ed them up was hard to make out.

He liked to ask me questions about England, Montenegro's friend in
past times of trouble, and seemed surprised to hear that I had seen
snow before I came to his land.

His father said that the boy was stupid and a dreamer, but I thought
differently of him.

P. joined me, and together we watched the sunset. On our left towered
the Kom, and running in an unbroken chain circled a mountain range,
ending in the setting sun. Low down an angry bank of clouds hung over
the distant peaks, and into this mass of black and grey the sun, in
all its glory of yellow and gold, sank slowly. The hills between us
seemed wild and mysterious. Away to our left, in gloomy confusion, the
Albanian Alps reared their heads, lit here and there with a red gleam
of sunlight. At our feet, shrouded in impenetrable blackness, lay two
steep ravines. The sun sank, leaving a weird eerie feeling behind, and
we found ourselves strangely cold.

We spent many days with Vaso, shooting with indifferent results, but
revelling in the glories of nature.

CHAPTER XV

We leave Andrijevica--Our additional escort--The arrival at our
camping-place--In an enemy's country--The story of one Gjolic--Our
slumbers are disturbed--Sunrise on the Alps--We disappoint our
escort--"Albanian or Montenegrin?"--A reconnaissance--The Forest of
Vucipotok--The forbidden land--A narrow escape--We arrive at
Rikavac--Rain damps our ardour--Nocturnal visitors.

We left Andrijevica finally one morning about eight a.m. for our many
days' ride along the Albanian frontier to Podgorica. Everyone turned
out to bid us farewell, from the Voivoda, who expressed his regret
that we had seen no one shot, downwards. The Voivoda's son and a small
party accompanied us to the outskirts of the town, where a quaint
notice-board bears the inscription that, on pain of a fine, shooting
is forbidden within the prescribed limits.

Here, after much hand-shaking and promises to come again, we mounted,
and drawing our revolvers, replied right merrily to the farewell
volleys of our friends. It is a pleasant custom that--shooting at
parting.

[Illustration: THE RAVINE OF TERPETLIS]

We rode for two or three hours along the Perusica valley till we came
to a small and scattered village, Konjuhe, where we dismounted for a
rest. It was the birthplace of the Voivoda, and his brother still
lived there. He was immediately sent for. When he heard of our
proposed tour, he