They lay close together; the bridle was wound around the right wrist of the man; no trace of knife or bullet was found.

It was impossible to make out the features of the man.
His overcoat was Mongolian but his trousers and under jacket were not of the Mongolian pattern.

We asked ourselves what had happened to him.
Our Mongol bowed his head in anxiety and said in hushed but assured tones: "It is the vengeance of Jagasstai.

The rider did not make sacrifice at the southern obo and the demon has strangled him and his horse." At last Tarbagatai was behind us.

Before us lay the valley of the Adair.
It was a narrow zigzagging plain following along the river bed between close mountain ranges and covered with a rich grass.