We first unburdened it but this did not help; no more did our shouting and threats. He only stood with his head down and looked so exhausted that we realized he had reached the further bourne of his land of toil. Some Soyots with us examined him, felt of his muscles on the fore and hind legs, took his head in their hands and moved it from side to side, examined his head carefully after that and then said: “That horse will not go further. His brain is dried out.” So we had to leave him. That evening we came to a beautiful change in scene when we topped a rise and found ourselves on a broad plateau covered with larch. On it we discovered the yurtas of some Soyot hunters, covered with bark instead of the usual felt. Out of these ten men with rifles rushed toward us as we approached. They informed us that the Prince of Soldjak did not allow anyone to pass this way, as he feared the coming of murderers and robbers into his dominions. “Go back to the place from which you came,” they advised us with fear in their eyes. I did not answer but I stopped the beginnings of a quarrel between an old Soyot and one of my officers. I pointed to the small stream in the valley ahead of us and asked him its name. “Oyna,” replied the Soyot. “It is the border of the principality and the passage of it is forbidden.” “All right,” I said, “but you will allow us to warm and rest ourselves a little.” “Yes, yes!” exclaimed the hospitable Soyots, and led us into their tepees. On our way there I took the opportunity to hand to the old Soyot a cigarette and to another a box of matches. We were all walking along together save one Soyot who limped slowly in the rear and was holding his hand up over his nose. “Is he ill?” I asked. “Yes,” sadly answered the old Soyot. “That is my son. He has been losing blood from the nose for two days and is now quite weak.” I stopped and called the young man to me. “Unbutton your outer coat,” I ordered, “bare your neck and chest and turn your face up as far as you can.” I pressed the jugular vein on both sides of his head for some minutes and said to him: “The blood will not flow from your nose any more. Go into your tepee and lie down for some time.” The “mysterious” action of my fingers created on the Soyots a strong impression. The old Soyot with fear and reverence whispered: “Ta Lama, Ta Lama! (Great Doctor).” In the yurta we were given tea while the old Soyot sat thinking deeply about something. Afterwards he took counsel with his companions and finally announced: “The wife of our Prince is sick in her eyes and I think the Prince will be very glad if I lead the ‘Ta Lama’ to him. He will not punish me, for he ordered that no ‘bad people’ should be allowed to pass; but that should not stop the ‘good people’ from coming to us. “Do as you think best,” I replied rather indifferently. “As a matter of fact, I know how to treat eye diseases but I would go back if you say so.”