TO THE HOLY HILLS 323 



'No,' answers Marrk ; ' Russmann's vodki not good, 

 not good,' and with that he swigs again. And thereafter, 

 as often as he might drink the vodki, he would shake 

 his head and say profoundly, ' Russmann's vodki not 

 good, no, no, not good.' 



Mine was such a vile team that I gave up driving, 

 made Marrk take my toorr and hitch my sleigh to his. 

 My warru was a heavy, hornless, sulky bull. We 

 tied him afterwards to the back of my sleigh, where he 

 did his best to choke himself in his efforts to hane back. 

 He moved with a heavy rolling action, very distinct 

 from the pace of the younger animals. 



So we kept rising and rising until at last we came 

 upon a single yierserk by a little lake. Inside this I 

 found the old woman had arranged for me a fine white 

 reindeer skin, and insisted that 

 they should sleep in the open. 

 It had rained so hard during the 

 last two hours that everything 

 was flooded. However, when I marrk's belt; showing 



INGENIOUS BUCKLE OF BONE 



crept out to see how the old 



people fared, I found them both snoring, completely 



smothered in skins. 



Sunday, August 26th. — The morning broke so clear 

 and fine that I turned out early and walked all round, 

 taking stock of the country, which was all of the same 

 formation; stony ridges with peat in the hollows and 



