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Updated: May 24, 2025
As we approached the yurta of the Prince, we were met by two officials, wearing the peaked Mongol caps with peacock feathers rampants behind. With low obeisances they begged the foreign "Noyon" to enter the yurta. My friend the Tartar and I entered.
Among other things he led us out of the yurta and pointed out a mountain peak brightly lighted by the full moon and recounted to us the story of one of the sons of Jenghiz, afterwards Emperor of China, Indo-China and Mongolia, who had been attracted by the beautiful scenery and grazing lands of Djirgalantu and had founded here a town.
Some time you will write about it, remembering your trip through Mongolia and your sojourn at the yurta of the 'bloody General." He shut his eyes, smoking as he spoke, and tumbling out his sentences without finishing them as though some one would prevent him from phrasing them.
Afterwards he offered his pipe to each one of our company and received from each a cigarette, a little tobacco or some matches. It was the seal on our friendship. Soon in our yurta many persons piled up around us, men, women, children and dogs. It was impossible to move. From among them emerged a Lama with shaved face and close cropped hair, dressed in the flowing red garment of his caste.
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! In the yurta we were given tea while the old Soyot sat thinking deeply about something.
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