Part 7 (1/2)

The lake is beautiful enough, but too big for mystery, too small to be impressive. One had imagined it twinkling like the wicked pupil of a witch's eye, with cornea of white stones and eye-lashes of pine trees, and we desecrated even its stillness by shooting at wild duck with a rifle.

Jan had been describing to the villagers how well Jo rode; they now think he is a liar. Her horse took an unexpected jump at a small obstacle; the huge hump at the back of the saddle rose suddenly, threw her forward, and before she had realized anything, she was hanging almost upside down about the horse's neck, helpless because of the enormous steeple in front. This horse, as though quite used to similar occurrences, stood quietly contemplative, till Mike had restored her to a perpendicular.

Then on again. At times the tracks grew very muddy, and the horses side-slipped a good deal. At the top of a pa.s.s we halted to get coffee from a leafy hut. Before us were the mountains of Voynik, a blue ridge with shadowy, strange creva.s.ses and cliffs; behind us Dormitor was still visible, a faint stain on the sky, as though that great canopy had been dragging edges in the dew.

Four women clambered up towards us. When they had reached the top they flung down their enormous knapsacks and sat down. They were a cheery, pretty set, and we asked them where they were going.

”To the front,” they said.

”What for?”

”Those are for our husbands and brothers,” answered they, patting the huge coloured knapsacks.

”How far have you to walk?” we asked.

”Four more days.”

”And how far have you walked?”

”Four days.”

No complaining, no repining, just a statement of fact, these women were cheerfully tramping eight days with bundles weighing from 45 to 50 pounds upon their backs, to take a few luxuries, or necessities, to their fighting kin.

We bade them a jolly farewell, wished them luck, and started downhill.

The track became so steep that we had to descend from our horses and walk, and so we came to Shavnik.

Shavnik is not of wood; it is stone, and as we came into its little square--with the white river-bed on one side--we realized that no welcome attended us. To our indignant dismay the inn was full, and no telegram from the ”State” had arrived.

[Ill.u.s.tration: PEASANT WOMEN OF THE MOUNTAINS.]

[Ill.u.s.tration: A VILLAGE OF NORTH MONTENEGRO.]

We learned that in Montenegro are two kinds of travellers--royalties and n.o.bodies. Royalties are done for, n.o.bodies do the best they can. We found a not overclean room over a shop--there was nothing better--we had already experienced worse: so we ordered supper, and went off to the telegraph station, to make sure that we arrived as ”Royalty” at the next stop.

A man suddenly burst into the office, crying, ”Sirdar! Sirdar!”

Jo and Jan made their way through the darkness to the inn, squeezed between sweating horses to the door. We were admitted.

The Sirdar received us kindly, but was dreadfully tired, and looked years older than he had two days before. He had ridden some 150 kilometres in sixteen hours, had left Chainitza at two o'clock in the morning, and had been in the saddle ever since. He is a famous horseman, but is no longer young. Almost all his escort had succ.u.mbed to the speed, and he was full of the story of his orderly's horse which had done 300 kilometres in four days, and was the only animal which had come through with him, he having changed mounts at Plevlie. We left him and went straight to bed.

Just as we were comfortably dozing off, a man burst into the room and demanded ”Mike,” and said something about a horse. Jan dressed hurriedly and clattered downstairs. It was pitch dark. He ran to the stable, felt his way in, and struck a match. There were two horses, one was lying on its side, evidently foundered and dying but Jan felt that they would not have disturbed him for that. By matchlight again he found that his own horses had been turned out by the Sirdar's orderly, and that one was missing. Mike was not to be found, but the missing horse was discovered by a small boy in the dry river-bed apparently in search of water. Jan retired to his bedroom to find that in his absence two more strangers had burst in, to Jo's indignation. He pushed them out and locked the door.

When we awoke the Sirdar had already retaken his whirlwind course--evidently grave news called him to Cettinje--leaving the orderly's gallant horse dead behind him.

”He kills many horses,” said a peasant, shaking his head; ”he rides fast--always.”

We crossed the dry bed of the river and prepared for the hill in front of us. Suddenly Mike's horse plunged into a bog. The poor beast sprawled in the treacherous green up to its stomach, and, thinking its last hour had come, groaned loudly. Mike threw himself from the saddle, and with great effort at last extracted his horse, which emerged trembling and dripping with slime. Mike grinned ruefully.

”I orter remembered,” he admitted. ”Sirdar, 'e get in dere one day 'imself.”