I Wonder

Where's the best place to hide a gun in the van? This was one of the things we wondered while away for three weeks in the Mongolian countryside.

Butar, John and I looked at each other and then lifted the two gas cans in the back of the van. The rifle slid in easily underneath. John put his finger to his lips, "Shhhh," he whispered. We all agreed we would keep this hush.

Of course we hadn't plan to drive through the Gobi and the rest of Mongolia with a concealed weapon in the car, but after what Butar found, he felt compelled to take the gun.

It happened at the Dunganee Am gorge in the South Gobi. We had stopped at the barriers that had recently been errected there. Driving through the gorge to the desert on the other side was apparently no longer allowed. "We'll be back in two hours," John announced to Butar as we headed off on foot.

"We're always leaving him alone," I said to John. "I'm worried that he'll get bored. He never seems to have anything interesting to do."

Finding something interesting didn't seem to be a problem this time. While we were off hopping between the banks of a meandering stream, marveling at the greenery we saw in the middle of the desert and being impressed by the magnificent view that opened up before us at the other end of the gorge, Butar was off doing some exploring of his own.

Butar's exploration only took him about 10 feet from the van. He scrambled up a small bank to sit and wait for us and that's were he found it. Hidden behind a bush was a leather bag containing the skinned carcass of an ibix, on top of that was the skin and on top of that a rifle. He showed it to us when we got back. He looked very upset.

"Poachers," John said. We'd wondered about poachers in the area when we'd seen so many horns and antlers on our hikes. The animal heads were never near the bodies.

Butar would have done well in cherades. He pantomined a man running when we saw our van pull up. He dropped the gun and fled up the hill. Then he pointed to the loading mechanism on the gun. It was gone.

"Should we talk to park management?" John asked. He looked up each word in our Mongolian/English dictionary and showed them to Butar.

"No, no," Butar said and shook his head wildly. He grabbed his own dictionary and looked up the word for 'not trustworthy'. "Police," he said. "Ulaan Baatar."

We took the gun with us when we left. At least this way, the poacher was out his weapon. Butar stopped twice to re-hide the gun. He wasn't satisfied with our hidding places. Butar sighed. He held up his arms as if shooting and then put his hand to his mouth to show us the animals are killed to be eaten. He looked up some more words in his dictionary and held the book out for John to see. "Evil, wicked man, ignoramous, bad."

"Idiot," John offered and Butar nodded. "Idiot," he repeated.