“All right,” I said, “but you will allow us to warm and rest ourselves a little.”
“Yes, yes!” exclaimed the hospitable Soyots, and led us into their tepees.
On our way there I took the opportunity to hand to the old Soyot a cigarette and to another a box of matches. 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).”