"Effendi, they say that if any one of our horses were to stumble, it would be a bad thing for the rider. There is a waterfall a few hundred yards down the stream." The large pieces of timber which were whirling round and round in the middle of the river were also a source of anxiety, for should any of these huge beams strike a horse, the animal would have been swept off his legs for a certainty. After a minute or two spent in consideration, the Zaptiehs determined to cross the river, every horseman riding abreast of his companion. The stream would then press against the outside horse; he, however, would be supported by the one alongside him; each animal, in turn, being assisted by the other quadrupeds of the party. It was as much as our horses could do to reach the opposite bank. After several thanksgivings to the all-merciful Allah, we once more began to climb into the clouds. A dense mist prevailed. Presently almost everything was hidden from our view. The snow became deeper and more binding; at last the pack-horses came to a standstill. Unloading the baggage-animals, we distributed the luggage amidst the saddle-horses, and, wading onward, continued our march through the snow. This in some places was nearly breast high. On the summit of the mountain stood a little house built of rocks, which were loosely piled the one upon the other; and, resting here for a minute or so to recover our breath, I was informed that it had been erected by a charitable Turk in Divriki, as a shelter for benighted travellers. "Blessings on his head!" said the Zaptieh who gave me the information. "This shelter has saved several lives already. If we had arrived here two hours later, it might have been the means of saving our own. The wind is rising," he continued, "and the sooner we reach Divriki the better." Presently the little town appears in sight; a thin skirt of poplar-trees encircles it as in a frame. An old ruined citadel, perched up on a seemingly inaccessible rock, faces us from the opposite side of Divriki. A tower on a still higher peak, but communicating by a hidden path with the citadel, serves as a place of refuge for the garrison, should the first-mentioned stronghold ever be taken by assault. A rapid stream—the Tchalt Tchai—runs below the citadel. The town is said to contain about 3400 houses, of which 3000 belong to Turks, and the remainder to Armenians. Behind the houses and in the distance were fresh layers of snow-covered mountains: the valley in which the town lies had not felt the onslaught of winter; it was still covered with deep mud.