August 19, 1927. This morning I got up long before dawn. The camp was still asleep and the silence was broken only by the measured step of the sentry and the rumination of the camels tied to the picket ropes. From the darkness emerged the large silhouette of one of our Mongols in charge of the drove of horses and mules. He drove in front of him our animals and their silhouettes formed a black mass outside the camp. The sentry began to build a camp fire and against the background of the flickering flame the burly figures of the Mongols were seen emerging from their tents. The camp suddenly awoke to life and everywhere men were busy with loads and folding tents. The dawn lit up the horizon and long strings of camels began the march toward the mountains south of the valley. The front camels carried on their loads ceremonial scarfs and charm boxes, destined to protect them from evil fortune on the high passes of Tibet.

Higher and higher rose the trail and soon a long sandy spur hid the valley. We entered a sandy gorge leading toward the Ulan-daban Pass and camped on a patch of ground covered with vivid green grass. South of the camp rose the violet rocky summits which give the name to the mountain pass. Late in the evening our camp was joined by several Kurluk Mongols en route for Mahai. It is a local custom to travel always accompanied by some friend and the Mongols who joined us in the evening rode in a small band of four.

Next day we broke camp early and resumed our march up the mountain gorge. At the foot of the pass stood ruins of several hovels and traces of a former gold mine. The pass, situated at an altitude of some 17,000 feet was not difficult and we crossed it without leaving behind a single animal. From its summit opened a wide panorama of mountains and rocky crags, covered here and there by patches of snow. The descent was gradual and led into a broad sandy valley, covered by scant grass. After a long march across the plain, which seemed endless, we reached the bank of the Ikhe Khaltin-gol and crossed one of its channels. The camp was pitched on a level patch of ground situated between the two channels of the river.

We were obliged to stay a whole day in the river valley, because of our camels which reached the camp only late at night. The valley was surrounded by a high mountainous country. Southeast of it lay the vast snow fields of Chakhalda. Its southern rim was formed by low ridges, known under the name of Urge-daban ula, which merged into the Chakha-daban ula Mountains. Toward the southwest the mountains known to the natives by the name of Tsagan-obotu rose imperceptibly. All these ridges forming the southern rim of the river valley were branches of the southern Koko-nor Ridge.

Next morning we left camp at about six o'clock and crossed the river in the dark. The water reached the stirrups and the bottom of the river bed was muddy and treacherous. Having crossed the river we followed a narrow trail leading through a sandstone gorge toward the mountain pass—Chakhar-in daban. The descent was effected along a dry river bed, blocked by huge bowlders and layers of gravel. After seven hours' march we reached the valley of the Baga Khaltin-gol, a river flowing through a picturesque valley sheltered by rocky ridges of basalt and sandstone. Far to the south rose the snow peaks of the Ritter Range and on the west stretched the undulating sand hills of the Serthang.

On August 23 we crossed the river and passed through a succession of sandy hills with scant shrubs. Beyond this belt of sandy hills lay a vast sandy plain open to the west and sheltered on the east by a mountain ridge stretching northeast by southwest. We followed a dry river bed, that rose toward a pass situated in the mountains south of us. The camp was pitched on a river terrace, close to a small brook that fed the river during the period of summer rains. This year being exceptionally dry, no water was found in the river.

In the night the thermometer registered -2°C. before sunrise and the brook was covered by a thin crust of ice. Beyond the camp the path followed the same gorge, which narrowed approaching the pass. The ascent to the pass was easy. The summit was marked by a stone cairn and the scenery was full of intrinsic beauty. Everywhere rose high, precipitous, jagged rocks. Below were the deep blue shades of a mountain valley not yet lit by the sun, and above, the purple and red colors of granite and sandstone mountain walls that sheltered the valley. On the summit of the pass, we met a Khalkha Mongol who used to be a frequent visitor to our camp in Sharagolji. He was returning from a trip to Kurluk-nor and wished us success on our long trek across Tibet. The descent from the pass was short and led into a narrow mountain valley, the bottom of which was thickly covered with bowlders and gravel. On both sides rose wind-eroded rocks and so-called "spongy stones." After a two hours' ride, the valley widened, the hills retreated to the background and the trail crossed sandy tracts covered by shrubs of kharmik . We halted at a place called Arshan-bulak, situated in a gorge of sandstone. The brook flowed through the middle of a large river bed. On the map of the Russian General Staff the place is called Mu-bulak, "The Bad Spring," but since 1904 when His Holiness the Dalai Lama halted at this brook during his flight to Mongolia, the place became known under the name of Arshan-bulak, "The Holy Spring." Arshan-bulak is situated at an altitude of 12,040 feet.

