146 ACROSS MONGOLIAN PLAINS 



Chen would ask to borrow a pony. The responsibili- 

 ties of chaperones sat lightly on our shoulders, but 

 sometimes my wife and I would wander out to the edge 

 of the forest and watch him to the bottom of the hill. 

 Usually his love was waiting and they would ride off 

 together in the moonlight — where, we never asked! 



But we could not blame the boy — ^those Mongolian 

 nights were made for lovers. The marvel of them we 

 hold among our dearest memories. Wherever we may 

 be, the fragrance of pine trees or the sodden smell of a 

 marsh carries us back in thought to the beautiful valley 

 and fills our hearts again with the glory of its clear, 

 white nights. 



No matter what the day brought forth, we looked 

 forward to the evening hunt as best of all. As we 

 trotted our ponies homeward through the fresh, damp 

 air we could watch the shadows deepen in the somber 

 masses of the forest, and on the hilltops see the ragged 

 silhouettes of sentinel pines against the rose glow of 

 the sky. Ribbons of mist, weaving in and out above the 

 stream, clothed the alders in ghostly silver and rested 

 in billowy masses upon the marshes. Ere the moon 

 had risen, the stars blazed out like tiny lanterns in the 

 sky. Over all the valley there was peace unutterable. 



We were soon admitted to a delightful comradeship 

 with the Mongols of our valley. We shared their joys 

 and sorrows and nursed their minor ills. First to seek 

 our aid was the wife of the absent hunter, Tserin 

 Dorchy. She rode up one day with a two-year-old 

 baby on her arm. The little fellow was badly infected 



