The other man was the host of the yurta, the shepherd of a local prince, Novontziran.
He gave signs of great pleasure at seeing us and receiving us in his yurta.
"Who was the rider on the bay horse ?" we asked.
He dropped his eyes and was silent.
"Tell us," we insisted.

"If you do not wish to speak his name, it means that you are dealing with a bad character." "No! No!" he remonstrated, flourishing his hands.

"He is a good, great man; but the law does not permit me to speak his name." We at once understood that the man was either the chief of the shepherd or some high Lama.

Consequently we did not further insist and began making our sleeping arrangements.

Our host set three legs of mutton to boil for us, skillfully cutting out the bones with his heavy knife.