Now the performance began. The spectators rode to one side, leaving an open space in front of us. A horseman dashed forward with a goat in his arms, dismounted, and let the poor animal loose near to us. Another Kirghiz seized the goat by the horn with his left hand, cut off its head with a single blow of his sharp knife, allowed the blood to flow, and then took the goat by the hind legs and rode at full speed round the plain. A troop of riders appeared in the distance and drew near at a furious pace. The hoofs of eighty horses beat the ground and the deafening noise was mingled with wild cries and the rattle of stirrup irons. They rushed swiftly past us in a cloud of dust, making a current of air like a storm of wind. The first rider threw the dead goat, which was still warm, in front of me, and then they whirled off like thunder over the plain.
"Ride back a little, sir," called out some chiefs, "there will be wild work now." We had hardly time to draw back far enough before the excited troop came rushing along, with their horses in a lather, like an avalanche from the mountains. Round the goat there was an inextricable confusion of men and horses, only partially visible in the dust. They were struggling for the goat, and the one who gets it is the winner. They crush together and tear and push; horses shy, rear, or fall down, while other horses leap over them. Holding on to their saddles the horsemen bend down towards the ground and feel for the hide. Some have fallen off and are in danger of being tramped upon, while others are hanging half under their horses.
Still worse becomes the tumult when a couple of men on yaks push themselves into the scrimmage. The yaks prod the horses' loins with their horns. The horses are irritated and kick, and the yaks defend themselves; then there is a perfect bullfight in full swing.
A strong fellow has now succeeded in getting a firm hold of the goat. His horse knows what to do, and backs with his rider out of the scrimmage and flies swiftly as the wind in a wide course round the plain. The others pursue him, and as they turn back they look as if they mean to ride over us with irresistible force. At the last moment, however, the horses stop as if turned to stone; and then the struggle begins again. Many have their faces covered with blood, others have their clothes torn, caps and whips lie scattered over the arena, and one or two horses are lamed.
"It is very well for us who are old that we are not in the crush," I said to Khoat Bek.
"Ah, it is nearly a hundred years ago since I was as old as you are now," the old man answered with a smile.
FOOTNOTES:
[8] A team of three horses abreast.
[9] The word "darya" means "river."