[Footnote 4:  This, however, is not the case, as we afterwards learnt.]

When the path broadened out slightly our two guards left us and returned home.  Both emptied their magazines into the air at parting, which we answered, and the din was tremendous.  Below us was a small village or collection of shepherds’ huts, and, in that moment, confusion reigned supreme.  The men seized their rifles, the women rushed into the huts, dogs barked, and horses stampeded.  It seemed rather thoughtless to thus alarm the village, but, on being remonstrated with, the men only laughed and fired another shot.  Had it been a town below us the result might have been more serious.

A little further on, we stopped for rest and food at a narrow pass overlooking Gusinje on the one side and Montenegro on the other.  The murdered Kuc general, whose memorial stone we had seen earlier in the day, was buried here.  Strange that his body should find its last resting-place overlooking the home of his murderers.

By using the Montenegrin telephone (the art of talking at great distances), we ordered some milk from the village below, and drank it with that enjoyment which is only known to a thoroughly hungry and thirsty man.

Our afternoon’s ride was again particularly stiff.  Climbing one hill, Dr. S., who was leading, missed the path, a very easy thing to do, so undefined as it sometimes is.  He got on to a very steep and rocky bit of the hill and his horse lost its footing.  It began stumbling and slipping about in a most alarming manner.  We held our breath for the next few seconds, for a long fall was in store for him, and certain death.  He tried to dismount, and succeeded in getting off his horse, but his foot stuck in the stirrup, the horse still sliding on.  Fortunately, the animal recovered its balance, and Dr. S. extricated himself, but it was a nasty moment.  That is the worst of the Montenegrins; they rely so implicitly on the sure-footedness of their ponies that they ride up anywhere, only condescending to dismount for very steep descents.  And accidents often happen when horse or man, or even both, are killed; but this presumable laziness affords no example to others.

About five p.m. we began anxiously inquiring the whereabouts of our night quarters.  The usual Montenegrin quart d’heure was given—­and rightly enough.  A sharp descent, lasting over an hour, made painfully on foot, saw us in a great hollow basin among the mountains, with the pretty lake of Rikavac at the further end and a small collection of wooden huts.

To these we proceeded and were met by the village Fathers.  Dr. S. was well known here and they had recognised him coming down.  Five dear old boys they were, who kissed Dr. S. most affectionately, one unshaven old ruffian including me in his salute.  I do not appreciate the Montenegrin custom of kissing among men; it is not pleasant.  An empty hut was immediately put at our disposal.  It was the most