Next day we made an early start in order to arrive earlier at Ichi, where we were to meet a Tibetan Governmental Commercial Agent, who had been delayed there because of illness, and had now decided to join our party.

For some time the trail followed the gorge, through which flowed the rivulet issuing from Arshan-bulak. It emptied into the lake Nor, situated some six miles southwest of the route. The trail then emerged on a vast sandy plain thickly covered with shrubs of juniper and tamarisks. To the southwest we could discern the blue surface of the lake Nor. On the northeast of the plain rose the barren mountain of Bom-in ula. The plain slanted toward the river Ichigin-gol. Approaching the river, which flowed in several channels, we crossed patches of land with saline ground covered by good grass, on which were situated several Mongol encampments. The principal channel of the river flowed farther down at the foot of the rocky ridge, called Ichigin ula. The banks were thickly covered with juniper shrubs. The river was said to carry a considerable volume of water after the rains. During our stay it was shallow.

The nyer-wa ("commercial agent") did not arrive and we decided to stay a couple of days on the river banks and buy some camels. It is interesting to note that the local Khoshut Mongols, who call themselves Ded-Mongols, call the region round the great salt lakes of Ikhe-Tsaidam and Baga Tsaidam "Tsaidam." The region round Kurluk-nor is known under the general name of "Gobi," according to the character of the region. The salt desert marked Tsaidam on our maps is commonly known by the name of "Shala" or dead desert. The Teijiner district is usually called "Teijiner" and the name "Tsaidam" is seldom applied to it.

The Tibetan nyer-wa arrived on the 29th of August. He was accompanied by the Mahai teiji, a local noble from Mahai, who brought with him five fine camels and several horses for sale. We were obliged to buy the five camels at the high price of eighty Mexican dollars (about $40) each.

Our doctor examined the nyer-wa and found traces of pleurisy. The man was very weak and could hardly move, but nevertheless insisted that he should be allowed to join our caravan. According to him the mountain climate of Tibet would do him good and he would be able to travel at least as far as Nag-chu. He told us his story, how he fell ill on his way to Shih-pao-ch'eng and was abandoned by his caravan. Somehow he managed to regain his strength and on hearing that our caravan was about to march for Tibet, applied for permission to join us. In the evening of the same day we received the unexpected visit of a young uzbek from Samarkand, who was buying wool for a British firm in Tientsin.

We left Ichi on August 30. Having crossed the river, the trail led across a vast gravel plain, slanting toward the lake Ikhe-Tsaidam, which was seen in the distance. To the south of the route rose the Ichi-gi-yin ula Mountains which imperceptibly merged into another chain, locally called the Dzasotin ula. To the north stretched the Tsaidam-in ula—a rocky spur of basalt and granite. After some four hours' march we reached the northwestern extremity of the large lake Ikhe-Tsaidam, which lay surrounded by a broad belt of snow-white saline crust. All around the lake lay expanses of saline ground covered by splendid pastures on which droves of horses were grazing. The place was said to belong to the Kurluk Prince, who had the sole right to graze his horses and cattle on these rich pasture grounds. We pitched our camp close to a spring of fresh water. There are several such springs of fresh water on the shores of the lake. The altitude of the lake's northwestern extremity was 9,500 feet, some hundred feet lower than that of Ichigin-gol.

Our next march was a short one. The day promised to be warm and we broke camp early in order to cover the distance during the cool morning hours. The trail followed the northern shore of the lake. The ground was strongly saline and in some places swampy. Numerous Mongol encampments were situated at places where there were springs of fresh water. After a march of some six miles we reached a collection of mud-built hovels called Tsaidam-in baishin or "The House of Tsaidam." The place was said to be the administrative center of the lake district. The village consisted of a one-story du-khang or assembly hall for the monks, who gathered here during festivals, of several storehouses belonging to local Mongols and two or three houses occupied by Chinese traders from Sining. We met here some old acquaintances, the nyer-wa ("treasurer") of the Kumbum Monastery who had once visited us at Sharagolji and the Mongol headman of the Ikhe-Tsaidam who was here to offer us some camels for sale. We bought from him a pair of fine young camels. During the day we were visited by a Mongol geshe or learned lama, who was returning from Lhasa to his native monastery of Dzain Shabi in Khalkha Mongolia. He boasted of being a close friend of the Dalai Lama, and ended his visit by selling us one of his horses for the moderate price of forty Mexican dollars. In the afternoon we were forced to remain in our tents because of a strong wind, that blew dense clouds of sand dust.

