We were all walking along together save one Soyot who limped slowly in the rear and was holding his hand up over his nose.
"Is he ill ?" I asked.
"Yes," sadly answered the old Soyot.

"That is my son.

He has been losing blood from the nose for two days and is now quite weak." I stopped and called the young man to me.
"Unbutton your outer coat," I ordered, "bare your neck and chest and turn your face up as far as you can." I pressed the jugular vein on both sides of his head for some minutes and said to him: "The blood will not flow from your nose any more.

Go into your tepee and lie down for some time." The "mysterious" action of my fingers created on the Soyots a strong impression.

The old Soyot with fear and reverence whispered: "Ta Lama, Ta Lama! (Great Doctor)." In the yurta we were given tea while the old Soyot sat thinking deeply about something.