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.  Noskoff was a ferocious man as shown by the name the Mongols gave him—­’Satan.’  He used to have his Mongol debtors beaten or imprisoned through the instrumentality of the Chinese authorities.  He ruined this Mongol, who lost everything and escaped to a place thirty miles away; but Noskoff found him there, took all that he had left of cattle and horses and left the Mongol and his family to die of hunger.  When I captured Urga, this Mongol appeared and brought with him thirty other Mongol families similarly ruined by Noskoff.  They demanded his death. . . .  So I hung ‘Satan’ . . .”

Anew the motor car was rushing along, sweeping a great circle on the prairie, and anew Baron Ungern with his sharp, nervous voice carried his thoughts round the whole circumference of Asian life.

“Russia turned traitor to France, England and America, signed the Brest-Litovsk Treaty and ushered in a reign of chaos.  We then decided to mobilize Asia against Germany.  Our envoys penetrated Mongolia, Tibet, Turkestan and China.  At this time the Bolsheviki began to kill all the Russian officers and we were forced to open civil war against them, giving up our Pan-Asiatic plans; but we hope later to awake all Asia and with their help to bring peace and God back to earth.  I want to feel that I have helped this idea by the liberation of Mongolia.”

He became silent and thought for a moment.

“But some of my associates in the movement do not like me because of my atrocities and severity,” he remarked in a sad voice.  “They cannot understand as yet that we are not fighting a political party but a sect of murderers of all contemporary spiritual culture.  Why do the Italians execute the ‘Black Hand’ gang?  Why are the Americans electrocuting anarchistic bomb throwers? and I am not allowed to rid the world of those who would kill the soul of the people?  I, a Teuton, descendant of crusaders and privateers, I recognize only death for murderers! . . .  Return!” he commanded the chauffeur.

An hour and a half later we saw the electric lights of Urga.

CHAPTER XXXVII

THE CAMP OF MARTYRS

Near the entrance to the town, a motor car stood before a small house.

“What does that mean?” exclaimed the Baron.  “Go over there!”

Our car drew up beside the other.  The house door opened sharply, several officers rushed out and tried to hide.

“Stand!” commanded the General.  “Go back inside.”  They obeyed and he entered after them, leaning on his tashur.  As the door remained open, I could see and hear everything.