and on we go, over a tedious, uninteresting
stretch; the sun goes down, the twilight deepens into night, and the
stars come out. At half-past eight I ask how much longer we must drive,
and am told two hours. At half-past eleven I try to make the man
understand he must stop, but he pays no attention. And it is one o'clock
when I see the river in front of us, glimmering in the misty moonlight.
In a minute we are in the water; two steps more and the swift current is
up to the horses' sides, and the tarantass begins to turn over. Ivan,
now thoroughly awake, jumps out, the other Russian helps, and with
much pushing and floundering the horses manage to struggle back to
shore. This is plainly no ford, and as there is no help in sight we camp
on the bank for the rest of the night, no grass for the horses, nothing
to make a fire. After a bite of black bread and a tea-cup of the Foreign
Office Bordeaux, I curl up in the tarantass, shivering with damp river
cold, and Wang, rolled up in his sheepskin, sleeps on the ground
underneath. As for the Russians, I commit them cheerfully to all the
joys of rheumatism.

[Illustration: LAMA AND HIS "WIFE"]

For once every one is up at dawn. A passing lama directs us to a ferry
down the river, where we cross by means of a flat-bottomed boat worked
by an iron cable. On the other side the men start a fire and we get some
hot tea. Again I am struck by the familiar way in which the Russians
hobnob with the Mongols. Anglo-Saxons of their class would not do it. I
wonder if the "hail-fellow-well-met" treatment offsets the injustice and
rough handling the natives often get from their northern neighbours, and
if on the whole they like it better than the Anglo-Saxon's fairness when
coupled with his reserve. A distinguished Indian, not a reformer, once
said to me, "My countrymen prefer sympathy to justice." Perhaps that is
true of other Asiatics also.

For three or four hours after starting off again we traversed much the
same sort of country as the day before, crossing fertile valleys,
climbing rough hillsides to avoid bogs. There were not many signs of
cultivation, but along the horizon we could see the dark line of a
forest, a welcome change. Just before reaching it we turned off across
the plain to the yurts of the helpful lama of the morning. We were
expected and given a warm welcome in more senses than one, for the yurt
into which I was at once taken was so hot that I thought I should faint.
How