ous grass
and flowers, even though the real summer lasts only from May till
August. Then, the valleys are like an exquisite garden and the woods
are ablaze with color. Bluebells, their stalks bending under the
weight of blossoms, clothe every hillside in a glorious azure dress
bespangled with yellow roses, daisies, and forget-me-nots. But I
think I like the wild poppies best of all, for their delicate,
fragile beauty is wonderfully appealing. I learned to love them
first in Alaska, where their pale, yellow faces look up happily from
the storm-swept hills of the Pribilof Islands in the Bering Sea.

Besides its flowers, this northern country is one of exceeding
beauty. The dark green forests of spruce, larch and pine, broken now
and then by a grove of poplars or silver birches, the secluded
valleys and the rounded hills are strangely restful and give one a
sense of infinite peace. It is a place to go for tired nerves.
Ragged peaks, towering mountains, and yawning chasms, splendid as
they are, may be subtly disturbing, engendering a feeling of
restlessness and vague depression. There is none of this in the
forests of Mongolia. We felt as though we might be happy there all
our lives--the mad rush of our other world seemed very far away and
not much worth while.

As yet this land has been but lightly touched by the devastating
hand of man. A log road cuts the forest here and there and sometimes
we saw a train of ox-carts winding through the trees; but the
primitive beauty of the mountains remains unmarred, save where a
hillside has been swept by fire. In all our wanderings through the
forests we saw no evidences of occupation by the Mongols except the
wood roads and a few scattered charcoal pits. These were old and
moss-grown, and save for ourselves the valleys were deserted.

One morning while I was hunting north of camp, I heard a wapiti roar
on the summit of a mountain. I found its tracks in the soft earth of
a game trail which wound through forest so dense that I could hardly
see a dozen yards. As I stole along the path I heard a sudden sneeze
exactly like that of a human being and saw a small, dark animal dash
off the trail. I stopped instantly and slowly sank to the ground,
kneeling motionless, with my rifle ready. For five minutes I
remained there--the silence of the forest broken only by the
clucking of a hazel grouse above my head. Then came that sneeze
again, sounding even more human than before. I heard a nerv