Here we met a Serbian captain who was in charge of the battery.  He was very lonely, and delighted to have a chance to talk, and he talked hard all day, showed us a neat reservoir his men had built, explained to us that beautiful uniforms were coming from Russia soon for the weirdly garbed beings who were guarding the hills, and asked us to lunch behind the trenches under a canopy of boughs.

While lunch was being prepared he took us round his artillery, and into his observation station on the top of a crooked tree.  Below us we could see the river Dreina—­on the other side of which was Gorazhda, held by the Austrians—­and the fortified hills behind.

It seemed impossible that this wide peaceful scene was menacing with a threat of death, yet at intervals one could hear a faint “pop! pop!” as though far-away giants were holding feast and opening great champagne bottles.  Away in the hills could be seen an encampment of white tents, which caused a mild excitement, for they had not been there the day before, and we were told that they were quite out of range.

During lunch the youngest Voukotitch tempted the major—­who was in splendid mood—­suggesting that it was rather tame to go home after having come within mere bowing distance of the Austrians, and that a few stray bullets would not incommode us.

The major saw reason fairly quickly, so we bestrode our horses again and continued our switchback course.  At an open space where the Austrians could shoot at us if they wished we had to plunge down the hill quickly, keeping a distance of one hundred yards from each other.

The little Shadow prudently got off his horse and used its body as a shield.

We banged at the door of a cottage, and a young lieutenant came out; somebody said he was nineteen and a hero.

[Illustration:  Serb and Montenegrin officers on the Drina.]

[Illustration:  A concealed gun emplacement on the Drina.]

Here we left our horses and began to scramble through brambles along a narrow path, climbing up the back of a little hill on the crest of which were the machine guns.  Just before we got to the top we plunged into a tunnel which bored through the hill; at the end was the gun.  The hero scrambled in, wriggled the gun about and explained.  He invited Jo to shoot.  She squashed past him; there was a knob at the back of the gun on which she pressed her thumbs, and she immediately wanted another pair with which to stop her ears.  The gun jammed suddenly.  The hero pulled the belt about, and Jo set it going once more.

The Austrian machine guns answered back and kept this up, so Jo pressed the knob again and yet again.  Then we got into the trenches above.  Whenever Jo popped her head over the trenches for a good look there were faint reports from the mountain opposite.  One or two bullets whizzed over our heads, and we realized that they were aiming at Jo’s big white hat.