George, though dubious of the prudence of his brother’s impulsive action, ventured to run a little faster in spite of the risk. Before the car reached a second bend another bullet whistled past, unpleasantly close, and again he increased the speed.
“Go easy,” said Maurice, after a minute or two. “We must be out of reach now. The oaks below there are very picturesque, but I shouldn’t care for a closer acquaintance with them.”
At this point the precipice on their left broke away at the height of several hundred feet, and through a cleft beyond they saw a snow-capped mountain towering into the sky. On the other side, far below, lay a dense oak forest, through which they caught glimpses of a river sparkling like a silver thread.
Mustering his stock of Albanian phrases, Maurice questioned the man.
“You were attacked. Why?”
“For blood, excellence,” was the reply.
Maurice had lived long enough in the Balkans to understand what the man’s answer implied. Either he, or one of his family, perhaps generations before, had injured a man of another family, and there was a relentless blood-feud between them. Maurice did not press the question, but, as dusk was falling, asked the man whether he knew of a han in the neighbourhood where they might put up for the night.
“No han, excellence,” replied the man; “but the house of my family is near; there you will be welcome. You have saved me, excellence. Tan giat tjeter!” (Long life to you!)
They went on for a short distance. Then, at a narrow defile in the hill, they left the track at a word from the Albanian, and climbed up a still narrower path, winding intricately amid dark, overhanging woods. After about half a mile they came to an opening among the trees, where stood a tiny village clustered at the foot of the hill. First was a square three-storied building, with a narrow door in one face, and small windows on two sides. This was the kula, a sort of watchtower for the village, and there, as the Albanian explained, lived his grandfather, his father, two uncles, three brothers, and a cousin, with their families. Beyond were smaller houses, which appeared to be entered through a hole in the wall, approached by ricketty ladders.
At sight of the gyro-car, a child, dressed in a kind of sack, screamed shrilly and fled into the house. George stopped the car; they all alighted, and the Albanian led them to the doorway, paying no heed to the explanations of the neighbours who flocked up.