IN THE LAND OF THE BORA. 329 



of learning the ground for stalking purposes, so 

 I decided to try in the local fashion with hounds, 

 and accordingly started with Didic (who proved 

 quite useless) and Duran one October afternoon. 

 Besides these two, we were to pick up en route 

 a mighty hunter called Joso, the Knez or head- 

 man of his village. An hour's walk brought us 

 to the said village of Razice, our way thither 

 leading up the right bank of the stream which 

 enters the Narenta opposite my camp. Having 

 with us two of the natives of the village, we 

 were received at a Christian peasant's house, 

 and regaled with a local delicacy — rotten pears. 

 I fancy these are prepared by keeping them in 

 water, but anyway they are quite brown, much 

 in the condition in which we eat our medlars. 



Whilst we were waiting here, a peasant, armed 

 with a long flint-lock, arrived at the house with a 

 pack-horse, carrying the entire equipment for 

 distilling slivovitz (brandy made from plums). 

 The machine was of a primitive nature, furnace, 

 boiler, and a big tub for the w T orm (a straight tube) 

 to pass through. The horse, a niceish-looking 

 grey colt, w T as dead lame, having cast a shoe, 

 perhaps a dozen miles back. I told the travelling 

 distiller his horse could do no work for a score of 

 days, whereat he pulled a wry face. After a short 

 time Joso, accompanied by his famous hound, 

 Vica, turned up. She was a fair-looking, harrier- 



