tood at once the trembling respect of all the
officers whom I had seen in his presence. Afterwards in Urga I learned
more of this General Rezukhin distinguished by his absolute bravery and
boundless cruelty. He was the watchdog of Baron Ungern, ready to throw
himself into the fire and to spring at the throat of anyone his master
might indicate.

Only four days then had elapsed before "my acquaintances" died "by a
long knife," so that one part of the prediction had been thus fulfilled.
And now I have to await Death's threat to me. The delay was not long.
Only two days later the Chief of the Asiatic Division of Cavalry
arrived--Baron Ungern von Sternberg.

CHAPTER XXXIII

"DEATH FROM THE WHITE MAN WILL STAND BEHIND YOU"

"The terrible general, the Baron," arrived quite unexpectedly, unnoticed
by the outposts of Colonel Kazagrandi. After a talk with Kazagrandi the
Baron invited Colonel N. N. Philipoff and me into his presence. Colonel
Kazagrandi brought the word to me. I wanted to go at once but was
detained about half an hour by the Colonel, who then sped me with the
words:

"Now God help you! Go!"

It was a strange parting message, not reassuring and quite enigmatical.
I took my Mauser and also hid in the cuff of my coat my cyanide of
potassium. The Baron was quartered in the yurta of the military doctor.
When I entered the court, Captain Veseloffsky came up to me. He had a
Cossack sword and a revolver without its holster beneath his girdle. He
went into the yurta to report my arrival.

"Come in," he said, as he emerged from the tent.

At the entrance my eyes were struck with the sight of a pool of blood
that had not yet had time to drain down into the ground--an ominous
greeting that seemed to carry the very voice of one just gone before me.
I knocked.

"Come in!" was the answer in a high tenor. As I passed the threshold,
a figure in a red silk Mongolian coat rushed at me with the spring of a
tiger, grabbed and shook my hand as though in flight across my path and
then fell prone on the bed at the side of the tent.

"Tell me who you are! Hereabouts are many spies and agitators," he cried
out in an hysterical voice, as he fixed his eyes upon me. In one
moment I perceived his appearance and psychology. A small head on wide
shoulders; blonde hair in disorder; a reddish bristling moustache; a
skinny, exhausted face, like those on the old Byzantine ikons. Then
everything else faded from view save a big, protr