On the next day we again made an early start and skirted the shores of the lake. The trail first followed a vast sandy plain and then crossed a belt of crescent-shaped sand dunes with precipitous western sides. A narrow mountain gorge led to the Pass of Baga Tsaidam-in kötöl, with an altitude of some 10,000 feet. The pass was situated in the Baga Tsaidam-in zumbi-yin ula, a mountain chain that forms the divide between the basins of the two salt lakes. The descent from the pass was gradual. We halted for the night on the banks of a small river with swampy bed, called on the Russian map Tatalin-gol.

Not far from our camp was a stone throne of the Dalai Lama, who passed here in 1904. The throne had been erected by pious followers, who assembled at this spot to meet the Incarnate Ruler of Tibet on his passage to Mongolia.

During the night some of our horses were scared by kyangs or wild asses and stampeded toward the Ikhe Tsaidam-in-nor. A search round the Baga Tsaidam proved fruitless and two of our Torguts rode off to Ikhe-Tsaidam. The caravan made only a short march and halted again on the southwest shore of the lake. Close to the camp we discovered a brook of fresh water. Our runaway horses reached the camp only late in the afternoon and in such an exhausted condition that we decided to stay another day at the lake and to send our camel caravan ahead, to give it time to cross the salt desert of central Tsaidam. Because of a total absence of fresh water on the way, horses and mules could cover the distance only in one non-stop march. To halt for the night meant the loss of most of the animals, who suffered terribly from the salt evaporations of the ground. The camels which could stand the absence of water for at least three days, could travel more leisurely.

At Baga Tsaidam our caravan was joined by two Khorchin lamas who were traveling from Serthang to Lhasa to attend the Mön-lam chem-po, or the great clerical assembly of the New Year. They were afraid of robbers on the way and applied for permission to join our caravan. They were allowed to do so on condition that they would do some camp work and help in loading camels. They brought with them six good horses, four of which they sold to the expedition.

On September 4 we started for the salt desert of Tsaidam. Two local guides were to accompany us as far as Teijiner on the southern side of the dreaded salt desert. These men knew the route well, particularly the dangerous spots around the lake Dabasun-nor, which lay in the central portion of the salt desert.

The morning was cool and we enjoyed our ride along the shore of the Baga Tsaidam Lake, with its deep blue surface sparkling in the rays of the morning sun. Aquatic birds thronged the shores and the air resounded with their piercing cries. The trail led toward the Khargolji-yin ula Mountains—a jagged wall of rocks. Having passed through a narrow mountain gorge, filled with huge bowlders and talus from the neighboring crags, we emerged on a vast plain of piedmont gravel. South of the plain, in a burning hazy atmosphere, lay the salt desert. Toward the west stretched low sandy ridges. For three hours we marched across the burning, gravel plain. The glare was so intense that we could hardly look on the sparkling white trail.

About noon we halted at the last brook of fresh water, flowing from a gorge in the Khargolji-yin ula Mountains. Here we waited until sunset in order to start across the salt desert in the cool of the evening and continue the march throughout the night.

Our camels had left us the day before and we were traveling now with only a light column of horses and mules carrying the camp outfit and some of the necessary supplies. Our temporary camp was visited by two Teijiner Mongols who came from across the desert. Their costumes with red turbans were the same as those of the Kurluk Mongols, but the features of the two men were quite different and they recalled the nomads of northeastern Tibet. They communicated to us the bad news that the brook of fresh water at Olun-bulak on the other side of the desert had dried up and that we would have to go to Koko-aral, a place farther away, in the territory of Teijiner Mongols. The men were very excited about the recent fighting on the Sino-Tibetan border and related in detail a fight that had taken place only two weeks before.

