228 THROUGH RUSSIA ON A MUSTANG. 



with a number, and which was suspended from the 

 neck with a yellow cord. 



Ettabozaluk was the name of the hamlet where the 

 first sample of this particular brand of traveler-worriers 

 came into the theater of my Russian road experiences. 

 Drawing rein at the village traktir, in the middle of the 

 forenoon, in quest of something to drink, the uncouth 

 crowd of villagers and moujiks that are always loafing 

 about these places were instantly attracted by the 

 appearance of an evidently foreign horseman. Com- 

 ments, as usual, were indulged in of the most naive and 

 unreserved character. The more officious demanded 

 to see my " billet," as a passport is called in Southern 

 Russia. 



Seeing that there was no officer among them, I re- 

 fused to gratify a curiosity that was nine-tenths sus- 

 picion, and merely answered that I was an American. 

 Instead of allaying their suspicions, this immediately 

 increased them. One old wiseacre declared triumph- 

 antly that it was quite impossible that a man on horse- 

 back should come from America, because he had heard 

 that between that country and Russland there was 

 water. A second took quite an indignant fit of sus- 

 picion on the grounds that my saddle was not Ameri- 

 can but Circassian, a positive proof to his comprehen- 

 sive brain that I was trying to deceive them. These 

 two subtle discoveries convinced the whole assembly 

 that I was grossly deceiving them in saying that I was 

 an American, and consequently must be a spy. 



" What was I doing in Russland ? " 



"Oh, admiring it!" (smahtrait ; literally, to look). 

 The crowd shook their heads. What kind of block- 



