56 ACROSS MONGOLIAN PLAINS 



upon the hillside where she wouldn't disturb the camp. 

 After half an hour of wandering about she felt better, 

 and returned to her sleeping bag on the sandy river 

 bottom. 



Just before dark we heard the dong, dong, dong of 

 a, camel's bell and saw the long line of dusty yellow 

 animals swing around a sharp earth-corner into the 

 sandy space beside the well. Like the trained units of 

 an army each camel came into position, kneeled upon 

 the ground and remained quietly chewing its cud until 

 the driver removed the load. Long before the last 

 straggler had arrived the tents were up and a fire blaz- 

 ing, and far into the night the thirsty beasts grunted 

 and roared as the trough was filled with water. 



For thirty-six days they had been on the road, and 

 yet were only halfway across the desert. Every 

 day had been exactly like the day before — an endless 

 routine of eating and sleeping, camp-making and camp- 

 breaking in sun, rain, or wind. The monotony of it 

 all would be appalling to a westerner, but the Oriental 

 mind seems peculiarly adapted to accept it with entire 

 contentment. Long before daylight they were on the 

 road again, and when we awoke only the smoking em- 

 bers of an argul fire remained as evidence that they 

 ever had been there. 



Mongoha, as we saw it in the spring, was very dif- ' 

 ferent from Mongolia of the early autumn. The hills 

 and plains stretched away in limitless waves of brown 

 untinged by the slightest trace of green, and in shaded 

 corners among rocks there were still patches of snow 



