tions would surely track me down. And she was very beautiful,
and we must all die. So we fled here that same night. What could I
do?" he asked, smiling again.

[Illustration: VELIKA]

"But why stay here?" I asked.

"Because," he answered, "my brothers live here and I must stay here
till I die. If I am not to be found, then my brothers must die for me.
It will not last long, for there are many bags of money on my head. My
enemy is a rich man."

"But," he went on, "wilt thou ask the Voivoda, who is a good man, to
give me a magazine rifle and some cartridges? See my rifle, it is old,
and I have but five cartridges left. For thee he will do it, and so I
can die fighting a good fight, and perhaps can kill two or three of my
enemies first. To-day I have wounded one."

"I will ask the Voivoda," I replied, "though I doubt if I have any
influence with him. Ask him thyself."

I did ask the Voivoda, but he said the thing was impossible. He had no
rifles to give away. But our fugitive continued his request at
intervals for the rest of the time that he was with us.

At Velika, a collection of half a dozen houses, very charmingly
situated in a valley, we halted and rested for many hours while the
Voivoda transacted business and received reports from a very young
officer who held this dangerous command. We commented on his youth,
and were told that his father, recently dead, had held the position,
and that he had inherited it. "Besides," continued our informant, "he
is quite up to his work."

As we dismounted, our escort unloaded their rifles, the snapping of
locks and breeches bringing the excitement of the last hour or two
vividly back to our memory.

The men of Velika were fierce-looking and of great stature. Rifle,
handjar, and revolver were carried by all. Our escort were equally
fine men, that fearless look so characteristic of the Montenegrin
race, being accentuated here. Yet the faces are pleasing, honest, and
good-tempered. There is to be found in the world no more splendid
specimens of fighting humanity than the Montenegrin borderer. Brave,
reckless to a fault, with absolutely no fear of death, inured to every
hardship, and able to live and thrive on the barest fare, they are
typical of the old Viking, chivalrous and courteous, with the purest
blood of the Balkans flowing in their veins.

Our meal was sumptuous. Fish shot in the river by one of our escort on
the way, a bowl of ground maize cooked in oil, raw ham