590 ANNUAL REPORT SMITHSONIAN INSTITUTION, 1913. 



To the right and left are some small circular knolls, some decimeters 

 •at least in height, encircled by a ring about 6 feet in diameter, from 

 which the ground appears to have been dug out in former times. 

 You seem to see traces of child's play. These are Turkoman graves. 

 Little by little the rains have effaced the small tumulus and filled the 

 circular pit whence was taken out the earth of the hillock. These 

 graves, scattered without order on this immense plain, mark the place 

 where died those whose bleached bones rest some feet underground, 

 near some encampment where the tribe then lived. Then, the de- 

 mand for troops calling them elsewhere, the camp was left, and no 

 one since then has stopped near these tombs. From the day when 

 the earth received them, these beings have been forgotten forever. 



We pass on, and the journey is continued with no signs of path 

 or road, for the steppe has none; but we are guided on the march by 

 the sun. Night falls, and the stars replace the sun to indicate the 

 course. 



P^inally, at a little distance, some beams of light are seen and sud- 

 denly a pack of hounds come bounding forth. The guardians of 

 the village are warned of our approach. 



The village, otherwise of very little importance, has about 30 

 kibitkas, or circular tents, 5 to 8 meters in diameter, surrounded by 

 a latticed wall made of reeds, skillfully tied together and covered 

 with a thick felt in the form of a dome. The men, seated there 

 smoking the tchibong, are capped with enormous hats of sheepskin, 

 dressed in a dark blue cotton cloth, sordid and covered with grease, 

 smelling of sheep, horse, studded wuth vermin; near them are their 

 guns, and at their belts glitter three or four rows of brass scabbards. 

 On the ground an old mat and a carpet, torn and stained. In the 

 middle of the kibitka burns a fire of argoles, the acrid smoke of 

 which mingles with that of the pipes. Some young lambs and a 

 colt are tied in a corner; a pile of mattresses and coverings wait to 

 serve for bedding at night. Some women in red rags and tatters, 

 these likewise of a repulsive slovenliness, go and come, taking orders 

 and grumbling. A little boy approaches and gazes at me with his 

 tw^o big, beautiful, dusky eyes. Most fortunately, being Christian. 

 I am impure and consequently exempt from the gi'asp of the hand 

 of the men and from the caresses of the child. The dogs also are 

 impure, so that perhaps through dread of filthiness or respect for 

 beliefs thej^ dare not enter the kibitka, and stay at the door. 



After the customary salutations these people conversed on subjects 

 of interest to them — their horses, colts, money; above all, of silver, 

 but also of wool from their sheep, for which they did not obtain 

 as much as the value of a dog of one of the Armenian Christians 

 come to the Anllage. This sale kept them a little too near Astrabad, 

 which made them fear that the governor might hear of their indif- 



