From his movements and natural caution I could plainly see that we were traversing a country not altogether friendly, and when, as we sat over our evening meal, I asked Palok, his reply was— “The Shiala are not on very friendly terms with the Skreli just now. But it is nothing, signore—nothing.” We went forward until darkness closed in, and then lay down to sleep under an overhanging rock almost on the face of a sheer precipice, a place in which Rok told us he often stayed on his way down to Skodra. He humorously called it his _han_, or hotel. To light a fire would be to attract hostile attention, and the cold up there was intense. I tried to sleep, but was unable, therefore I rose and sat outside in the bright, glorious moonlight and kept watch, while Rok curled himself up like a dog and snored soundly in chorus with Palok. There, in the East, the full moon seems to shine with greater brilliance than in Europe, and beneath its white rays those bare, rugged mountains looked like a veritable fairyland. Only the cry of a night-bird and the low music of the stream far below broke the stillness of the Oriental night, and as I sat there I reflected that I was the first Englishman who had ever been the guest of the redoubtable chieftain, Vatt Marashi, the man whom the Turks so hate—the man of whom blood-curdling tales had been told me both in Montenegro and in Skodra, and whose fame as a leader of a wild band had not long before been proclaimed by the London newspapers. For hours I sat thinking, sometimes of my good fortune, at others of my perilous position alone in the hands of such a people. But I had heard that, notwithstanding their barbaric customs, an Albanian’s word was his bond. Therefore I reassured myself that I should not be the victim of treachery, and reported to Constantinople as “missing.” Slowly at last the moon paled, and I grew sleepy. That terrible road had worn me out. Therefore I woke Palok to mount guard, and flung myself down in his place and slept till the sun, shining in my face, awakened me. Through the whole day we went forward again, over a path so bad that I often had to scramble with difficulty. I tried to ride the mule, but it was out of the question, so I walked and stumbled and was helped over the rough boulders by my companions. The Skreli country was surely an unapproachable region. That night we slept again in the open, but in a spot less sheltered. Then forward again with the first grey of dawn until, just before noon, Rok halted in the narrow track which wound round the face of the bare grey mountain, and, drawing his revolver, fired three times in the air. The shots reverberated in a series of echoes. It was a signal, and almost ere they had died away came three answering shots from no great distance, and I was told that we were now in the Skreli region, and there was nothing more to fear.