g bags.

Always in Mongolia after a heavy rain the air is crystal-clear, and
we had a delightful morning beside the river. Hundreds of demoiselle
cranes were feeding in the meadowlike valley bottom where the grass
was as green as emeralds. We saw two of the graceful birds standing
on a sand bar and, as we rode toward them, they showed not the
slightest sign of fear. When we were not more than twenty feet away
they walked slowly about in a circle, and the lama discovered two
spotted brown eggs almost under his pony's feet. There was no sign
of a nest, but the eggs were perfectly protected by their
resemblance to the stones.

Our way led close along the Tola River, and just before tiffin we
saw a line of camels coming diagonally toward us from behind a
distant hill. I wish you could have seen that caravan in all its
barbaric splendor as it wound across the vivid green plains. Three
lamas, dressed in gorgeous yellow robes, and two, in flaming red,
rode ahead on ponies. Then neck and neck, mounted on enormous
camels, came four men in gowns of rich maroon and a woman flashing
with jewels and silver. Behind them, nose to tail, was the long,
brown line of laden beasts. It was like a painting of the Middle
Ages--like a picture of the days of Kublai Khan, when the Mongol
court was the most splendid the world has ever seen. My wife and I
were fascinated, for this was the Mongolia of our dreams.

But our second day was not destined to be one of unalloyed
happiness, for just after luncheon we reached a bad stretch of road
alternating between jagged rocks and deep mud holes. The white
horse, which was so quickly exhausted the day before, gave up
absolutely when its cart became badly mired. Just then a red lama
appeared with four led ponies and said that one of his horses could
extricate the cart. He hitched a tiny brown animal between the
shafts, we all put our shoulders to the wheels, and in ten minutes
the load was on solid ground. We at once offered to trade horses,
and by giving a bonus of five dollars I became the possessor of the
brown pony.

But the story does not end there. Two months later when we had
returned to Urga a Mongol came to our camp in great excitement and
announced that we had one of his horses. He said that five animals
had been stolen from him and that the little brown pony for which I
had traded with the lama was one of them. His proof was
incontrovertible and according to the law of the country I was b