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 whispered: "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 to the fire, which
I could hardly see through the blinding snow. Fearing our guide might
run away, I ordered a sentry to be stationed for the night to watch him.
Later in the night I was awakened by the sentry, who said to me: "Maybe
I am mistaken, but I think I heard a rifle."

What could I say to it? Maybe some stragglers like ourselves were giving
a sign of their whereabouts to their lost companions, or perhaps the
sentry had mistaken for a rifle shot the sound of some falling rock
or frozen ice and snow. Soon I fell asleep again and suddenly saw in a
dream a very clear vision. Out on the plain, blanketed deep with snow,
was moving a line of riders. They were our pack horses, our Kalmuck and
the funny pied horse with the Roman nose. I saw us descending from this
snowy plateau into a fold in the mountains. Here some larch trees
were growing, close to which gurgled a small, open brook. Afterwards I
noticed a fire burning among the trees and then woke up.

It grew light. I shook up the others and asked them to prepare quickly
so as not to lose time in getting under way. The storm was raging. The
snow blinded us and blotted out all traces of the road. The cold also
became more intense. At last we were in the saddles. The Soyot went
ahead trying to make out the trail. As we worked higher the guide less
seldom lost the way. Frequently we fell into deep holes covered with
snow; we scrambled up over slippery rocks. At last the Soyot swung his
horse round and, coming up to me, announced very positively: "I do not
want to die with you and I will not go further."

My first motion was the swing of my whip back over 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 yo