We bustled off to the mayor’s office.  Found him as usual in a back street in a shabby office up shaky wooden stairs.  The mayor knew nothing of any road to Berane; so baffled, we again found the street.  We went to the shabby Turkish shops of the bazaar and inquired.

“Certainly,” said the shopkeepers, “a good path to Berane, and not high.  No; not so high as that by Ipek.”

We returned to the mayor’s office.  He seemed little inclined to consent, and demanded to see our pass.  Jo again made her little—­but so useful—­speech.  The mayor called in an Albanian.  After a long consultation the mayor said that he had no horses.

“Then we will take our carriage horses,” said we.

“There are no roads for carriages,” said the mayor.

“Then we will take the horses without the carriages.”

The mayor called in two more men:  they considered the pass once more.

“You may have the carriages two days more,” he decided at last.  “Go to Tutigne.  As far as that the carriages will travel.  There are many horses there, and you can get pack ponies.”

Coming out we ran into Colonel Stajitch of Valievo.  The colonel is a Serbian gentleman, fine figure, beautiful face, and white hair and moustaches.  He greeted us, asked us our news.  We told him of our projected journey.  He became thoughtful and after a while said good-bye.  We took our convoy through the town to a field on the outskirts where we pitched the camp.

We borrowed the corporal’s axe and hewed for some time in a thorn hedge, without getting much profit but many prickles, and finally decided to take a paling from a Turkish cemetery, for there was no one about.

Soon we had a jolly fire, and Cutting and Whatmough got to work on the food.  Dr. Holmes turned up.  He had arrived the day before and had found lodgings in an inn.  West’s arm was still inflamed and very painful.  The doctor looked at it and said it needed more incision.  West and Miss Brindley went off with him.

An old ragamuffin wandered up with a loaf of maize bread.  He offered it to the corporal for three dinars; but the corporal took it away and gave him two.  The old man made a great outcry.  We demanded the cause.  The unlawful corporal was again hailed to justice, his corporalship seeming more valueless than ever, and to give him a lesson we bought the bread for three dinars, for it was worth it.

We suddenly discovered that none of the Red Cross men had papers or passes.  What was to be done?  We were conniving at an almost unlawful expedition, and Jan was very doubtful if we could cross the Montenegrin frontier.  But after a consultation we decided to bluff it into Montenegro if necessary, and then telegraph to Cettinje to help us out.

It was now dark and West and Miss Brindley had not come back.  So Jan and Jo went off to look for them.  We searched two cafes—­meeting again with our old acquaintance the schoolmaster from Nish—­plunged into all sorts of odd corners, and at last met Colonel Stajitch in a restaurant.  He greeted us.