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But we cleared the top of the pass without meeting either, and started on our last long downhill to Andrievitza. Cheered by the rapidity of our motion the two ruffians on the box started a howling Podgoritzian kind of melody, exceedingly discordant.
We stopped at a café for the driver to get coffee; rattled on again, stopped to inquire the price of hay; more rattle; stopped for the driver to say, "How de doo" to a pal; more rattle; stopped to ask a man if his dog has had puppies yet.... But we protested. Andrievitza was the prettiest village we had yet seen in Montenegro, and was full of more "Americans."
As it was we left the horse grazing, but the baggage was transferred. There had been a decentish level road made from Andrievitza half way to Berane, and women were working hard on the extension in the hopes of getting it finished for the Serbs; but that they could never do, for there were but few of them.
Jo, trying to cheer things up a bit, said brightly "Is it far to Andrievitza?" A woman mumbled, "Far, bogami." Jo again: "It is cold on the road." A long silence, broken with the sound of spitting, followed. At last a woman in the darkest corner murmured "Cold, bogami."
An angry Turkish gentleman came and said that his horses had been requisitioned to take us to Andrievitza, and that we weren't going to get them till one o'clock, because he was using them. We returned to the Prefect, not to complain oh no but to ask him to telegraph to Andrievitza that we were coming. He was naturally surprised to see us again, and explanations followed.
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