“What have you done?” I exclaimed.

“Sh!  Be still,” he whispered turning to me his now quite blanched face.

With a few strokes of the knife he opened the chest of the Mongol and I saw the man’s lungs softly breathing and the distinct palpitations of the heart.  The Lama touched these organs with his fingers but no more blood appeared to flow and the face of the shepherd was quite calm.  He was lying with his eyes closed and appeared to be in deep and quiet sleep.  As the Lama began to open his abdomen, I shut my eyes in fear and horror; and, when I opened them a little while later, I was still more dumbfounded at seeing the shepherd with his coat still open and his breast normal, quietly sleeping on his side and Tushegoun Lama sitting peacefully by the brazier, smoking his pipe and looking into the fire in deep thought.

“It is wonderful!” I confessed.  “I have never seen anything like it!”

“About what are you speaking?” asked the Kalmuck.

“About your demonstration or ‘miracle,’ as you call it,” I answered.

“I never said anything like that,” refuted the Kalmuck, with coldness in his voice.

“Did you see it?” I asked of my companion.

“What?” he queried in a dozing voice.

I realized that I had become the victim of the hypnotic power of Tushegoun Lama; but I preferred this to seeing an innocent Mongolian die, for I had not believed that Tushegoun Lama, after slashing open the bodies of his victims, could repair them again so readily.

The following day we took leave of our hosts.  We decided to return, inasmuch as our mission was accomplished; and Tushegoun Lama explained to us that he would “move through space.”  He wandered over all Mongolia, lived both in the single, simple yurta of the shepherd and hunter and in the splendid tents of the princes and tribal chiefs, surrounded by deep veneration and panic-fear, enticing and cementing to him rich and poor alike with his miracles and prophecies.  When bidding us adieu, the Kalmuck sorcerer slyly smiled and said: 

“Do not give any information about me to the Chinese authorities.”

Afterwards he added:  “What happened to you yesterday evening was a futile demonstration.  You Europeans will not recognize that we dark-minded nomads possess the powers of mysterious science.  If you could only see the miracles and power of the Most Holy Tashi Lama, when at his command the lamps and candles before the ancient statue of Buddha light themselves and when the ikons of the gods begin to speak and prophesy!  But there exists a more powerful and more holy man. . .”

“Is it the King of the World in Agharti?” I interrupted.

He stared and glanced at me in amazement.

“Have you heard about him?” he asked, as his brows knit in thought.

After a few seconds he raised his narrow eyes and said:  “Only one man knows his holy name; only one man now living was ever in Agharti.  That is I. This is the reason why the Most Holy Dalai Lama has honored me and why the Living Buddha in Urga fears me.  But in vain, for I shall never sit on the Holy Throne of the highest priest in Lhasa nor reach that which has come down from Jenghiz Khan to the Head of our yellow Faith.  I am no monk.  I am a warrior and avenger.”