At five o'clock in the afternoon the signal was given to start and everyone saddled his horse. For five hours we crossed a gravel desert slanting southward. To the west glowed the crimson red sunset and the eastern sky was plunged in a cold violet mist. Toward eleven o'clock we reached the belt of sand dunes. The horses stepped noiselessly on the soft ground of the desert. Not a sound! Only the moon shining on the fantastic landscape of the desert, with dark silhouettes of riders in one long string. South of us the salt desert of Tsaidam sparkled with a peculiar lifeless light. It is impossible to describe in words this forlorn region of Asia. It was a tiresome march. A narrow trail wound past huge accumulations of salt crust with bottomless pits between them. An imprudent step of the horse would send the rider into one of the many pits along the trail. Southwest lay the lake Dabasun-nor, an unapproachable expanse of salt water, surrounded by salt swamps.

At four o'clock in the morning we reached the southern edge of the swamps and the ground became firm. The men and animals were completely exhausted and we decided to make a brief halt in order to rest. Horses and mules were given several sips of water from our flasks, in order to relieve them a little. We built a camp fire and rested for a few hours.

At sunrise we were again on the march. To the south rose the Neiji-Andak Mountains, the northern buttresses of the great Tibetan uplands. The day proved to be very hot and our tired animals could hardly move their feet. We had to walk considerable distances.

About noon we decided to halt among shrubs of juniper. Mrs. Roerich again had a slight heart attack which always came during hot days. Our Colonel continued the march in order to rejoin the camel caravan which was probably camping somewhere south of us.

At six o'clock in the evening we resumed our march. The landscape changed and we rode past a thick jungle of juniper shrubs. Splendid pastures covered the saline ground. It became dark so suddenly that we almost lost our direction.

Three lights high above the ground attracted our attention, but we could not tell what they were. Could it possibly be a Mongol encampment? Suddenly we saw emerging from the darkness the tall figure of our Colonel. He had arranged these lights in order to guide us to the camp, which was pitched on the banks of a small stream, the Jal-tsen-gol. We decided to remain in camp for the next day and give our animals a good rest.

September 6 was spent in the Oasis of Koko-aral. Extra cartridges were distributed among the men, for from now on we were to enter a robber-infested region—the borderland of Tsaidam and the Tibetan highlands. The ever present danger in which the border tribes lived was very evident here. Men rode in parties of seven or ten, all armed, and they kept a sharp lookout on the trails leading toward the mountains. The horses were fettered and were always kept close to the camp. We arranged a vanguard to reconnoiter the country and the route two or three miles ahead of the main caravan column. The vanguard would have to occupy strategically important points and reconnoiter the locality from there. A rear guard was also provided to protect the rear of the caravan column. The Tibetan robbers are in the habit of attacking simultaneously the head and the rear of a column.

On September 7, we broke camp and continued our march across grass-covered saline ground. After crossing the Bure-yin-gol, a tributary of the Neiji-gol, the trail followed the left bank of the river. The Bure-yin-gol flowed in a channel, with terraces sixty feet high. Good grazing and a thick overgrowth of reeds and juniper bushes covered the banks of the river. The river was shallow and not more than five or six meters wide. Apparently it had shrunk, having once occupied all the grazing-covered lowland along its banks.

The Mongol encampments were numerous but we noticed that some of the families lived in ordinary mai-han or tents. They proved to be fugitives from the Neiji Valley who had to abandon their pastures and flee with a pair of horses. One hears several versions of the Golok attack on the Teijiner Mongols. According to one of them, a group of Teijiner Mongols went last year on a pilgrimage to Kumbum and on the way stole several sheep from the Goloks. The Goloks traced the thieves and an armed band of Goloks attacked and sacked the Mongol encampments in the Neiji Valley. Several Mongols and Goloks were killed in the fight and a number of cattle driven away. This was the beginning of a new tribal feud. The Mongols were forced to retire from the Neiji Valley and the Goloks raided the valley and even the Teijiner pasture, situated at the foot of the Neiji Mountains.

Only a month before our passage, during a Mongol tribal meeting, the Goloks made a fresh raid on Neiji and penetrated as far as the Bure-yin-gol. The Mongol headmen of Teijiner were informed by Mongol patrols of the presence of Golok bands in the valley and Mongol militia was ordered to fight the invaders. The Mongols were superior in numbers but the Goloks put up a brave resistance and three Mongols lost their lives in the fight. The Goloks lost six men and several horses. The dead bodies were still lying near the road and the local Mongols apprehended a Golok punitive expedition.

