we were told, it would be the highest bridge in the
Balkans. Men were working on a loose and steeply sloping bank of
crumbling earth a few feet above a precipitous rock, which overhangs
the Moraca, at a height of two hundred and fifty feet.

"They very rarely fall," said Dr. S. in answer to our unspoken
question.

It made us giddy and sick to watch them. But our own position was
often not much safer. The path see-sawed up and down; one moment we
were splashed by the spray of a waterfall as it dashed into a creamy
pool, and the next we were up on a dizzy height, with one foot hanging
over a precipice, gazing on the foam-flecked mill-race below. Verily,
it is no journey for a giddy man to take. A single false step on the
part of the horse would send both it and its rider to a sudden death.
With the ordinary mountain pony, for the horses are practically only
that, it is not necessary to guide it--in fact it might be dangerous.
The Montenegrin rides with a loose rein over the most ticklish ground,
only tightening his grip on descending a very steep hill to help his
horse when it occasionally stumbles.

Despite a slight nervousness, we were still able to appreciate to the
full the grand scenery of the valley of the Moraca. It turned out to
be quite as fine as anything we saw in the mountains.

About four hours after our start we crossed the stream by a wooden
bridge and dismounted at an inn. Stabling our horses in the ground
floor, we ascended to the upper regions where the human beings live,
and clamoured for food.

Raw ham and, of course, eggs were all that was to be had, and, as it
turned out, it was our only meal that day. The flies were terrible,
but Dr. S. comforted us, saying that every hour would bring us to
higher regions and consequently fewer flies. A prophecy which was only
partially fulfilled.

We made the best of our repast, and after an hour's rest we made
another start. We left the river now, and seemed to climb a breakneck
hill for interminable hours. The region was barren and absolutely
waterless, while the heat was tremendous. I only remember one view
during that broiling ride. We had reached a great altitude, and were
crossing a narrow ridge. On one side was the Moraca, and on the other
the Mala, both streams mere threads in the hazy distance.

It was the want of water that tried us more than anything. About
midday we halted for a while at a small village, and under the
refreshing shade of a lar