, one of our party, an Urianhai
hunter, noticed the blazes on the trees, the signs of the road which our
guide had lost. Following these, we made our way through the wood, came
into and crossed a belt of burned larch timber and beyond this dipped
again into a small live forest bordering the bottom of the mountains
crowned with the eternal snows. It grew dark so that we had to camp for
the night. The wind rose high and carried in its grasp a great white
sheet of snow that shut us off from the horizon on every side and buried
our camp deep in its folds. Our horses stood round like white ghosts,
refusing to eat or to leave the circle round our fire. The wind combed
their manes and tails. Through 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