These Goloks are a constant source of trouble for Sining and the Tsaidam Mongols. The name "Golok" has two interpretations: one mGo-log, literally meaning "Turned heads," the second nGo-log, meaning "Rebels." It is by no means a homogeneous ethnic group. According to themselves they consist of Panags, Nya-rong-was, Kham-pas, fugitive Amdo-was, and Tibetans, and even Mongols. All the malcontents and criminals, who found life difficult in territories subject either to the Chinese, or the Tibetans, fled to this mountain region around the snowy Amnemachin and the upper course of the Huang-ho. Here they were eventually absorbed by local mountain tribes and formed the dreaded confederation of Golok tribes. They neither recognized the rule of the Sining amban, nor the authority of the Tibetan Government of Lhasa. Lately the Tibetan Government was forced to take strong measures to pacify the Golok tribes and the so-called sTod-kyi mGo-log were forced to recognize to some extent the authority of the Tibetan Government. The "lower" Goloks or the sMad-kyi mGo-log remained independent and offered a fierce resistance to the Mohammedan cavalry of General Ma. The Mohammedan General of Sining was obliged to send several punitive expeditions and to post strong detachments of troops on the Golok border. The "lower" Goloks, unable to continue their raids in the neighborhood of Sining, turned westward and large armed bands were reported in the mountainous country between Dungbudra Mountains and the valley of Neiji.

We pitched our camp on the bank of the Bure-yin-gol. Several Mongols passed us coming from Lhasa, and reported that Tibetan outposts were stationed south of the Dungbudra Mountains. I went to reconnoiter the country round our camp for it was thickly covered with an overgrowth of juniper and afforded a covered approach to the camp.

The next day we made a short march of some seven miles along the Bure-yin-gol. The trail followed the bank of the river and sometimes ascended the river terraces. We passed several barley fields cultivated by Teijiner Mongols and several Mongol women and men on horseback, carrying spades. We camped on the bank of the same river which suddenly broadened and whose channel occupied the bottom of a flat canyon-like valley.

On September 9 we started late in the afternoon, at about six o'clock, in order to cross the blistering desert belt, stretching between the Oasis of Bure-yin-gol and the Neiji-Andak Mountains. The track followed the dry river bed, and then ascended the low river terrace to emerge on the wide expanse of a sandy plain called by the local Mongols "Glen-shala." We crossed the plain in a south-southwesterly direction and after a two hours' ride approached the Neiji River, flowing in a terraced bed, the terraces rising to seventy feet. Our camel caravan had started two hours ahead of us and apparently had followed another trail, lying west of our own path. Suddenly in the darkness we noticed in the distance several camp fires. It was impossible that this could be our camel caravan, which was to be well ahead of us, approaching the Neiji Gorge. Portniagin and I galloped to reconnoiter the fires and to our astonishment discovered that it was indeed our camel caravan that had camped for the night fearing bandits. The Mongol guide in charge refused to go any farther. We ordered the men to load the camels again and to continue the march immediately. The guide was very reluctant and said that he would guide the caravan only on one condition, that someone else and I would ride ahead of him and warn him of danger. The Colonel and I accordingly rode a distance ahead of the caravan and reconnoitered the nearby hills.

We passed on the way three dead bodies of Mongols and two horses. One of the bodies had a large sword wound in the head and the other two apparently died from bullets. One of the horses had a huge slice cut from the side and the other was shot through the head. The men's bodies were stripped of their clothes and ravens had picked out their eyes. It was a gruesome sight and our Mongols were visibly oppressed by it, except the Torguts who cold-bloodedly examined the bodies and remarked on the way that each of the men had found his death. We were told that farther ahead lay six bodies of dead Goloks and I was particularly anxious to see them in order to ascertain their tribes. Our search for these six bodies proved fruitless. It was dark, and perhaps the Goloks had carried their dead away, as is their custom. The sandy surface of the plain still bore traces of a violent fight; it was covered with hoofprints of galloping horses. Examining these traces one could easily tell the story of the fight. The Goloks hid themselves behind small hillocks and from there attacked the approaching Mongol militia. A fight followed and three Mongols, whose bodies we had seen, were killed. Then the militia countercharged the Goloks and there was a short cavalry fight, after which the Goloks galloped away toward the mountains, and the Mongol militia pursued them.

After crossing the sandy expanse, we entered the Neiji Gorge. The Neiji River flowed through the gorge in a deep canyon with high terraces. We halted at about one o'clock in the morning in a narrow side glen called Tsagan-udzur. The mule transport overtook us but it was too late to put up tents and we all spent the night in the open. It was a miserable night and a drizzling rain fell toward the morning. The camel caravan had to halt at a spot half a mile distant from our camping place. The Tibetan nyer-wa suddenly felt worse and the man in charge of the camel caravan thought it wise to camp for the night and sent us a message to this effect.

