from smallpox and leprosy.  All were mingled and mixed in one bright mass strongly lighted by the sun.  Occasionally one saw the soldiers of Baron Ungern rushing about in long blue coats; Mongols and Tibetans in red coats with yellow epaulets bearing the swastika of Jenghiz Khan and the initials of the Living Buddha; and Chinese soldiers from their detachment in the Mongolian army.  After the defeat of the Chinese army two thousand of these braves petitioned the Living Buddha to enlist them in his legions, swearing fealty and faith to him.  They were accepted and formed into two regiments bearing the old Chinese silver dragons on their caps and shoulders.

As we crossed this market, from around a corner came a big motor car with the roar of a siren.  There was Baron Ungern in the yellow silk Mongolian coat with a blue girdle.  He was going very fast but recognized me at once, stopping and getting out to invite me to go with him to his yurta.  The Baron lived in a small, simply arranged yurta, set up in the courtyard of a Chinese hong.  He had his headquarters in two other yurtas nearby, while his servants occupied one of the Chinese fang-tzu.  When I reminded him of his promise to help me to reach the open ports, the General looked at me with his bright eyes and spoke in French: 

“My work here is coming to an end.  In nine days I shall begin the war with the Bolsheviki and shall go into the Transbaikal.  I beg that you will spend this time here.  For many years I have lived without civilized society.  I am alone with my thoughts and I would like to have you know them, speaking with me not as the ‘bloody mad Baron,’ as my enemies call me, nor as the ‘severe grandfather,’ which my officers and soldiers call me, but as an ordinary man who has sought much and has suffered even more.”

The Baron reflected for some minutes and then continued: 

“I have thought about the further trip of your group and I shall arrange everything for you, but I ask you to remain here these nine days.”

What was I to do?  I agreed.  The Baron shook my hand warmly and ordered tea.

CHAPTER XXXVI

A SON OF CRUSADERS AND PRIVATEERS

“Tell me about yourself and your trip,” he urged.  In response I related all that I thought would interest him and he appeared quite excited over my tale.

“Now I shall tell you about myself, who and what I am!  My name is surrounded with such hate and fear that no one can judge what is the truth and what is false, what is history and what myth.  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.