differently." So we ordered one kilo to go on with.

Half a pig was wrenched from a spit in front of the big fire, carried
sizzling outside to the wood block, where the waiter hewed it apart with
the axe.

We had discovered peculiarities in our horses. They had conscientious
objections to going abreast, and always walked single file; this was
owing to the narrowness of the mountain paths. Jo's horse, which somehow
looked like Monkey Brand, insisted on taking the second place, and would
by no means go third. At last we reached the top of Zlatibor--which gets
its name from a peculiar golden cheese which it produces. The view is
like that from the Cat and Fiddle in Derbyshire, only bigger in scale,
and from thence the ride began to be interminable. It grew darker, we
walked down the hills to ease our aching knees, and Jan decided that
horse riding was no go.

Finally the guide decided that it was too late to reach Novi Varosh that
night, and so the direction was altered. The road grew stony and more
stony. A bitter breeze came up with the evening. We came to a green
valley, at the end of which was a rocky gorge, down which ran the
twistiest stream: it seemed as though it had been designed by a lump of
mercury on a wobbling plate. We turned from the gorge on to a hill so
rocky that the path was only visible where former horse-hoofs had
stained the stones with red earth.

The village consisted of an enormous school, a little church, soldiers
encamped round fires in the churchyard, and seven or eight wooden
hovels. Our guide stopped at the door of the dirtiest and rapped. A
furtive woman's face peered out into the gloom. We climbed painfully