ttle
square--with the white river-bed on one side--we realized that no
welcome attended us. To our indignant dismay the inn was full, and no
telegram from the "State" had arrived.

[Illustration: PEASANT WOMEN OF THE MOUNTAINS.]

[Illustration: A VILLAGE OF NORTH MONTENEGRO.]

We learned that in Montenegro are two kinds of travellers--royalties
and nobodies. Royalties are done for, nobodies do the best they can. We
found a not overclean room over a shop--there was nothing better--we had
already experienced worse: so we ordered supper, and went off to the
telegraph station, to make sure that we arrived as "Royalty" at the next
stop.

A man suddenly burst into the office, crying, "Sirdar! Sirdar!"

Jo and Jan made their way through the darkness to the inn, squeezed
between sweating horses to the door. We were admitted.

The Sirdar received us kindly, but was dreadfully tired, and looked
years older than he had two days before. He had ridden some 150
kilometres in sixteen hours, had left Chainitza at two o'clock in the
morning, and had been in the saddle ever since. He is a famous horseman,
but is no longer young. Almost all his escort had succumbed to the
speed, and he was full of the story of his orderly's horse which had
done 300 kilometres in four days, and was the only animal which had come
through with him, he having changed mounts at Plevlie. We left him and
went straight to bed.

Just as we were comfortably dozing off, a man burst into the room and
demanded "Mike," and said something about a horse. Jan dressed hurriedly
and clattered downstairs. It was pitch dark. He ran to the stable, felt
his way in, and struck a match. There were two horses, one was lying on
its side, evidently foundered and dying but Jan felt that they would not
have disturbed him for that. By matchlight again he found that his own
horses had been turned out by the Sirdar's orderly, and that one was
missing. Mike was not to be found, but the missing horse was discovered
by a small boy in the dry river-bed apparently in search of water. Jan
retired to his bedroom to find that in his absence two more strangers
had burst in, to Jo's indignation. He pushed them out and locked the
door.

When we awoke the Sirdar had already retaken his whirlwind
course--evidently grave news called him to Cettinje--leaving the
orderly's gallant horse dead behind him.

"He kills many horses," said a peasant, shaking his head; "he rides
fast--always."

We