to me:

"It is great good fortune that among the Bolsheviki the good-for-nothing
shoemaker of yesterday is the Governor of today and scientists sweep
the streets or clean the stables of the Red cavalry. I can talk with
the Bolsheviki because they do not know the difference between
'disinfection' and 'diphtheria,' 'anthracite' and 'appendicitis' and can
talk them round in all things, even up to persuading them not to put a
bullet into me."

And so we talked the members of the "Cheka" round to everything that we
wanted. We presented to them a bright scheme for the future development
of their district, when we would build the roads and bridges which would
allow them to export the wood from Urianhai, iron and gold from the
Sayan Mountains, cattle and furs from Mongolia. What a triumph of
creative work for the Soviet Government! Our ode occupied about an
hour and afterwards the members of the "Cheka," forgetting about our
documents, personally changed our horses, placed our luggage on the
wagon and wished us success. It was the last ordeal within the borders
of Russia.

When we had crossed the valley of the river Amyl, Happiness smiled on
us. Near the ferry we met a member of the militia from Karatuz. He had
on his wagon several rifles and automatic pistols, mostly Mausers,
for outfitting an expedition through Urianhai in quest of some Cossack
officers who had been greatly troubling the Bolsheviki. We stood upon
our guard. We could very easily have met this expedition and we were
not quite assured that the soldiers would be so appreciative of our
high-sounding phrases as were the members of the "Cheka." Carefully
questioning the militiaman, we ferreted out the route their expedition
was to take. In the next village we stayed in the same house with him. I
had to open my luggage and suddenly I noticed his admiring glance fixed
upon my bag.

"What pleases you so much?" I asked.

He whispered: "Trousers . . . Trousers."

I had received from my townsmen quite new trousers of black thick
cloth for riding. Those trousers attracted the rapt attention of the
militiaman.

"If you have no other trousers. . . ." I remarked, reflecting upon my
plan of attack against my new friend.

"No," he explained with sadness, "the Soviet does not furnish trousers.
They tell me they also go without trousers. And my trousers are
absolutely worn out. Look at them."

With these words he threw back the corner of his overcoat and I was
astoni