The Luck of Thirteen Part 29

It was now dark and West and Miss Brindley had not come back. So Jan and Jo went off to look for them. We searched two cafes--meeting again with our old acquaintance the schoolmaster from Nish--plunged into all sorts of odd corners, and at last met Colonel Stajitch in a restaurant. He greeted us.

"I have a great favour to ask," he said diffidently. "If I might I should like to give to you a little appendix. It is my son. He is seventeen, but is very big for his age. If the Austrians catch him I do not know what will become of him."

We were introduced to the boy, and at once consented.

"I will decide for certain to-morrow," said the colonel. "Can I meet you at seven o'clock?"

We hunted once more for West. Ran him to earth at last in the Hotel de Paris. This hotel could perhaps have existed in the b.u.t.te de Montmartre, but even there it would have been considered a disgrace. We had to pa.s.s through a long room crammed with sleeping soldiery, stepping across them to get to the door opposite. Every window was tight shut, and after one horrified gulp we held our breath till we reached the interior courtyard. Here, too, were sleeping men, and all along the balconies and pa.s.sages were more.

We found Holmes' room. West was there, rather white and just recovering from the anaesthetic. We sat down. Dr. Holmes had thought of coming with us, but the authorities had looked suspiciously at his pa.s.ses, which were made out to Mitrovitza, so he decided to go on there. We wished that he had come, as a doctor would have been a great comfort had we really needed him.

After a rest West was well enough to go back to the camp.

[Ill.u.s.tration]

CHAPTER XX

THE UNKNOWN ROAD

As we stood around the camp fire drinking our cocoa a queer ragged old Albanian crept up and watched us with a smile. He was the owner of the house near by, whose palings we had almost looted. We offered him cocoa, which he liked immensely; and asked him about the road to Tutigne. He said--

"There is a road for carts--I know it."

"Will you show it us?" said Jo.

He gave a wild yell and ran away, waving a stick.

"What ----?!!!! ----"

It was nothing, only the pigs had invaded his cabbage patch. He came back later with an enormous apple, which he presented to Jo.

"Have you apples for sale?"

He shook his head, saying "Ima, ima."

We bought several pounds, arranged with him to guide us later to the carriage road, and hurried into the town to buy provisions.

There we met Colonel Stajitch. "Will you take my boy?"

"Delighted. Are his papers in order?"

The mayor hereupon turned up, and the colonel's face grew longer as they conversed.

"The mayor cannot give me the necessary permits without Government sanction," he said. "I must get it from Rashka by telephone. It will take an hour. Can you wait?"

We spent the time shopping. Each shop looked as empty as if it had been through a Sat.u.r.day night's sale. One had elderly raisins, another had a few potatoes. We found some onions, bought another cooking pot and kitchen necessaries, and packed them in the carts which had arrived in the town. n.o.body would take paper money unless we bought ten francs'

worth. After waiting an hour and a half we hunted down the colonel. The telephone official told us he had got leave from the Government. At last we found him in the mayor's office, bristling with papers and the pa.s.sport.

"I have got you an armed policeman as escort," he said, waving the papers, "and the boy has a good horse, twenty pounds in gold, and twenty in silver."

We found the boy waiting with the carriages. He wore a strange little brown cashmere Norfolk jersey and very superior black riding breeches.

Dressed more romantically he would have made an ideal Prince for an Arabian Nights' story. His father accompanied us until our Albanian guide announced--

"Here begins the carriage road."

Their parting must have been a hard thing. The father could not tell how his son's expedition would end, and the son was leaving his father to an unknown fate. They embraced, smiling cheerily, and the boy rode on ahead of us all, blowing his nose and cursing his horse.

In many places the "carriage road" was no road at all. The carts lurched and b.u.mped over rivers, boulders, fields, and the inevitable mud.

Several times we had to jump on our carts as they dragged us over deep and rapid rivers. After three hours we stopped at a farm, our mounted policeman called out the owners and autocratically ordered two of the young men to accompany us as guides and guards.

They came, bearing their guns, white fezzed, white clothed, black braided youths with shaven polls and flashing teeth. We began to climb, and for hours and hours we toiled upwards. The carriages lumbered painfully far behind us, led by their elderly and panting drivers.

"If this is what they call a good and easy road," we thought, "it would have been better to harness four horses to each cart, and to have left five carts behind."

The horses came from the plain of Chabatz, and had probably never seen a hill in their lives.

"These horses will die," said the corporal; but he seemed more interested in hunting for water for himself than in the struggles of the poor beasts.

One of our Albanian guides was overwhelmed with the beauty of Cutting's silver-plated revolver.

"How much did you pay for it?"

"Thirty francs," said Cutting, shooting at the scenery.

Jan produced his automatic, but the Albanian scorned it as one would turn from a lark to a bird of Paradise. He turned the glittering object over lovingly, thought, felt in his pockets, drew out a green and red knitted purse, and shook his head.

"I will give you thirty francs."

But Cutting wasn't on the bargain. He pocketed the treasure again, and we plodded on.

"How far are we from Tutigne?" we asked.

"Four hours," said a dignified Albanian, who had joined our party.

"No, two hours," said another.

"Three at most," corrected a third.

The first man lifted his hand. "I say four hours, and it is four hours.

With such horses as these we crawl."

We reached a desolate tableland at dusk. Here the horses halted for some while. With the halt came a sudden desire to stay there for good. It seemed as if we should never reach Tutigne. The evening brought with it chilly damp breezes, and the footsore company was getting quite disheartened.

"Let us camp here," said everybody.