190 ACROSS MONGOLIAN PLAINS 



priest or two, a barber, or a tailor. Often a professional 

 entertainer sat cross-legged on the hang telling endless 

 stories or singing for hours at a time in a high-pitched, 

 nasal voice, accompanying hunself upon a tiny snake- 

 skin violin. It was like a stage drama of concentrated 

 Chinese country life. 



Among this polyglot assembly perhaps there may be 

 a single man who has arrived with a pack upon his back. 

 He is indistinguishable from the other travelers and 

 mingles among the mafuSj helping now and then to feed 

 a horse or adjust a load. But his ears and eyes are open. 

 He is a brigand scout who is there to learn what is pass- 

 ing on the road. He hears all the gossip from neigh- 

 boring towns as well as of those many miles away, f9r 

 the inns are the newspapers of rural China, and it is 

 every one's business to tell all he knows. The scout 

 marks a caravan, then slips away into the mountains to 

 report to the leader of his band. The attack may not 

 take place for many days. While the unsuspecting 

 mafus are plodding on their way, the bandits are hover- 

 ing on the outskirts among the hills until the time is ripe 

 to strike. 



I have learned that these brigand scouts are my best 

 protection, for when a foreigner arrives at a country inn 

 all other subjects of conversation lose their interest. 

 Everything about him is discussed and rediscussed, and 

 the scouts discover all there is to know. Probably the 

 only things I ever carry which a bandit could use or 

 dispose of readily, are arms and ammunition. But two 

 or three guns are hardly worth the trouble which would 



