the river, an hour, and we crossed the bridge out of Novi Bazar into
Montenegro--thirty years free from the Turk. We halted at a little
coffee stall made of boughs. Jan wanted to get a photo, but the women
were so shy that Jo had to push them out into the open.

On the way up the other cliff our guide became communicative. He had
been in America, in the mining camps, and spoke fair American.

"In ole days, dese was de borders," he said; "'ere de Serb, 'n dere de
Turk. Natchurally dey 'ate each oder. Dey waz two fellers 'ad fair cold
feet, one 'ere, one over dere, Turk 'n our chapy. Every day dey come
down to de ribber 'n dey plug't de odder chap wid dere ole pistols what
filled at de nose. But dey neber hit nuttin. One day de Serb 'e got mad
and avade in de ribber, but 'e did'n 'it de Turk. Nex' day dey hot'
avade in 'arf way across. Dey miss again. De tird day dey avades in rite
ter de middle, 'n each shoots up de odder dead. Yessir, 'n dere bodies
float down ter 'ere."

He looked up and pointed.

"Dey was a gooman up dere," he said.

"A gooman?"

"Yes, a man wat 'ad a gooman all to 'isself."

"!!!!"

"Dey was an ole town all made o' stones," our guide explained, "where
dis man made 'is gooman. You know wat a gooman is?--kill all de fellers
what pass 'n do wat you likes."

We understood suddenly that "Government" was indicated.

"Dat's wat I say," he answered, "gooman--'e was killed by a Montenegrin
chap wat throwed 'im orf de cliffs, 'n a Turk gets all 'is land. Dat's
'ow dey was done dose days. Dere ain't much 'o de ole town lef now."

"We 'ad to chase de Turk outer 'ere," he went on; "lots 'o fighting, but
we 'ad luck. You see, dey 'ad two lines, 'an we got de first line before
'e was ready, 'n wiped 'im out, so de secon' line did'n know if it was
'im retreatin' or us advancin', and we was into 'em before dey 'ad made
up dere minds. Yessir."

The ascent was terribly laborious. Our animals were sweating, though
they were carrying nothing but the knapsacks.

"Ye see dat flat stone?" said the guide. "Dat's were de gooman feller
'ide 'is gold. Dey was tree Italians chaps 'ere 'n dey turn ober dat
stone ter roll it downill. 'N underneat was all dat feller's gold. Dat
madum larf, I tell yer."

We climbed higher and yet higher; we thought we would never reach the
crest. The sweat poured from us, and we were drenched.

On the top there were but few stones of the old castle, and we rode over
the ruins. We