“How much?” said mine host.

“For three,” answered we.

“But how much is that?” replied mine host.  “You see, each man eats differently.”  So we ordered one kilo to go on with.

Half a pig was wrenched from a spit in front of the big fire, carried sizzling outside to the wood block, where the waiter hewed it apart with the axe.

We had discovered peculiarities in our horses.  They had conscientious objections to going abreast, and always walked single file; this was owing to the narrowness of the mountain paths.  Jo’s horse, which somehow looked like Monkey Brand, insisted on taking the second place, and would by no means go third.  At last we reached the top of Zlatibor—­which gets its name from a peculiar golden cheese which it produces.  The view is like that from the Cat and Fiddle in Derbyshire, only bigger in scale, and from thence the ride began to be interminable.  It grew darker, we walked down the hills to ease our aching knees, and Jan decided that horse riding was no go.

Finally the guide decided that it was too late to reach Novi Varosh that night, and so the direction was altered.  The road grew stony and more stony.  A bitter breeze came up with the evening.  We came to a green valley, at the end of which was a rocky gorge, down which ran the twistiest stream:  it seemed as though it had been designed by a lump of mercury on a wobbling plate.  We turned from the gorge on to a hill so rocky that the path was only visible where former horse-hoofs had stained the stones with red earth.

The village consisted of an enormous school, a little church, soldiers encamped round fires in the churchyard, and seven or eight wooden hovels.  Our guide stopped at the door of the dirtiest and rapped.  A furtive woman’s face peered out into the gloom.  We climbed painfully from our saddles, for we had been thirteen hours on the road.

“Beds?” said the guide to the woman.

“Good Lord!” thought we.

She shook her head dolefully and said, “Ima,” which means “there is.”  Serbians nod for no.  The woman slid out into the night and passed to another building, climbed the stairs to a veranda and disappeared.

It grew colder, the guide was busy unharnessing the horses, so shivering we sought refuge in the dirty house, which was not quite so bad within as we had feared.  It was furnished with a long table and two benches only, and was lighted by a small fire which was burning on a huge open hearth, and which gave no heat at all.  The woman came back and led us to the other house for supper, which was boiled eggs, and the guide generously shared his own bread with us, as we had none.  There was no water to drink, and Jo tried, not very successfully, to quench her thirst with rakia.

There were but two beds, and on inquiry finding that there was no place for the guide, we allotted one bed to him.  On our own bed the sheets had evidently not been changed since it was first made, and the pillow which once had been white was a dark ironclad grey.  We undid our mackintoshes and spread them over both counterpane and pillow.  We lay down clothed as we were, and by the time we had finished our preparations the guide was already snoring.