Next morning we started again, tired as we were after an almost sleepless night. We were moving along the route of Prjevalski, followed by him during his Third Central Asiatic Expedition, by W. Rockhill in 1891-92 and Tsybikoff in 1899. Descending the Kano Pass (12,190 feet), we crossed a succession of sandy ridges descending toward the river. The country was absolutely devoid of vegetation. After three miles of march we reached the Neiji River, which flowed between high, almost vertical banks. The surrounding mountains were hidden by a veil of mist left behind by the snowstorm of the previous night. The trail again left the Neiji-gol and led across an elevated, sandy plateau. About eleven o'clock in the morning we reached the place called Shugu-erge, situated on the Shuge-yin-gol. From here the trail followed for some time the Shuge-yin-gol and we made a brief halt on its bank.

At the time of our passage the Shuge-yin-gol was a river flowing between high banks and had a large volume of water. It rises in the Shuge-yin ula, southeast of the Neiji Valley. Along the course of the river passed a route to Sining, often used by robber bands of Panags or Goloks. From the Shuge-yin-gol we crossed a low, sandy spur with enormous masses of débris that swept into the river and we again descended into the valley of the Neiji River. We camped on a grassy spot with some willow brush called Sain-tohoi or Nogon-tohoi (the Tsagan-tohoi of Prjevalski and Rockhill). This seemed a favorite camping ground for caravans for we found many fireplaces and abundant camel and yak dung.

The Mongol guide advised us to keep strict vigil during the night and following his advice, I spent the whole night on the river terrace above the camp, watching the trail coming from the Shuga Valley. A strong guard was also placed with the horses and mules. The camels were as usual tied to picket ropes. The Golok robbers almost never steal camels, for it is difficult to get away with them. They usually drive away horses and mules. A good protection against horse thieves is to cut the horses' tails. According to the central Asian nomads, a horse with a short tail is an ignominious thing and a man who would have to ride such a creature would feel himself dishonored. I know of a case in Mongolia, when a band of horse thieves attacked a drove of horses belonging to a Russian merchant. The best horses in the drove had their tails cut in cavalry fashion and the thieves did not touch them but drove away all the other horses with long tails and manes!

September 11 we made an early start and forded the river. On the opposite bank the trail climbed the steep cliffs and emerged on a broad sandy plateau in which the river had cut a deep and narrow canyon. The low sandstone spur, projecting over the river, is known under the name of Koko-tono (11,910 feet) and has been described by Tsybikoff and Rockhill as a very difficult piece of road. Several years ago the trail was considerably improved by a high lama on his way to Tsaidam. Local Mongols even endeavored to construct a bridge across the river in order to avoid the steep cliffs of the pass. We saw fagots of wood deposited on the river banks, but the work of spanning the river was soon abandoned because of the expense of bringing wood.

Having passed the cornice of Koko-tono Cliff, we crossed a succession of low, sandy ridges, sloping down toward the Neiji River, which flowed now in a broad flat-bottomed valley. After some fifteen miles of march we halted at a place called Büdü-tohoi, a broad patch of grass-covered land with a thick overgrowth of willows, inside a semicircle formed by a former river terrace.

Approaching our camping place, Mrs. Roerich suddenly noticed some camels and men in the bushes. The Colonel and I went at once to reconnoiter the neighborhood. We expected to meet some travelers or herdsmen but to our astonishment the men moved away and we found fireplaces, which apparently had been deserted only a few hours before. Who were the men? Travelers or herdsmen, or perhaps robbers spying upon us? We pushed a reconnoitering party along the river banks and searched the willow overgrowth, but without success. On the river silt, close to the banks of the river, we discovered some fresh hoofprints. The horses were not shod and the riders apparently forded the river. We decided to double the night sentries and formed a plan to protect our camp in case of a night attack. Toward evening another reconnoitering party was mustered, which searched the surrounding country, but without result.

