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high up above the bottom of the valley that the rushing of the stream sounded only like a distant murmur. The road ascended in sharp zigzag windings past cone-shaped hills of sand and gravel, now up, now down, and we were constantly obliged to cross the stream on small, unsteady wooden bridges. One of them bore the significant name of Tjukkurköprjuk, or "the deep bridge." This appeared from the road high above it like a slender stick deep down in the gorge, which is here extremely narrow. The way led head over heels down to the bridge, and ascended as sharply on the other side. At every tenth step the horses stand still in order to recover their breath; the packs have continually to be set to rights, as they slip forward or backward; the men's shrill shouts of warning send back a ringing echo from the straight walls of rock; and the procession moves cautiously along over the narrow, dangerous road.

A short distance from the bridge the foot-path was covered with ice, and led out on to a snow-covered declivity, which, lower down, was perpendicular, with sharp slate rocks showing at the bottom. The first horse, carrying two large foddersacks and my camp - bed, was led cautiously by a Kirghiz who knew the way. Nevertheless, he slipped, tried in vain to regain his feet, slid down the declivity, turned two or three times in the air, fell on the slate rocks below, and thence into the stream, while the contents of the fodder-sacks flew like chaff before the wind. A loud cry rang through the air, and the procession halted. We all ran down by roundabout roads, a Kirghiz fished up my camp-bed, which was dancing up and down on the water, and the others attempted to get out the horse. As he, however, was not able to move, they took off their clothes, went into the water, and pulled him up on the bank. He had,

nevertheless, to be abandoned, as he had broken his backbone on the sharp slate, and his death-struggles carried him again out into the stream, where he lay. The dangerous place we now worked over with spades and axes and spread with sand. Each horse was led by a man, and I do not need to add that I crossed on foot. Twilight in the mean time had suddenly surprised us. The cold shadows of night wrapped the narrow valley in their dark veils, and only the vividly gleaming stars illuminated the impressive, wild landscape with their pale light. I had been through many adventures in Asia, during my previous journeys in 1885-6 and 1890-1, but the hours now of every day's march were among the most difficult that I had ever lived through. The first icecovered roads were merely a foretaste of what was to come. They followed close upon each other, and were formed by the melted water from the snow lying above running down over the way during the day and freezing the evening after. They became continually more dangerous. We crawled, crept, and slid ourselves along past abysses that were waiting for their

prey.

Constant delay was caused by the fact that steps had to be hewn in the ice and strewn with sand. Every horse was led by a man, and a second man held him by

the tail to beat him if he slipped. Many horses fell, but regained their feet. One of them slipped a good distance down through the snow, but stopped in time, and was released from his load, which was again made fast up on the road. I crept a hundred times, for metres, upon my hands and knees, and a Kirghiz followed after in order to be able to hold me in difficult places.

It was, in a word, a dispiriting journey, and it was gloomy, dark, and cold in the Isfairan Valley. The silence was only broken from time to time by the piercing cry of the men when a horse fell, or by their warning shout when a dangerous place was at hand, and by the streams, here every where foaming and rushing, which hurled down their clear water between round-washed stones, and on whose banks an Asiatic river-god played loudly on his harp. We had wandered along for over twelve hours, when, tired, cold, and hungry, we finally came to where the valley widened out at Langar, where two fine yurts awaited us with blazing fires.

The night preceding the 26th of Febru ary, eight Kirghiz were sent ahead, up on to the pass, with spades, picks, and axes, to cut a road, and the caravan followed early the next morning. At Kara-Kija, "black chasm," where dark perpendicular cliffs shut in a narrow passage, the Kirghiz were

A DERVISH TELLING STORIES AT TASHKEND.

engaged in cutting out a road. Fortunately the little mountain horses, each of which carries 80 kilograms (176 lbs.), are remarkable. They slip and slide long distances out on the declivities, climb straight up the steep slopes, and balance themselves cold-blooded on the smooth, slippery rocks. one place the narrow valley had been newly filled up by an avalanche, from whose

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out as from a tunnel. Here we met twelve Kirghiz from Karateghin, who now helped to cut the road. The ascent was, however, so steep that every horse had to be pushed up by six men.

After continued exertions we approached, a few days later, a trough-shaped depression in the ridge of the Alai chain, gently ascending, and covered with snow to the depth of two metres. A deep and narrow path had been tramped out over the crust, the firm bottom of which was like an unstable bridge over a morass. A step to one side and the horse sank completely in the snow, and with a great loss of time had to be freed from his load and pulled up again by our united strength. In countless bendings the way wound up a last ridge, and after the horses' strength had been put to the utmost test, we finally arrived at the dreaded TenghizBaj, 3850 metres (4200 yards, or 12,600 feet) high.

