24 ACROSS MONGOLIAN PLAINS 



miles from Urga. For hours before we reached it we 

 saw the ragged hills standing sharp and clear against 

 the sky line. The peaks themselves are not more than 

 two hundred feet in height, but they rise from a rocky 

 plateau some distance above the level of the plain. It 

 is a wild spot where some mighty internal force has burst 

 the surface of the earth and pushed up a ragged core of 

 rocks which have been carved by the knives of weather 

 into weird, fantastic shapes. This elemental battle 

 ground is a fit setting for the most remarkable group of 

 human habitations that I have ever seen. 



Three temples lie in a bowl-shaped hollow, surrounded 

 by hundreds upon hundreds of tiny pill-box dwellings 

 painted red and white. There must be a thousand of 

 them and probably twice as many lamas. On the out- 

 skirts of the "city" to the south enormous piles of argul 

 have been collected by the priests and bestowed as votive 

 offerings by devout travelers. Vast as the supply 

 seemed, it would take all this, and more, to warm the 

 houses of the lamas during the bitter winter months 

 when the ground is covered with snow. On the north 

 the hills throw protecting arms about the homes of these 

 half -wild men, who have chosen to spend their lives in 

 this lonely desert stronghold. The houses are built of 

 sawn boards, the first indication we had seen that we 

 were nearing a forest country. 



The remaining one hundred and seventy miles to 

 Urga are a delight, even to the motorist who loves the 

 paved roads of cities. They are like a boulevard amid 

 glorious, rolling hills luxuriant with long, sweet grass. 



