40 ACROSS MONGOLIAN PLAINS 



There is a circuitous route by which cars can cross the 

 pass under their own power, but Coltman preferred the 

 direct road and sent four mules to tow the automobile 

 up the mountains to the edge of the plateau. 



It was the same trail I had followed the previous 

 September. Then, as I stood on the summit of the 

 pass gazing back across the far, dim hills, my heart 

 was sad for I was about to enter a new land alone. 

 My "best assistant" was on the ocean coming as fast as 

 steam could carry her to join me in Peking. I won- 

 dered if Fate's decree would bring us here together that 

 we might both have, as a precious heritage for future 

 years, the memories of this strange land of romance 

 and of mystery. Now the dream had been fulfilled and 

 never have I entered a new country with greater hopes 

 of what it would bring to me. Never, too, have such 

 hopes been more gloriously realized. 



We packed the cars that night and at half past five 

 the next morning were on the road. The sky was gray 

 and cloud-hung, but by ten o'clock the sun burned out 

 and we gradually emerged from the fur robes in which 

 we had been buried. 



Instead of the fields of ripening grain which in the 

 previous autumn had spread the hills with a flowing 

 golden carpet, we saw blue-clad Chinese farmers turn- 

 ing long brown furrows with homemade plows. The 

 trees about the mission station had just begun to show 

 a tinge of green — the first sign of awakening at the 

 touch of spring from the long winter sleep. Already 

 caravans were astir, and we passed lines of laden camels 



