He looked up and pointed.
"Dey was a gooman up dere," he said.
"A gooman?"
"Yes, a man wat 'ad a gooman all to 'isself."
"!!!!"
"Dey was an ole town all made o' stones," our guide explained, "where dis man made 'is gooman. You know wat a gooman is?—kill all de fellers what pass 'n do wat you likes."
We understood suddenly that "Government" was indicated.
"Dat's wat I say," he answered, "gooman—'e was killed by a Montenegrin chap wat throwed 'im orf de cliffs, 'n a Turk gets all 'is land. Dat's 'ow dey was done dose days. Dere ain't much 'o de ole town lef now."
"We 'ad to chase de Turk outer 'ere," he went on; "lots 'o fighting, but we 'ad luck. You see, dey 'ad two lines, 'an we got de first line before 'e was ready, 'n wiped 'im out, so de secon' line did'n know if it was 'im retreatin' or us advancin', and we was into 'em before dey 'ad made up dere minds. Yessir."
The ascent was terribly laborious. Our animals were sweating, though they were carrying nothing but the knapsacks.