We met “Eyebrows” once more, just at the entrance to the village; but he was going on to Pod, so had finally got a day ahead of us.  Found rooms in our old resting place.

The professor was threatening to accompany us to Italy—­he was like the old man of the sea.  We got a telegram from the English Minister, saying that he did not think we could ever get to Italy from Scutari.  We preferred to trust to our luck which so far had been wonderful, especially in the matter of weather.  In the evening the captain sent to say that twenty horses would await us the next day.  A motor car would have been sent, he added, but almost all the bridges were washed away and they could get no nearer than Lieva Rieka.

[Illustration]

CHAPTER XXII

ANDRIEVITZA TO POD

A problem met us in the morning.  Willett was quite ill and only fit for bed.  But bed was impossible.  We had just escaped from the sound of the guns, and did not know which way the Austrians were coming.  To wait was too risky; others would certainly get seedy and sooner or later some one might get seriously ill.  We felt we must push on to Podgoritza and be within hail of doctor and chemist.  But Willett looked very wretched, lying flat and refusing breakfast.

We plied him with chlorodyne; but the chlorodyne did not like him and they parted company.  We tried chlorodyne followed by brandy with better effect.  Others also showed a distinct interest in the chlorodyne bottle.  We felt very anxious:  milk was almost unprocurable, other comforts nil.

We finally decided that if he was going to have dysentery he had better have it decently and in order at Podgoritza, than stand the chance of being suddenly surprised by the Austrians and made to walk endless distances.  So we heaved him on to a wooden pack, and the other chlorodyney figures of woe climbed on to the remaining queer-looking saddles.

Blease tried a horse which had a thoughtful eye.  It kicked him on the knee, and trod on his toe, so he relinquished the joy of riding for the serener pleasure of walking.  Jan clambered on to it, whereupon it stood on its forelegs, and as there were no stirrups and the saddle back hit him behind, he landed over its neck, remaining there propped up by a stick which was in his hand.  After readjusting himself inside the two wooden peaks of the saddle, he testified his disapproval to the beast, and trotted away in style, leaving a row of grinning Montenegrins and boys behind with the exception of one who clung to reins and other bits of saddlery, imploring him to stop.  It would seem as if pack ponies were never meant to trot, but at last he shook off the pony boy, passed Miss Brindley (whose horse was looking at himself in a puddle with such deep and concentrated interest that he pulled her over his head and landed her in the middle of the water), and reached the vanguard of the party, who had deserted their horses for a lift on a lorry—­Willett, sitting in front with the driver, was shrunk like a concertina inside his great coat.