376 THE IMAGE OF WAR 



wrought tremendous havoc with its more tender 

 frame, for, striking rather high on the shoulder, it 

 had actually knocked the other shoulder-blade right 

 through the skin. 



We had scarcely finished the gralloch when the 

 rain came down more heavily than ever, and I, for 

 one, was wet through before the shower was over. 

 The old fellow gamely shouldered this smaller beast 

 (it was some four or ^ve inches shorter than the 

 other) and toiled up the long hill, but it was cold 

 work for me to keep with him, and at last I hurried 

 on to send my man back to assist. 



By the time I had had a hot bath and my luncheon 

 they arrived, and we were able to skin and peg out 

 before dark. 



Next morning I sent Anastasi off to Ktima for my 

 mule-train, having two days on my hands before they 

 could arrive, which I devoted mostly to th e preparation ■ 

 of my specimens. 



That afternoon, however, I made my way to the 

 ruined monastery of Stavro (St Stephen), which 

 stands on an adjoining knoll. Nothing remains of 

 it except a mass of stones (some wrought) and tiles. 



I did not ask its history, well knowing that its 

 destruction would have been attributed to the Turk, 

 and knowing also that the four letters T-U-R-K very 

 often in the East spell neglect, poverty, and bad 

 management on the part of Christian owners. 



I could not, however, help admiring the beauty of 

 the site — a thing, as has so often been remarked, 

 almost invariable with such buildings — with its lovely 

 view over the pine-clad valley. 



It seems regrettable that this situation was not 