Our next march was to Neiji-Andak. The trail followed the river bank for several miles and then emerged on an open expanse of gravel. In an inclosed side valley we unexpectedly came across a pair of wild yaks. It seemed a fine opportunity to secure a good specimen and we decided to take the chance. We all were mounted and several of our Mongols were experienced hunters. The animals were quietly grazing and did not notice our riders who surrounded them in a large circle. When the circle was completed two of our best shots rode up toward the yaks and fired at close range. One of the yaks was hit and dropped on his knees. Then suddenly getting up again, he lowered his formidable horns. A moment of hesitation and both the animals charged at our hunters. The men were quick in outmaneuvering the beasts, which followed them in hot pursuit. The animals were coming toward me. The distance was barely over a hundred yards and I fired. One of the animals fell, the other whirled away in the direction of the mountains. I thought the animal dead and slowly rode toward it. To my great surprise the brute suddenly rose to its feet and bolted away. With incomprehensible dexterity the twice-wounded yak climbed the steep rocks and disappeared behind them. It took us some time again to locate the bloody trail that the animal had left behind. Not infrequently hunters are obliged to follow a wounded yak for several days before they find another opportunity to fire at the animal or find him dead.

At our camping place we again discovered fresh fireplaces, abandoned a few hours before. Evidently someone was moving ahead of us. There was no dung near the fireplaces so it could not be a caravan. It was probably a small mounted party of two or three men who were spying on our movements. We had to be again on our guard and take all precautions to prevent a sudden night attack.

On September 13 came the expected clash. It was a dull day and heavy gray clouds hovered over the mountains. The caravan trail followed the right bank of the Neiji River. Amid drifting clouds, mist and towering mountain summits, we could from time to time see the snowy peaks and glaciers of the Marco Polo Range. This day the column of the expedition marched in the usual order; ahead of the column, a small vanguard under European command; then the leader with the rest of the European members and several Mongols of our convoy; next came the mule detachment with light baggage and munition cases. The mules were followed at some distance by the heavy baggage column on camels in three detachments. The camel column was protected by several armed horsemen and was in charge of one of the Europeans. As soon as we had reached the northern slope of the Elisu-daban Pass, the place mentioned by the mysterious lama at Sharagolji, we suddenly noticed a detachment of horsemen dash across the trail toward the plateau to the left of our route. Who were they? Were they trying to outflank us? Many questions flashed through the mind but there was no time to think. The horsemen were coming toward us at great speed and the dry ground of the plateau resounded under the hoofs of their horses. All were armed with modern rifles and swords and some carried lances. Our Mongol guide, pale, and widely swinging his arms, dashed backward toward the river. His last words were "Arangan, arangan"—robbers! He was the only one to abandon his post; the rest of the men showed an unusual courage. The clash seemed inevitable. The leader ordered us to occupy a firing position on the crest of the hill. The vanguard which covered the maneuver of the rest of the column was recalled to the main force. Everyone occupied his position and one heard the loading of rifles. On our left flank our mounted Torguts prepared to outflank the enemy. Loud war cries resounded in the air. An intense moment, when all the inner forces of a man were strained to the utmost. "At three hundred yards, we fire!" shouted our Colonel, commanding the fighting force of the expedition and everyone prepared to press the trigger at the signal. But the enemy riders seemed to waver. A few moments more, and they stopped in a compact mass. We saw the swords thrust into the scabbards. Several of them dismounted and they began to talk among themselves. Our resolute attitude made the brigands realize that they were dealing with a strongly armed caravan and a cavalry charge in open country would result in considerable loss to them. They accordingly stopped and sent men to talk the matter over. We advanced and as a precautionary measure, our riders surrounded the brigand detachment. Never before did we see such inhuman, brutal faces. Most of the brigands were young men armed with swords and modern rifles. An old man with a gray beard was the leader of the band. They admitted their intention. The superiority of our firearms made them change their mind.

After a brief halt, we moved on. One of our men had learned in the course of a conversation with one of the brigands that they expected large reinforcements to arrive the next day. This necessitated further precautions on our part. The night's camp was fortified by trenches and armed sentries with fixed bayonets protected the camp and caravan animals. But the Panags did not return to attack and the night passed in silence.

The recent political upheavals in China and central Asia have thrown a tremendous amount of firearms of every description on the Chinese market and the tribesmen of the Sino-Tibetan border were not slow to take advantage of this possibility to arm themselves. A traveler or explorer in central Asia has to face well-armed bands of brigands, ready to give battle. We often wondered who the mysterious stranger was who had warned us of the coming danger. Thanks to him we were able to take the necessary precautions and cross a dangerous territory without bloodshed.

