CHAPTER XVI 



THE "HORSE-DEER" OF SHANSI 



All the morning our carts had bumped and rattled 

 over the stones in a somber valley one hundred and 

 fifty U l from where we had killed the sheep. With 

 every mile the precipitous cliffs pressed in more closely 

 upon us until at last the gorge was blocked by a sheer 

 wall of rock. Our destination was a village named 

 Wu-tai-hai, but there appeared to be no possible place 

 for a village in that narrow canon. 



We were a quarter of a mile from the barrier before 

 we could distinguish a group of mud-walled huts, seem- 

 ingly plastered against the rock like a collection of 

 swallows' nests. No one but a Chinese would have 

 dreamed of building a house in that desolate place. 

 It was Wu-tai-hai, without a doubt, and Harry and I 

 rode forward to investigate. 



At the door of a tiny hut we were met by one of 

 our Chinese taxidermists. He ushered us into the 

 court and, with a wave of his hand, announced, "This 

 is the American Legation." The yard was a mass of 

 straw and mud. From the gaping windows of the 

 house bits of torn paper fluttered in the wind; inside, 

 at one end of the largest room, was a bed platform 



1 A li equate about one-third of a mile. 



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