In the evening of the same day we arrived at the Sacred Lake ofTeri Noor, a sheet of water eight kilometres across, muddy andyellow, with low unattractive shores studded with large holes. Inthe middle of the lake lay what was left of a disappearing island.
On this were a few trees and some old ruins. Our guide explainedto us that two centuries ago the lake did not exist and that a verystrong Chinese fortress stood here on the plain. A Chinese chiefin command of the fortress gave offence to an old Lama who cursedthe place and prophesied that it would all be destroyed. The verynext day the water began rushing up from the ground, destroyed thefortress and engulfed all the Chinese soldiers. Even to this daywhen storms rage over the lake the waters cast up on the shores thebones of men and horses who perished in it. This Teri Noorincreases its size every year, approaching nearer and nearer to themountains. Skirting the eastern shore of the lake, we began toclimb a snow-capped ridge. The road was easy at first but theguide warned us that the most difficult bit was there ahead. Wereached this point two days later and found there a steep mountainside thickly set with forest and covered with snow. Beyond it laythe lines of eternal snow--ridges studded with dark rocks set ingreat banks of the white mantle that gleamed bright under the clearsunshine. These were the eastern and highest branches of the TannuOla system. We spent the night beneath this wood and began thepassage of it in the morning. At noon the guide began leading usby zigzags in and out but everywhere our trail was blocked by deepravines, great jams of fallen trees and walls of rock caught intheir mad tobogganings from the mountain top. We struggled forseveral hours, wore out our horses and, all of a sudden, turned upat the place where we had made our last halt. It was very evidentour Soyot had lost his way; and on his face I noticed marked fear.
"The old devils of the cursed forest will not allow us to pass," hewhispered with trembling lips. "It is a very ominous sign. Wemust return to Kharga to the Noyon."But I threatened him and he took the lead again evidently withouthope or effort to find the way. Fortunately, one of our party, anUrianhai hunter, noticed the blazes on the trees, the signs of theroad which our guide had lost. Following these, we made our waythrough the wood, came into and crossed a belt of burned larchtimber and beyond this dipped again into a small live forestbordering the bottom of the mountains crowned with the eternalsnows. It grew dark so that we had to camp for the night. Thewind rose high and carried in its grasp a great white sheet of snowthat shut us off from the horizon on every side and buried our campdeep in its folds. Our horses stood round like white ghosts,refusing to eat or to leave the circle round our fire. The windcombed their manes and tails. Through the niches in the mountainsit roared and whistled. From somewhere in the distance came thelow rumble of a pack of wolves, punctuated at intervals by thesharp individual barking that a favorable gust of wind threw upinto high staccato.
As we lay by the fire, the Soyot came over to me and said: "Noyon,come with me to the obo. I want to show you something."We went there and began to ascend the mountain. At the bottom of avery steep slope was laid up a large pile of stones and treetrunks, making a cone of some three metres in height. These oboare the Lamaite sacred signs set up at dangerous places, the altarsto the bad demons, rulers of these places. Passing Soyots andMongols pay tribute to the spirits by hanging on the branches ofthe trees in the obo hatyk, long streamers of blue silk, shredstorn from the lining of their coats or simply tufts of hair cutfrom their horses' manes; or by placing on the stones lumps of meator cups of tea and salt.
"Look at it," said the Soyot. "The hatyks are torn off. Thedemons are angry, they will not allow us to pass, Noyon. . . ."He caught my hand and with supplicating voice whispered: "Let usgo back, Noyon; let us! The demons do not wish us to pass theirmountains. For twenty years no one has dared to pass thesemountains and all bold men who have tried have perished here. Thedemons fell upon them with snowstorm and cold. Look! It isbeginning already. . . . Go back to our Noyon, wait for the warmerdays and then. . . ."I did not listen further to the Soyot but turned back to the fire,which I could hardly see through the blinding snow. Fearing ourguide might run away, I ordered a sentry to be stationed for thenight to watch him. Later in the night I was awakened by thesentry, who said to me: "Maybe I am mistaken, but I think I hearda rifle."What could I say to it? Maybe some stragglers like ourselves weregiving a sign of their whereabouts to their lost companions, orperhaps the sentry had mistaken for a rifle shot the sound of somefalling rock or frozen ice and snow. Soon I fell asleep again andsuddenly saw in a dream a very clear vision. Out on the plain,blanketed deep with snow, was moving a line of riders. They wereour pack horses, our Kalmuck and the funny pied horse with theRoman nose. I saw us descending from this snowy plateau into afold in the mountains. Here some larch trees were growing, closeto which gurgled a small, open brook. Afterwards I noticed a fireburning among the trees and then woke up.
It grew light. I shook up the others and asked them to preparequickly so as not to lose time in getting under way. The storm wasraging. The snow blinded us and blotted out all traces of theroad. The cold also became more intense. At last we were in thesaddles. The Soyot went ahead trying to make out the trail. As weworked higher the guide less seldom lost the way. Frequently wefell into deep holes covered with ............