Then there were a few pots and pans for cooking purposes to purchase, some necessary additions with which to supplement our humble fare, and two days’ rations of meat and bread.

It made a formidable pile when we reviewed it one morning at daybreak, though we had cut down our baggage as close as possible.  It took Stephan about an hour to load up, and when he had finished, he had left no room on top for himself.

We carried ourselves each a carbine, revolver, and bandolier of cartridges, and a pair of saddlebags; but what with a camera, camping utensils, guns and cartridges, sleeping-coats, etc., the pack-horse was full up.  However, there was no help for it, and Stephan had to walk the first day.

We left Podgorica about 6.30, accompanied by Dr. S., who came with us partly on business and partly out of friendship.  As he knew the country perfectly, he did much to render our tour more interesting.

The mountains ascend abruptly, and our path was for some hours along the turbulent Moraca, which we met at the end of the plain.  In five minutes we were surrounded by mountain scenery.  Some little way up the valley a bridge is in the course of construction across the stream, and will form part of the projected road from Podgorica to Kolasin.  On its completion, we were told, it would be the highest bridge in the Balkans.  Men were working on a loose and steeply sloping bank of crumbling earth a few feet above a precipitous rock, which overhangs the Moraca, at a height of two hundred and fifty feet.

“They very rarely fall,” said Dr. S. in answer to our unspoken question.

It made us giddy and sick to watch them.  But our own position was often not much safer.  The path see-sawed up and down; one moment we were splashed by the spray of a waterfall as it dashed into a creamy pool, and the next we were up on a dizzy height, with one foot hanging over a precipice, gazing on the foam-flecked mill-race below.  Verily, it is no journey for a giddy man to take.  A single false step on the part of the horse would send both it and its rider to a sudden death.  With the ordinary mountain pony, for the horses are practically only that, it is not necessary to guide it—­in fact it might be dangerous.  The Montenegrin rides with a loose rein over the most ticklish ground, only tightening his grip on descending a very steep hill to help his horse when it occasionally stumbles.

Despite a slight nervousness, we were still able to appreciate to the full the grand scenery of the valley of the Moraca.  It turned out to be quite as fine as anything we saw in the mountains.

About four hours after our start we crossed the stream by a wooden bridge and dismounted at an inn.  Stabling our horses in the ground floor, we ascended to the upper regions where the human beings live, and clamoured for food.

Raw ham and, of course, eggs were all that was to be had, and, as it turned out, it was our only meal that day.  The flies were terrible, but Dr. S. comforted us, saying that every hour would bring us to higher regions and consequently fewer flies.  A prophecy which was only partially fulfilled.