The pass was on all sides surrounded by snowy ridges, and only here and there points of rocks looked out naked from the snow. To the north we could see the furrow of the Isfairan Valley, which we had now finally behind and below us. Το the southeast opened a tremendous panorama: on the one hand, the sharply marked ridges of the Alais appeared in the distance, and on the other the Alai Valley, and the mountain chain of the Trans-Alai in the most beautiful blue and white tones, with tops that disappeared in clouds and snow, and ice-fields that gleamed with a dazzling brilliance.

On the southern side of the pass our caravan wandered down through deep drifts to the broad Alai Valley, which is traversed from east to west by the river Kizil-Su. The descent at the beginning was steep, and newly fallen avalanches blocked the valley. One of the largest was 400 metres (435.6 yards) wide, and all

of 20 metres deep. It had fallen the preceding day, and the Kirghiz said that we could be happy that it had then occurred, and that we had escaped its violence. The avalanches plunge down into the valleys with such overwhelming force and weight that their lowest strata are changed by the pressure to ice, and the unfortunate victim who is buried under them is actually frozen within a mass of ice as hard as glass.

The next day's march led further down through drifts; and as, besides this, it had begun to snow, and the whole region was wrapped in an impenetrable fog, we were obliged to have ourselves piloted by a Kirghiz, who went ahead and sounded the depth with a long staff. Often he disappeared altogether, and had to turn back for a long distance in order to try to find the path in another direction. In the afternoon there was a regular fall of snow, and, according to the Kirghiz, a violent snow-storm was raging in the Tenghiz-Baj Pass, which we could consider ourselves lucky to have escaped.

During the whole march through the Alai Valley the snow lay so deep that we had to make use of four camels, which were led ahead of us, in order to tramp out a path in the snow where the horses could follow. The cold was sharp, and the temperature sank on the 6th of March, at Urtak, to -34.5° C. (-30.1° F.). The region is desolate, and only a few times we passed by a little tent village of the Kir

ghiz, which lay snowed in at the opening of a valley.

Over the Kizil-Art Pass, which is 4370 metres high (4766 yards, or 14,298 feet), we arrived, on the 10th of March, at the Great Kara-Kul Lake. I desired to investigate its depth, and made my way, accordingly, with men and horses, over the ice, while the rest of the caravan went on to a meeting-place that had been agreed upon. In spite of the great content of salt, the ice in the eastern half of the lake was up to 106 centimetres (about 34 feet) thick, but in the western half only half a metre. We made seven soundings, and found the considerable depth of 230 metres (251 yards). The latent strain to which the ice is subjected was plainly disturbed to some extent when our caravan went over it, as the strangest sounds, like shots, whistlings, and submarine explosions, proceeded from it. horses were frightened at it, and even my men thought it unpleasant. My Sart servant from Ferghana believed it was big fishes that struck their heads against the ice, but the Kirghiz were able to quiet him with the fact that there are no such inhabitants in Kara-Kul.

The

The soundings occupied two days, and when the last holes were cut in the ice the men set out to look up the principal caravan, which had gone around the lake. With one Kirghiz I remained behind in the twilight in order to make the last sounding. When all was cleared up, we

PASSING THROUGH THE ISFAIRAN VALLEY.

too set out in the darkness. When

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The moon disappeared in night fogs. We rode uninterruptedly for many hours, but without seeing a trace of our comrades. They had plainly taken another way, but which? Again we rode an hour's time, but, as all our seeking was in vain, we came to a halt on the low, level sand plain, where the snow lay in thin, light patches. Here we set up a primitive camp. The travelling bags, with maps, note-books, thermometers, etc., were made into a pillow for me, and the horses were tied together with a rope, so that they could not run away. The poor animals, who had not eaten during the whole day, scraped up the sand with their hoofs, but only found "teresken" roots, as hard as wood, which they, however, chewed with eagerness.

We sat and talked until one o'clock in the morning, and frightened each other with a multitude of wolf-stories-wolves are common in this region-but my Kirghiz believed that the horses would warn

us if danger were at hand. After the conversation had ended from weariness, we wrapped ourselves up in our sheepskin coats, and crept together in the Kirghiz manner, that is, on the knees, face down, with the forehead toward the ground, and the heels to the windward side. One must be a Kirghiz in order to be able to sleep in this position. My servant even snored. As I, however, did not get a wink of sleep. I tried a more European position; but, pierced through by the cold of the night, I was obliged to get up and move about.

It was fortunate that the temperature only went down to -15.5° C. (5.9° F.), but it was severe weather in which to spend the night in the open air, without tea or an evening meal, and without sufficiently warm clothing. Only after the sun rose was I able to sleep, and later in the day we finally found the caravan.

The following day we rode up through

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