IN THE LAND OF TnE BORA. 97 



the only undoubtedly venomous snake I saw in 

 Dalmatia. 



The sun was all but gone when I reached the 

 hamlet, whence one of the most infamous tracks 

 I had traversed in Dalmatia — and this is saying 

 much — zigzags down to the river, a short walk 

 along which brought me back to camp. Before I 

 got there, there passed me with courteous greeting 

 two mounted monks — a sight which carried one 

 back to the Middle Ages at once. The worthy 

 brethren were well mounted too, and quite at 

 home on their sleek and spirited palfreys. From 

 an idea, perhaps, that spurs are hardly clerical, 

 they used large stirrups not unlike the Turkish 

 ones, the sharp corners of which one used smartly 

 when his cob shied at my dogs and swerved across 

 the road. 



The next afternoon I was out on the hill again, 

 but though I worked a lot of ground higher up, it 

 was only to experience another blank day. But 

 the explanation was forthcoming. I had secured 

 the services of a local sportsman, Ante by name, 

 and the next morning he and I were off at seven, 

 and, as it turned out, to the same ground where I 

 had first been. 



The Morlaks' method of shooting is very simple. 

 They go out at daylight and listen for the stoue- 

 hen's calling. Thus they know exactly where to 

 try, and this is important, for the coveys are not 



H 



