he
Viliga to take its place. In summer, while the water of the sea is
still chilled with masses of unmelted ice, the great steppes behind
the mountains are covered with vegetation and warm with almost
perpetual sunshine, and the direction of the wind is consequently
reversed. This valley of the Viliga, therefore, may be regarded as
a great natural breathing-hole, through which the interior steppes
respire once a year. At no other point does the Stanavoi range afford
an opening through which the air can pass back and forth between the
steppes and the sea, and as a natural consequence this ravine is swept
by one almost uninterrupted storm. While the weather everywhere else
is calm and still, the wind blows through the Viliga in a perfect
hurricane, tearing up great clouds of snow from the mountain sides and
carrying them far out to sea. For this reason it is dreaded by all
natives who are compelled to pass that way, and is famous throughout
north-eastern Siberia as "the stormy gorge of the Viliga!"

On the fifth day after leaving Gizhiga, our small party, increased
by a Russian postilion and three or four sledges carrying the annual
Kamchatkan mail, drew near the foot of the dreaded Viliga Mountains.
Owing to deep snow our progress had not been so rapid as we had
anticipated, and we were only able to reach on the fifth night a small
_yurt_ built to shelter travellers, near the mouth of a river called
the Topolofka, thirty versts from the Viliga. Here we camped, drank
tea, and stretched ourselves out on the rough plank floor to sleep,
knowing that a hard day's work awaited us on the morrow.

[Illustration: Head covering used in stalking seals]

CHAPTER XXXV

YURT ON THE TOPOLOFKA--THE VALLEY OF TEMPESTS--RIVER OF THE
LOST--STORM BOUND--ESCAPE BY THE ICE-FOOT--A SLEEPLESS NIGHT--LEET
REPORTED DEAD--YAMSK AT LAST

"Kennan! Oh, Kennan! Turn out! It's day light!" A sleepy grunt and a
still more drowsy "Is it?" from the pile of furs lying on the rough
plank floor betrayed no very lively interest on the part of the
prostrate figure in the fact announced, while the heavy, long-drawn
breathing which soon succeeded this momentary interruption proved that
more active measures must be taken to recall him from the land of
dreams. "I say! Kennan! Wake up! Breakfast has been ready this
half-hour." The magic word "breakfast" appealed to a stronger feeling
than drowsiness, and, thrusting my head out from beneath its covering