While the Mongols were catching the horses, there came to my tent Colonel N. N. Philipoff, who told me that he denied all the accusations that he and his brother and Poletika were Bolsheviki and that Bezrodnoff allowed him to go to Van Kure to meet Baron Ungern, who was expected there.  Only Philipoff did not know that his Mongol guide was armed with a bomb and that another Mongol had been sent on ahead with a letter to Baron Ungern.  He did not know that Poletika and his brothers were shot at the same time in Zain Shabi.  Philipoff was in a hurry and wanted to reach Van Kure that day.  I left an hour after him.

CHAPTER XXXII

AN OLD FORTUNE TELLER

From this point we began traveling along the ourton road.  In this region the Mongols had very poor and exhausted horses, because they were forced continuously to supply mounts to the numerous envoys of Daichin Van and of Colonel Kazagrandi.  We were compelled to spend the night at the last ourton before Van Kure, where a stout old Mongol and his son kept the station.  After our supper he took the shoulder-blade of the sheep, which had been carefully scraped clean of all the flesh, and, looking at me, placed this bone in the coals with some incantations and said: 

“I want to tell your fortune.  All my predictions come true.”

When the bone had been blackened he drew it out, blew off the ashes and began to scrutinize the surface very closely and to look through it into the fire.  He continued his examination for a long time and then, with fear in his face, placed the bone back in the coals.

“What did you see?” I asked, laughing.

“Be silent!” he whispered.  “I made out horrible signs.”

He again took out the bone and began examining it all over, all the time whispering prayers and making strange movements.  In a very solemn quiet voice he began his predictions.

“Death in the form of a tall white man with red hair will stand behind you and will watch you long and close.  You will feel it and wait but Death will withdraw. . . .  Another white man will become your friend. . . .  Before the fourth day you will lose your acquaintances.  They will die by a long knife.  I already see them being eaten by the dogs.  Beware of the man with a head like a saddle.  He will strive for your death.”

For a long time after the fortune had been told we sat smoking and drinking tea but still the old fellow looked at me only with fear.  Through my brain flashed the thought that thus must his companions in prison look at one who is condemned to death.