each had a Martini rifle in his hand, which
he rapidly loaded from the bandolier of cartridges round his waist.
Men rushed out of the slumbering cottages, and a great shouting
commenced.

"It is nothing," said the adjutant. "They become excited like this
very often."

But I noticed our escort closing in, and every man's face wore a look
of great interest. Still we rode on, just as if nothing unusual were
happening.

To our left the hill ascended to a great height, and about one-third
of the way up a belt of trees commenced, stretching to the top.
Towards this wood ran hundreds of Albanians, and disappeared from
view. I confess that I had a most uncomfortable feeling that I was
being covered by many unseen rifles. We should have stood a poor
chance had they begun firing at us, for there was practically no cover
near.

But our pace, that of a smart walk, neither increased nor decreased,
and it ill became me to show my innermost feelings to these fearless
mountaineers who so evidently considered this sudden excitement a most
everyday occurrence.

The noise of the shouting, however, continued, and was answered by men
in all directions. It was a regular pandemonium of yelling fiends, for
the Albanians are not beautiful to look upon.

Suddenly a man appeared from some bushes close to our little party and
headed straight for us, running like a deer.

He had barely reached us and seized my stirrup leather, on which he
hung, panting heavily, when from the woods emerged a pursuing crowd,
brandishing their rifles as they ran. Within a few minutes we were
surrounded by about a hundred and fifty Albanians, whose gestures were
not to be misunderstood.

They wanted to kill the man at my stirrup, who looked beseechingly up
to me for protection. Why he selected me I have no idea, and I did not
relish the compliment at all. Our escort formed a meagre ring around
us, and we were forced to halt.

"Are they going to shoot?" I asked the adjutant, who was next to me,
in excusable excitement, "because if so, I would like to dismount."

It was not a pleasant feeling, perched up on a horse within fifty
yards of reputed good marksmen.

"Oh no," answered the officer, "they only want the man, not you."

"Still, you are not going to hand back the man, are you?" I asked in
Italian.

"We must hear what the Voivoda says," said the adjutant, shrugging his
shoulders.

I looked at the man, while an excited conversation was carried on b