“We are coming to the house of Zutni; he is a friend,” said Giulika.
Descending a long incline, a bend in the track brought them in sight of a rectangle of light. A door stood open, and out of it came a gigantic mountaineer, gun in hand. He was dazzled by the white glare of the lamp, and called suspiciously to the strangers to halt. Giulika went forward; his friend recognised him, and kissed him affectionately. A few words passed between them: then, hearing that two Englishmen were with the party, Zutni advanced, shook them warmly by the hand, and invited them to enter his house.
“Be welcome!” he said.
“Is it safe to delay?” Maurice asked of Giulika.
“Yes, indeed,” replied the old man. “We have come far; the Austrians will not dare to follow on horseback in the dark, and they may not discover our flight until the morning.”
The house was a small one, perched on a rocky eminence. The whole party entered; Giulika and his men, according to Albanian custom, handed their weapons to their host, who hung them beside his own on the wall. He placed mats for the Englishmen before a blazing fire; his women pulled off their boots, and in a few minutes grilled for them some mutton steaks on skewers. Rakia was produced: “Good health, friends,” said the jovial host; and the travellers, basking in the warmth, ate and drank with relish.
Giulika related what had occurred. His friend listened with indignation.
“You have done well,” he said, “but will not the villains slay your women and children and burn your house when they find that you have gone?”
“Aha!” chuckled Giulika. “The women and children are safe: I sent them this afternoon towards Ochrida to my brother.” (It was really a very distant cousin, but the ties of blood are close in Albania). “As for my house, it is likely to be burnt; but it is God’s will. I could not betray my guests.”
“True. And do I see Leka among you? Is it besa?”