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Updated: May 24, 2025
It was a strange parting message, not reassuring and quite enigmatical. I took my Mauser and also hid in the cuff of my coat my cyanide of potassium. The Baron was quartered in the yurta of the military doctor. When I entered the court, Captain Veseloffsky came up to me. He had a Cossack sword and a revolver without its holster beneath his girdle. He went into the yurta to report my arrival.
The car pulled up with a jerk. The General jumped out and called me to follow. We started walking over the prairie and the Baron kept bending down all the time as though he were looking for something on the ground. "Ah!" he murmured at last, "He has gone away. . . ." I looked at him in amazement. "A rich Mongol formerly had his yurta here. He was the outfitter for the Russian merchant, Noskoff.
"I remember," answered the Buriat, "all is ready." For a long time I listened to their reminiscences about former battles and friends who had been lost. The clock pointed to midnight when Djam Bolon got up and went out of the yurta. "I want to have my fortune told once more," said Baron Ungern, as though he were justifying himself. "For the good of our cause it is too early for me to die. . . ."
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!
At these words of mine he swung his feet down off the bed and with evident astonishment began to survey me, holding his breath and pulling still at his moustache. Retaining my exterior calmness, I began to glance indifferently around the yurta, and only then I noticed General Rezukhin. I bowed to him and received his silent acknowledgment.
After luncheon Colonel Kazagrandi invited me to his yurta and began discussing events in western Mongolia, where the situation had become very tense. "Do you know Dr. Gay?" Kazagrandi asked me. "You know he helped me to form my detachment but Urga accuses him of being the agent of the Soviets." I made all the defences I could for Gay. He had helped me and had been exonerated by Kolchak.
When I returned to the yurta of the Hutuktu, he was inside. He presented me with a large hatyk and proposed a walk around the monastery. His face wore a preoccupied expression from which I gathered that he had something he wished to discuss with me. As we went out of the yurta, the liberated President of the Russian Chamber of Commerce and a Russian officer joined us.
In the rich yurta draped with expensive silk we discovered a feeble, wizen-faced little old man with shaven face and cropped hair, wearing also a high pointed beaver cap with red silk apex topped off with a dark red button with the long peacock feathers streaming out behind. On his nose were big Chinese spectacles. He was sitting on a low divan, nervously clicking the beads of his rosary.
We spent the night in his yurta and, when I was ready to lie down, my officer whispered to me: "Be sure to keep your revolver handy," to which I laughed and said: "But we are in the center of a White detachment and therefore in perfect safety!" "Uh-huh!" answered my officer and finished the response with one eye closed.
"What is this?" he asked Sepailoff in a severe, threatening voice; and, without waiting for an answer, struck him a blow with his tashur that sent him to the floor. We went out and the General ordered my luggage produced. Then he brought me to his own yurta. "Live here, now," he said. "I am very glad of this accident," he remarked with a smile, "for now I can say all that I want to."
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