ch was tied to the running boards. Spreading our fur
sleeping bags upon the sand, we pushed and lifted the automobile to
firm ground after an hour of strenuous work. Hardly had we started
back to the road, when Charles suddenly clapped both hands to his
face yelling, "My Lord, I'm burning up. What is it? I'm all on
fire."

Mrs. Coltman pulled his hands away, revealing his face covered with
blotches and rising blisters. At the same moment Yvette and I felt a
shower of liquid fire stinging our hands and necks. We leaped out of
the car just as another blast swept back upon us. Then Charles
shouted, "I know. It's the Delco plant," and dived toward the front
mud guard. Sure enough, the cover had been displaced from one of the
batteries, and little pools of sulphuric acid had formed on the
leather casings. The wind was blowing half a gale, and each gust
showered us with drops of colorless liquid which bit like tiny,
living coals.

In less than ten seconds I had slashed the ropes and the batteries
were lying on the ground, but the acid had already done its work
most thoroughly. The duffle sacks containing all our field clothes
had received a liberal dose, and during the summer Yvette was kept
busy patching shirts and trousers. I never would have believed that
a little acid could go so far. Even garments in the very center of
the sacks would suddenly disintegrate when we put them on, and the
Hutukhtu and his electric plant were "blessed" many times before we
left Mongolia.

[Illustration: Mongol Horsemen on the Streets of Urga]

[Illustration: The Prison at Urga]

[Illustration: A Criminal in a Coffin with Hands Manacled]

When we reached the road, Mrs. Mac was sitting disconsolately in a
car beside the servants. We had been gone nearly three hours and the
poor girl was frantic with anxiety. Mac and Owen had followed our
tracks in another motor, and arrived thirty minutes later. Mac's
happy face was drawn and white.

"I wouldn't go through that experience again for all the money in
Mongolia," he said. "We followed your tracks and at every hill
expected to find you dead on the other side and the car upside down.
How on earth did you miss capsizing when you went over that bank?"

At Turin we found Mr. and Mrs. Mamen camped near the telegraph
station awaiting our arrival. The first cry was "Food! Food!" and
two loaves of Russian bread which they had brought from Urga
vanished in less than fifteen minutes. After taking s