140 ACROSS MONGOLIAN PLAINS 



mud. It was impossible to walk without wading to 

 the knees and even our horses floundered and slipped 

 about, covering us with mud and water. The river 

 valley, too, presented quite a different picture than 

 when we had seen it last. Instead of open sweeps of 

 grassland dotted with an occasional yurt, now there 

 were hundreds of felt dwellings interspersed with tents 

 of white or blue. It was like the encampment of a 

 great army, or a collection of huge beehives. 



Most of the inhabitants were Mongols from the city 

 who had pitched their yurts in the valley for the sum- 

 mer. Although the wealthiest natives seem to feel 

 that for the reception of guests their "position" de- 

 mands a foreign house, they seldom live in it. Duke 

 Loobitsan Yangsen had completed his mansion the pre- 

 vious winter. It was built in Russian style and fur- 

 nished with an assortment of hideous rugs and foreign 

 furniture which made one shiver. But in the yard be- 

 hind the house his yurt was pitched, and there he lived 

 in comfort. 



Loobitsan was a splendid fellow — one of the best 

 types of Mongol aristocrats. From the crown of his 

 finely molded head to the toes of his pointed boots, he 

 was every inch a duke. I saw him in his house one 

 day reclining on a hang while he received half a dozen 

 minor officials, and his manner of quiet dignity and con- 

 scious power recalled accounts of the Mongol princes 

 as Marco Polo saw them. Loobitsan liked foreigners 

 and one could always find a cordial reception in his 



