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CHAPTER XX

THE UNKNOWN ROAD

As we stood around the camp fire drinking our cocoa a queer ragged old
Albanian crept up and watched us with a smile. He was the owner of the
house near by, whose palings we had almost looted. We offered him cocoa,
which he liked immensely; and asked him about the road to Tutigne. He
said--

"There is a road for carts--I know it."

"Will you show it us?" said Jo.

He gave a wild yell and ran away, waving a stick.

"What ----?!!!! ----"

It was nothing, only the pigs had invaded his cabbage patch. He came
back later with an enormous apple, which he presented to Jo.

"Have you apples for sale?"

He shook his head, saying "Ima, ima."

We bought several pounds, arranged with him to guide us later to the
carriage road, and hurried into the town to buy provisions.

There we met Colonel Stajitch. "Will you take my boy?"

"Delighted. Are his papers in order?"

The mayor hereupon turned up, and the colonel's face grew longer as they
conversed.

"The mayor cannot give me the necessary permits without Government
sanction," he said. "I must get it from Rashka by telephone. It will
take an hour. Can you wait?"

We spent the time shopping. Each shop looked as empty as if it had been
through a Saturday night's sale. One had elderly raisins, another had a
few potatoes. We found some onions, bought another cooking pot and
kitchen necessaries, and packed them in the carts which had arrived in
the town. Nobody would take paper money unless we bought ten francs'
worth. After waiting an hour and a half we hunted down the colonel. The
telephone official told us he had got leave from the Government. At last
we found him in the mayor's office, bristling with papers and the
passport.

"I have got you an armed policeman as escort," he said, waving the
papers, "and the boy has a good horse, twenty pounds in gold, and twenty
in silver."

We found the boy waiting with the carriages. He wore a strange little
brown cashmere Norfolk jersey and very superior black riding breeches.
Dressed more romantically he would have made an ideal Prince for an
Arabian Nights' story. His father accompanied us until our Albanian
guide announced--

"Here begins the carriage road."

Their parting must have been a hard thing. The father could not tell how
his son's expedition would end, and the son was leaving his father to an
unknown fate. They embraced, smiling cheerily, and the boy rod