One of them, it appeared from their actions, must get into the car with us; the other would have to ride in with the horses. Like children who very rarely have the chance of an automobile-ride, they quarreled and argued for a long time, while the biting wind snapped and lashed at us, as to which was entitled to the privilege, meanwhile flourishing their aged rifles with a carelessness that made even such time-honored weapons dangerous. At length one of them won the point and climbed unceremoniously aboard, mopping his muddy feet on our robes, stretching himself out at ease partly on our knees, partly on our most breakable baggage, and poking us, perhaps unintentionally but none the less unpleasantly, in the ribs with the business end of his loose-triggered rifle, while the loser sourly turned away with the horses and the expression of a six-year-old who had been deprived of his toys and driven from the playground.
We forded half a dozen stony little streams, for the going had become abominable in ratio as we approached Urga; we were waved hither and yon across the valley by other rifle-shaking, vainly shouting soldiers, and finally brought up at an ordinary little round felt hut with a smoking stovepipe protruding from its top. It must have been much more comfortable inside this than out in the bitter wind, for those within showed no haste in braving the outer temperature. Finally, however, two or three Mongols crawled through the low door and demanded our _huchao_, our Chinese permit to make the journey. There was an interminable argument over this, mainly inside the _yourt_, which we had not been invited to enter. Then two more bullying soldiers with poorly controlled rifles tumbled into the car and ordered us to drive on.
Before a _yamen_ that might have been mistaken either for a run-down temple or a well kept stable we were again halted and commanded to dismount. This place, it turned out, was not yet Urga, but the former Chinese merchant section of Mai-Mai-Ch’eng (“Buy-Sell-Town”) some miles away from the sacred city, in which trading was until recently forbidden. Here a veritable mob of soldiers and petty officials poured out upon us, led by an exceedingly insolent youth in a rich, silky, but much soiled light-blue gown topped off by a kind of archbishop’s miter. He demanded our weapons. We dug them and the bit of ammunition we carried out of our baggage, protesting in vain that as this was all to be examined at the next _yamen_, and armed guards were to conduct us there, this extra labor of disentangling our overloaded car was unnecessary. But it was plain that there were at least two motives for putting us to this gratuitous trouble: the insolent Mongol youth did not wish to lose an opportunity to show his authority to the full, particularly toward men of a race which seldom fell into his hands; and the whole posse was eager to meddle with our belongings as much as possible. They passed our revolvers and my companion’s rifle from hand to hand, each trying his own method of manipulating them. Fortunately—at the time we felt it was unfortunate—we had not loaded them, or several tragedies might have ensued before their curiosity was satisfied and we were allowed to conclude our journey. Then the overbearing youth in charge decided that he must search our persons for weapons, though we had given our word that we carried none. The implied insult would not have mattered so much had not his hands looked as if he had been handling Gobi fuel incessantly from childhood without a pause even to wipe them, and had his manner been less that of the protected bully venting an unaccountable spleen against the whole white race. But cleanliness and common courtesy, we soon learned, are the two qualities most foreign to the crowd now ruling Outer Mongolia.