t in such plentiful profusion as we saw them now.

Everyone dismounted, and with rather uncanny feelings we entered the
forest. First of all went one of our escort, and then in single file,
about ten paces apart, we followed. Rifles were held at the ready, and
every boulder and tree carefully scanned. The path was atrocious,
strewn with great stones, so that walking was no easy matter. When a
particularly large boulder was reached, we would halt under its
shelter to enable the horses to come up--they were following behind
under the charge of one man. We did not exactly stroll through that
wood.

Every few paces stood a memorial stone. There was one put up to the
memory of ten Montenegrins who were all shot down without seeing their
enemy. Everyone shoots at sight here, and had we met our Albanian
friend of the early morning, matters would have gone sadly with him.
At one point I insisted on taking a photograph--much to everyone's
disgust. The spot was where a famous Kuc general had been murdered.
His head was taken in triumph to Scutari. Oddly enough, we ate our
midday meal at his grave, for his friends took his body away from
here and buried it in an open place directly overlooking the valley of
Gusinje. I was rather hurried over the operation, as the Montenegrins
distinctly objected to standing still, but they were all very tickled
about it.

[Illustration: THE PATH THROUGH THE VUCIPOTOK]

The Vucipotok is used by young Montenegrins as a means of showing
their bravery. They go straight through it alone, with their rifles
over their backs, smoking cigarettes. This constitutes an act of
reckless daring in their eyes. Some even go through, at some distance
from the path, on the Albanian side. We met one young man leading his
horse and strolling along as unconcernedly as though he were in
Cetinje--so that we almost felt that we were being unduly impressed
with a sense of danger. But afterwards we met another party who were
proceeding with greater caution than we were. And then there were
those memorial stones.

At last the wood ceased, and in a clearing we made a halt. Our
Montenegrins looked relieved. For themselves they have no fear, but
had one of us been hit, the disgrace for them would have been
unspeakable. It would have necessitated a raid into Albania of the
most extensive kind, and hundreds might have fallen; the Montenegrins
guard their visitors as they guard their honour, and in that case,
life is only a