For we are again immersed in the primeval forest—and night seems nearer and shelter further. The sun was already setting, when a gap in the trees revealed to us a mountain vista, which showed that we were on the wrong side of the ridge. A woodman whom we presently met told us that we were going towards Zenica instead of Travnik, and we discovered that we were on the debatable mountain neck, between the Vučia and Gorcevica Planinas. The woodman intimated to us that to strike across and attempt to regain the Travnik path was hopeless, and that we had better follow the ridge in the direction of Zenica. But we made up our minds to cut across and follow the valley of a stream which led in our direction. Accordingly we crossed over to the western side of our ridge, and found ourselves on the brink of an almost precipitous steep, descending to the Jasenica, our desired stream, heard but not seen, thirteen hundred feet below. The mean angle at which this slope descended was, as nearly as we could calculate, 60°. Had it been bare, we could not possibly have descended it, laden as we were; but it was covered with beech-trees, which might stop us if we fell; so we resolved to attempt a descent. It was certainly very difficult work; the beech-leaves made it slippery, and concealed rocks and boughs would trip us up, or a piece of soil give way. We were perpetually dislodging fragments of rock, which rolled and leapt down, quicker and quicker, crash after crash, cannoning against the trunks, taking bigger and bigger bounds, till a final plunge told us that they had reached the stream. They never lodged half way. Every now and then we seemed likely to follow them, but we always succeeded in arresting our fall by clutching at a passing trunk. It grew darker and darker; but we still kept on at our painful task, till, about six hundred feet down, I broke one of my knapsack straps in a tumble, and it being impossible in such a position either to mend it or to carry it, we were lucky in discovering, close by, a hollow—formed by the uprooting of a forest giant—to serve as sleeping-quarters for our third night running, _sub Jove frigido_, and where we literally _lodged_ till peep-o’-day. The worst was that we were unable to collect fuel for a fire, and before morning a chill breeze sprang up, and the thermometer sank almost to freezing point; for, in less mountainous localities than this, August frosts are by no means rare in Bosnia. For nocturnal visitors we might take our choice—as the wind invented footsteps—of the wild swine, bears, and wolves, that inhabit these mountains; but none of these fourfooted gentry molested us; and, except that once or twice we woke with the cold, or by reason of sundry stones and awkward tags of root, which would keep running into us, we slept soundly enough.