Next day we started early but were unexpectedly delayed by the loss of two of our best camels which had disappeared during the night. Our Mongols were sure that the animals were stolen by robbers and we had to send out a reconnoitering party to follow their tracks, which led toward the mountain. Three of our men rode off on the search and the rest waited in camp. The men were gone for about half an hour when we suddenly heard a shot, closely followed by another. What was it? We were about to send out a strong, armed party to find the cause of the firing when some of the men noticed one of our Mongols emerging from the hills leading the two camels. They were followed by the other two men. They had met several of the robbers in the hills and had fired to frighten them off.

We took all necessary precautions on this march to the Neiji Pass. Our scouts occupied the important points along the route and reconnoitering parties were pushed ahead to protect the flanks of the column. The ascent was extremely difficult for camels, very steep and in many places covered by a thin sheet of ice and slippery snow. The animals slipped and fell, again and again, and had to be reloaded. The ascent occupied fully four hours and everyone in the caravan was thoroughly exhausted when we reach the summit.

Near the summit one of our reconnoitering parties came across a small detachment of yesterday's robbers, who were again spying upon our movements and were en route for the southern side of the pass. They were dispersed without difficulty and the caravan continued its march.

While we were descending from the pass, a snowstorm covered the countryside with a thick layer of snow and we could hardly see ahead of us. We were forced to camp for the night on the banks of a tiny stream. The camp was a dismal one. The animals had nothing to graze upon and stood with lowered heads. The men argued among themselves and many were very depressed. South of us rose the majestic Marco Polo Range (the Angar Dakchin)—a mass of glaciers and snow peaks, that towered to a great height on the dull background of a stormy sky. The wind roared in the valley which was black with a herd of wild yaks. It is extremely dangerous to attack such grazing herds and snatch away some of its members. At a signal of their leader the mass of black brutes would charge at the hunters. The Tibetans seldom attack a grazing herd of yaks. They either follow stray animals or fire at the herd while in motion. When firing at the herd, the native hunters are careful to fire at the last of the animals for a yak herd always charges ahead. A wounded yak knows no obstacles. It will follow the hunter, climbing precipitous rocks or racing in the open, often overtaking the hunter's horse. The speed that a wild yak develops is remarkable and experienced hunters say that it is difficult to get away from one in the open. The Torguts managed to kill one huge bull, and thus replenished our meat supply.

Our rear guard brought in the news that they had seen parties of mounted Panags in the neighborhood of our camp and that it seemed that the robbers were preparing for a night attack. It was my turn to protect the camp during the night and give the alarm in case of danger. About ten o'clock in the evening, one of the Khorchin lamas called me to come to see his companion who was sleeping in his tent in a strange attitude and did not answer when his friend called him. I went at once to the lama's tent and found the man dead. The doctor whom we called out only confirmed the fact. The lama died of heart failure. The night passed in silence only interrupted by the prayers read over the corpse of the deceased.

I was trying to keep myself warm by walking about the camp. Wet snow lashed the face and stuck to the eyes almost blinding one. Suddenly one of the sentries approached me and reported that a line of men was crawling toward our camp. We hurried to the stream and saw on the other bank dark spots slowly moving toward us. They looked exactly like men crawling in snow. The Mongol sentries were ready to fire and it was difficult to tell them not to discharge their rifles. In order to find out who the strangers were, I decided to send out our two dogs. The dogs were accordingly brought to the spot and sent toward the moving black spots. Loudly barking they rushed across the stream and the black spots suddenly began to run. They proved to be several bears coming to the river to drink.

In the morning we were delayed by the funeral service for the lama. The body was placed on a horse and carried to the top of a hill and there abandoned, wrapped in a felt that had been the bed of the deceased.

Several of our Mongols were apparently greatly depressed by the death of the lama and decided secretly to abandon us in the desert. Their plot was discovered and we gave them a long admonition, pointing out that we would consider this to be an unfriendly act on their part and that we would be obliged to take stern measures to protect our interests. About noon the situation changed for the better and the Mongols began to load the camels.

At about two o'clock we left the dismal camp and crossed the broad, gravel plain that separated us from the Angar Dakchin Range. The mountain pass of Angar Dakchin (15,300 feet) was crossed without difficulty for it was free from snow and the slope was gentle. To the south lay endless ridges of undulating sandy hills—typical landscape of the Tibetan upland. We camped for the night at the foot of a low ridge. The place of the camp was known under the name of Mugchi. It was our first night on the Tibetan upland and the intense silence of the surrounding mountains seemed to enhance the majesty of this highest desert of our planet.