escriptions of the mysterious "ding," by
which they referred to the ring of the cyclometer at every mile. But the
phrase _quai-ti-henn_ (very fast), which concluded almost every sentence,
showed what feature impressed them most. Then, too, they disliked very
much to travel in the heat of the day, for all summer traveling in China
is done at night. They would wake us up many hours before daylight to make
a start, despite our previous request to be left alone. Our week's run to
Barkul was made, with a good natural road and favoring conditions, at the
rate of fifty-three miles per day, eight miles more than our general
average across the empire. From Kuldja to the Great Wall, where our
cyclometer broke, we took accurate measurements of the distances. In this
way, we soon discovered that the length of a Chinese _li_ was even more
changeable than the value of the _tael_. According to time and place, from
185 to 250 were variously reckoned to a degree, while even a difference in
direction would very often make a considerable difference in the distance.
It is needless to say that, at this rate, the guards did not stay with us.
Official courtesy was now confined to despatches sent in advance. Through
this exceptionally wild district were encountered several herds of
antelope and wild asses, which the natives were hunting with their long,
heavy, fork-resting rifles. Through the exceptional tameness of the
jack-rabbits along the road, we were sometimes enabled to procure with a
revolver the luxury of a meat supper.

[Illustration: A CHINESE PEDDLER FROM BARKUL.]

At Barkul (Tatar) the first evidence of English influence began to appear
in the place of the fading Russian, although the traces of Russian
manufacture were by no means wanting far beyond the Great Wall. English
pulverized sugar now began to take the place of Russian lump. India
rubber, instead of the Russianized French _elastique_, was the native name
for our rubber tires. English letters, too, could be recognized on the
second-hand paper and bagging appropriated to the natives' use, and even
the gilded buttons worn by the soldiers bore the stamp of "treble gilt."
From here the road to Hami turns abruptly south, and by a pass of over
nine thousand feet crosses the declining spurs of the Tian Shan mountains,
which stand like a barrier between the two great historic highways,
deflecting the westward waves of migration, some to Kashgaria and others
to Zungaria. On the s