But I did not take tickets for Vienna, for that was not my destination.
CHAPTER XXX.
THE CAMP AGAIN.
Buller’s patience and respectful stolidity were sorely strained that day. In the first place I told him nothing about our destination; and when we made several changes during the journey only to alight at the exceedingly unpromising depot at Samac in the afternoon, his manner began to afford me genuine amusement.
“Do we wait here long for the train, sir?” he asked, as if the sooner we were off again the better.
“Only until Karasch can get a carriage or some horses, Buller. I suppose you can ride, by the by?”
“Yes, sir; that is—oh, yes, sir—a little.”
Karasch got four horses after some difficulty but no carriage; one to carry my valises. They were four rank bad animals; but they carried us to Poabja, albeit with much discomfort for Buller. But his disgust appeared to reach a climax when he saw the little inn and I told him it was our hotel.
“That, sir?” he exclaimed incredulously, with a very wry face.
“They have some excellent black bread there, Buller, and the water is as fine as any in the district.”
“Yes, sir,” he replied mechanically, as he got off his horse awkwardly. He was very stiff and discomfited. “Beg pardon, sir, but do we stay long here?” he asked, dejectedly.