left his family.  The struggle began.  The eagle fought with one free wing, one leg and his beak but did not withdraw the bar to the entrance.  The marmot jumped at the rapacious bird with great boldness but soon fell from a blow on the head.  Only then the eagle withdrew his wing, approached the marmot, finished him off and with difficulty lifted him in his talons to carry him away to the mountains for a tasty luncheon.

In the more barren places with only occasional spears of grass in the plain another species of rodent lives, called imouran, about the size of a squirrel.  They have a coat the same color as the prairie and, running about it like snakes, they collect the seeds that are blown across by the wind and carry them down into their diminutive homes.  The imouran has a truly faithful friend, the yellow lark of the prairie with a brown back and head.  When he sees the imouran running across the plain, he settles on his back, flaps his wings in balance and rides well this swiftly galloping mount, who gaily flourishes his long shaggy tail.  The lark during his ride skilfully and quickly catches the parasites living on the body of his friend, giving evidence of his enjoyment of his work with a short agreeable song.  The Mongols call the imouran “the steed of the gay lark.”  The lark warns the imouran of the approach of eagles and hawks with three sharp whistles the moment he sees the aerial brigand and takes refuge himself behind a stone or in a small ditch.  After this signal no imouran will stick his head out of his hole until the danger is past.  Thus the gay lark and his steed live in kindly neighborliness.

In other parts of Mongolia where there was very rich grass I saw another type of rodent, which I had previously come across in Urianhai.  It is a gigantic black prairie rat with a short tail and lives in colonies of from one to two hundred.  He is interesting and unique as the most skilful farmer among the animals in his preparation of his winter supply of fodder.  During the weeks when the grass is most succulent he actually mows it down with swift jerky swings of his head, cutting about twenty or thirty stalks with his sharp long front teeth.  Then he allows his grass to cure and later puts up his prepared hay in a most scientific manner.  First he makes a mound about a foot high.  Through this he pushes down into the ground four slanting stakes, converging toward the middle of the pile, and binds them close over the surface of the hay with the longest strands of grass, leaving the ends protruding enough for him to add another foot to the height of the pile, when he again binds the surface with more long strands—­all this to keep his winter supply of food from blowing away over the prairie.  This stock he always locates right at the door of his den to avoid long winter hauls.  The horses and camels are very fond of this small farmer’s hay, because it is always made from the most nutritious grass.  The haycocks are so strongly made that one can hardly kick them to pieces.