Next morning everything was ready smartly, and at half-past seven all the horses loaded up; I had drunk my morning coffee and was ready to mount, when there was a disturbance in the camp. I was quite familiar with the bad habit the Sarts have of riding stallions, and as it was an entire that I was riding myself I had given orders in Karghalyk, and repeated them to the caravanbash in Kök Yar, that there were not to be any mares in the party. I knew very well from bitter experience that there is always trouble, to say the least of it, if there are representatives of the equine fair sex among the jealous and quarrelsome native stallions. All through the night I had heard the neighing of our horses, and it was clear that they were excited and off their feed. In the morning mine, when saddled up and ready for me to mount, suddenly broke away and crashing off to the others, savagely attacked one of the pack animals that was standing there ready loaded. A dreadful din arose, the horses neighing, hooves flying, men shouting and swearing, and the air filled with bunches of horse-cloth, as my brute fastened with his teeth on to the neck of the pack-horse. It was, in fact, the scene inevitable in such cases, and it took a deal of trouble to separate the fighting animals and lead away from the scene of the fracas the apple of discord in the person of a small grey mare.