However, my Mauser outstrode his rifle and I was allowed to continue my story.
"Begin!" I cried to my friend and we took part in the shooting.

Soon the meadow began to swarm with Soyots, stripping the fallen, dividing the spoils and recapturing their horses.

In some forms of warfare it is never safe to leave any of the enemy to renew hostilities later with overwhelming forces.
After an hour of very difficult road we began to ascend the mountain and soon arrived on a high plateau covered with trees.
"After all, Soyots are not a too peaceful people," I remarked, approaching the Governor.
He looked at me very sharply and replied: "It was not Soyots who did the killing." He was right.

It was the Abakan Tartars in Soyot clothes who killed the Bolsheviki.

These Tartars were running their herds of cattle and horses down out of Russia through Urianhai to Mongolia.