MONGOLS AT HOME 149 



With a joyful shout Madame Tserin Dorchy rode 

 toward her husband. He was an oldish man, of fifty- 

 five years perhaps, with a face as dried and weather- 

 beaten as the leather beneath his saddle. He may have 

 been glad to see her but his only sign of greeting was 

 a "sai" and a nod to include us both. Her pleasure 

 was undisguised, however, and as we rode down the 

 valley she chattered volubly between the business of 

 driving in half a dozen horses and a herd of sheep. 

 The monosyllabic replies of the hunter were delivered 

 in a voice which seemed to come from a long way off 

 or from out of the earth beneath his pony's feet. I 

 was interested to see what greeting there would be 

 upon his arrival at the yurt. His two daughters and 

 his infant son were waiting at the door but he had not 

 even a word for them and only a pat upon the head for 

 the baby. 



All Mongols are independent but Tserin Dorchy 

 was an extreme in every way. He ruled the half dozen 

 families in the valley like an autocrat. What he com- 

 manded was done without a question. I was anxious 

 to get away and announced that we would start the 

 day after his arrival. "No," said he, "we will go two 

 days from now." Argument was of no avail. So far 

 as he was concerned, the matter was closed. When it 

 came to arranging wages he stated his terms, which 

 were exorbitant. I could accept them or not as I 

 pleased; he would not reduce his demands by a single 

 copper. 

 As a matter of fact, offers of money make little im- 



