NOMADS OF THE FOREST 165 



them in the fog and rain. Tserin Dorchy believed that 

 the animals had gone into a patch of forest on the other 

 side of the mountain. We tried to drive them out but 

 the only thing that appeared was a four-year-old roe- 

 buck which the Mongol killed with a single shot. 



We had ridden up the mountain by zigzagging across 

 the slope, but when we started back I was astounded to 

 see Tserin Dorchy keep to his saddle. The wet grass 

 was so slippery that I could not even stand erect and 

 half the time was sliding on my back, while Kublai Khan 

 picked his way carefully down the steep descent. The 

 Mongol never left his horse till we reached camp. 

 Sometimes he even urged the pony to a trot and, more- 

 over, had the roebuck strapped behind his saddle. I 

 would not have ridden down that mountain side for all 

 the deer in Mongolia! 



It had begun to rain in earnest by eleven o'clock, and 

 we spent a quiet afternoon. There is a charm about a 

 rainy day when one can read comfortably and let it 

 pour. The steady patter on the tent gives one the de- 

 lightful sensation of immediately escaping extreme dis- 

 comfort. There is no pleasure in being warm unless 

 the weather is cold; and one never realizes how agree- 

 able it is to be dry unless the day is wet. This day was 

 very wet indeed. We had a month's accumulation of 

 unopened magazines which a Mongol had brought to 

 our base camp just before we left, so there was no chance 

 of being bored. The fire had been built half under a 

 huge, back-log which kept a cheery glow of coals 

 throughout all the downpour, and Chen made us 



