Such was the story we heard one evening in Podgorica, and which we were here able to prove in part.  When Marko heard that we were friends of his former master, his face lighted up with joy, and he kissed our hands.  During our stay he was always with us, a devoted attendant and servant.  Another very interesting phase of his life had been spent in the Hercegovina, where he fought as an outlaw for many years against the Austrians.  He still possesses two mementoes of his adventures in that land, one in the form of an officer’s undress jacket, technically called a “blouse,” and the other of a more permanent character, namely, a maimed hand.  He and his band were surprised one night by gendarmes, and a fierce hand-to-hand fight ensued, during which an Austrian aimed a cut at Marko with his sword.  Marko caught the blow on his hand and held the blade fast, but the gendarme drew back the weapon sharply and severed all the tendons of his hand.  Marko cannot now open his hand, but his wounder was sped to the happy hunting-grounds there and then, as he modestly relates.

Shooting of the same kind as on the Lake of Scutari is to be found in abundance all round Dulcigno.  Unfortunately the Bojana and the afore-mentioned island at its mouth was closed to us.  The evening of our arrival two men had been shot there, and it is doubtful, even had we insisted on going, whether the authorities would have permitted it.  It is not good to visit localities just after shooting affrays.  In this instance the peasants on both sides were excited, and we reluctantly gave up the trip to which we had looked forward for some time.  However, there was plenty left to shoot over, and we had much good sport with pelican, duck, and crane.

One rather unpleasant incident occurred during our stay, which very nearly ended seriously.

The lakes and swamps over which we shot lay at about an hour and a half’s walk from the town, and it was necessary to be there by daybreak.  We had ordered our paddlers to await us one morning at dawn, and on our arrival were considerably annoyed to find no one there but a boy.  After a short wait we started, taking the boy and the larger londra, or canoe, Marko and Stephan paddling as well.  A longer delay would have spoilt our morning, as the fowl disappear long before the sun is well up in the heavens.  About an hour later we discerned a boat paddling furiously towards us, and, coming alongside, the inmates proved to be our missing crew.  Seizing our canoe, the spokesman addressed our boy, abusing him roundly, saying he had stolen his canoe, and demanded the paddles peremptorily.  The boy looked at us helplessly, and naturally refused, for we were in the middle of a lake.  The man then became livid with rage, rocked our canoe violently, threatening to overturn us into the water.  Then his hand dropped on his revolver, and in his face appeared unmistakably the lust to kill.  All this passed so quickly that we had listened to the altercation in open-mouthed