ON THE CRIMEAN STEPPES. 239 



The keeper of the postayali dvor was a son of Israel, 

 who, instead of receiving me with the traditional cor- 

 diality of the boniface in dealing with a traveler who 

 desires to become his guest, regarded me with such a 

 panic of suspicion that he immediately shuffled off 

 across the street and reported my arrival and foreign 

 appearance to the pristav. Thus it happened that, 

 ten minutes after reaching Perekop, a police officer 

 walked into the stable, and before I had fairly relieved 

 Texas of his saddle, demanded my passport and took 

 possession of my saddle-bags. 



Books and papers, even private letters, were criti- 

 cally examined by the pristav, who, however, not 

 being equal to English, could make nothing of them. 



The only thing he understood was the paper I had 

 obtained from the Governor of Ekaterinoslav. He 

 hesitated some little time over this, probably suspi- 

 cious that it was a forgery, but finally contented him- 

 self with making a copy of it ; and after worrying his 

 brain for half an hour about my camera, reluctantly 

 allowed me to proceed. 



I was now in the Crimea ; and among the experiences 

 of the first day's ride in it was the refusal of a landed 

 nobleman to grant me the most trifling expression of 

 courtesy or hospitality for the night. I arrived at this 

 place at dark. He was superintending the watering of 

 live stock at the well, and by way of a hint I rode Texas 

 up to the trough and watered him. Seeing that the 

 gentleman made no offer of hospitality, I requested the 

 privilege of tying Texas up in his yard, and sleeping 

 there myself for the night. 



" This is not a postayali dvor," said the nobleman. 



