IN THE LAND OF THE BORA. 235 



considerably. Just as we reached it, down came a 

 driving storm of hail and rain. We pushed on, and 

 a few furlongs down the other slope we reached the 

 little gendarmerie barrack of Euiste. It is a bleak 

 and lonely spot, and, standing as it does on a little 

 knoll, is exposed to every wind that blows. In the 

 past winter the snow cut off the inhabitants for 

 some weeks from all communication with the outer 

 world. 



These gendarmerie posts are indeed a blessing 

 to the traveller in the occupied provinces. Few 

 of them are without a stranger's room, and even 

 when they are, a makeshift can generally be 

 obtained in the barrack-room. Not only are 

 quarters to be had, but board and attendance, at a 

 charge, including fuel, light, and attendance, of 

 something like two shillings a day. Of course the 

 food is plain, but good. We had arrived wet 

 through, at all events about the knees, but a 

 roaring stove soon dried us. After an hour's rest 

 we remounted our ponies, which started off much 

 the better for their corn. Our way led down a 

 broad pass, where the rich black soil was covered 

 with luxuriant grass. The woods fringing the 

 bottom of the Euiste peak (over 5100 feet) had a 

 very park-like effect, but on the upper slopes the 

 beeches still stood leafless in the snow. Our road 

 skirted the hill, and, bearing to the right, entered a 

 stone-covered waste, known as the Little Zimlje. 



