"But I was willing to let the natives have a monopoly of the reindeer for riding purposes, and took passage in a ship for the Amoor River.
"The Amoor is the greatest river of Siberia, and flows into the Pacific Ocean. It is navigable twenty-three hundred miles from its mouth, and receives several important streams from the south. In one part of its course it makes a great bend to the south, where it flows through magnificent forests containing several trees peculiar to the tropics. The tiger roams up to the south bank of the river at this point, and the reindeer comes down to it on the north; occasionally the tiger crosses the river and feeds upon the reindeer--the only place in the world where these two animals come together naturally."
"What a funny idea!" exclaimed Frank. "To think of tigers in Siberia!"
"Tigers are found elsewhere in Siberia," continued their informant. "In the museum at Barnaool, in the Altai Mountains, I saw the skins of two large tigers that were killed in a Siberian farm-yard not far from that place, where they had come to kill one of the farmer's oxen. Tiger-hunting is a regular sport with the Russian officers in that part of Manjouria belonging to Siberia, and over a considerable part of the region bordering upon China and Persia. But to return to the Amoor.
[Illustration: FISH-MARKET AT NICOLAYEVSK.]
"I remained several days at Nicolayevsk, the capital of the Maritime Province of Siberia, and a place of considerable importance. From there I ascended the river on a Russian steamboat, passing through the country of several tribes of people. There were Goldees, Gilyaks, and Manyargs, and others whose names would be like Greek to you, and therefore I will not bother you to remember them. They live by hunting and fishing, and have permanent villages on the banks of the river, in places where the fishing is best. In the fishing season they always have large quantities of fish hung out to dry, and consequently you can generally smell a native village before you see it.
"The boat landed near a Gilyak village, and I went to see how the natives lived. They were not particularly civil; in fact they hardly recognized our presence, but kept at work in the preparation of the morning's catch of fish as though nobody was looking on. There were a dozen or more wolfish-looking dogs, and we came near being bitten by the brutes. The natives made a pretence of driving the dogs off, but were not half as earnest as we were on the subject.