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A moonless darkness came upon us and we had to walk just behind the carriages, peering at the square yard of road illuminated by candles in our penny lanterns. Occasionally a voice greeted us. We asked how far Tutigne was. "About an hour," was the invariable answer all along the line. But the dignified guide was right.
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?"
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. But the policeman had a mailbag to deliver that night, and we had to push on. Experienced as we were in Serbian roads, never had we seen such mud.
The mayor called in two more men: they considered the pass once more. "You may have the carriages two days more," he decided at last. "Go to Tutigne. As far as that the carriages will travel. There are many horses there, and you can get pack ponies." Coming out we ran into Colonel Stajitch of Valievo. The colonel is a Serbian gentleman, fine figure, beautiful face, and white hair and moustaches.
"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.
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