190 A SUMMER ON THE YENESEI 



we reached the bend of the river, we waited until 

 Sylkin came up in his canoe, and made him ferry us 

 over to the right bank. This was even marshier than 

 the other side, and at each step we sank above our 

 knees into the sphagnum. Red and black-throated 

 divers were swimming on the brimming pools, and 

 Siberian river gulls were certainly breeding in the 

 vicinity, although we could not find the nests. I shot 

 another grey phalarope here — a female this time. 

 The nests of this species are not easy to find, for the 

 phalaropes do not advertise their whereabouts as do 

 the plover and stints. The sitting bird slips quietly 

 away through the herbage, or else flits round and 

 round the intruder like a great moth, uttering its 

 shrill drrrt-drrrt note at intervals. About a furlong 

 from the river-bank, where the flat marsh gave place 

 to a row of low hills, there was a choom, and the 

 surrounding tundra was dotted with herds of grazing 

 reindeer. Presently we heard a whoop, and one of 

 the natives dashed up on a sledge. He was a Dolgan, 

 as his handsome embroidered bonnet testified, and he 

 was evidently very eager to find out who we were. 

 The native, however, like most other primitive people, 

 has naturally good manners, and will not directly 

 question a newcomer. To be a stranger on the 

 Yenesei is a passport to considerate treatment and 

 courtesy. It is an unwritten law that a stranger shall 

 not pay for his fish. It is given to him freely. This 

 is very difi'erent from the custom of an English village, 

 where, too often, the cry is, " Here's a stranger — let's 

 rook him ! " 



