" We were once grazing the ottara of a rich Bulgarian," said the old man ; " it was in the steppe of Otshakoff, and there were seven of us, with 2000 sheep and 150 goats. It was in March, and we had just driven out for the first time. The weather seemed mild, there was some grass already on the ground, so that we dreamt of no mishap. In the evening it began to rain, and the wind was bitter cold. Soon the rain turned to snow, and our wet cloaks were frozen as hard as boards. A few hours after sunset, we had a regular Siberian viuga, from the north-east, whistling about our ears, till seeing and hearing became equally impossible. We had not got far from home yet, so we tried to find our way back, but it was impossible to make the sheep face the wind ; and even the goats, who will face any thing but a viuga, were beginning to run before the storm. To keep the flock from scampering away was impossible, all we could attempt was to keep them at least together. In this way we had to race it all the night, and in the morning nothing but snow was to be seen all around us. The viuga raged all that day, and the poor sheep were more wild and frightened even than during the night. Sometimes we gave up all as lost, but then we roused ourselves again, and ran with the screaming, bleating flock, while the oxen trotted after with the waggon, and the dogs came howling behind. The poor goats were all lost or frozen to death the very first day, on which we ran at least fifty or sixty versts, leaving a track of dead sheep behind us the whole way. In the evening the poor beasts ran less wildly, fof they were fairly exhausted with hunger and fatigue. We also were knocked up. Two of our party reported themselves sick, and crept under the mats and skins in the waggon, while the rest of us liad only time to take a httle bread and snow to sustain life. Night came, but no house or home was anywhere to be seen, for the Otshakoff steppe is one of the wildest countries in the world. That night was worse than the first, and as we knew the storm was driving us right upon the coast, we expected every moment to be blown, with all our stupid cattle, into the sea. Another of our men fell sick, so we packed him in the waggon along with the rest. We all thought that night would have been our last. About morning, the whid, luckily, shifted about, and drove lis towards some houses, that we were able to distinguish tlu-ough the drifting snow ; but though they were not more than thirty feet away from us, it was quite impossible to make the foolish sheep tmn aside. On they went right before the wind, in spite of all we could do, and we soon lost sight of the houses ; but the good people had heard the howling of our dogs, and guessed what was the matter. They were German colonists, and some fifteen or twenty of them came to our help, and then we managed to stop the sheep and drive them under the sheds and into the houses. We had lost all our goats, and about 500 of our sheep ; but many of the poor things died after we got them under shelter, for in their fright they kept so clo:e together, that many were smothered. Wo thanked God and the good Germans for oiu" safety, for half a yerst farther we should have come to the coast, rising twenty fathoms high above the sea. The Germans did all they could to make us and our sick men comfortable ; but some of us were a long time before we recovered from the effects of that bout. Ali, sir, a tshabawn has a hard life of it, for he must look for many scenes such as I have been telling you of."
In fair weather, the scene is of course a very different one. In his roomy wagg-on, the tshabawn carries with him a multitude of Httle comforts ; and if he comes upon a piece of good grazing-ground, he cstabUshes himself there for days together. His little kitchen is immediately put into order ; one kettle simmers away for himself and his men, and another for his dogs ; a fierce and formidable set of animals that, though not to be compared for intelligence with the dogs of a German shepherd, are invaluable in a country swarming with wolves. While one of the party acts as cook, the others are not without their occupation. One has perhaps been stripping the skin off a dead sheep, another has been acting the physician towards the sick members of the ottara, while several have found ample work in milking ; for in a large flock there are often not less than five or six hundred sheep to be milked. This milk, placed in wooden vessels, is exposed to the sun, and converted into a kind of cheese known throughout the steppe under the name of hrinse. This cheese, as soon as the whey has been drained off, is packed into goatskins, with the fur turned inside. The skin gives it a peculiar flavour, but this, according to the opinion of the southern Russians, is one of its chief recommendations.