At this juncture several Albanians came to us and ranged themselves on our side, and amidst still greater excitement we began again moving forward.
"It is all right," laughed the adjutant, who throughout preserved the same air of utter indifference. "They daren't shoot, the cowards, and we shall take him to Velika with us, and then decide what to do with him."
"You don't seem to mind this sort of thing much," I said, "but for a beginner like myself it appears rather nervous work."
"Oh no," he answered. "I live here, and have been in many border fights. They always make a noise like that, and they very seldom shoot at big people."
"But if they do?" I queried.
"Oh, well, we must all die once," he laughed.
In another half-hour we passed the second landmark, and were informed we were again in Montenegrin territory. Our friendly Albanians left us, and rifles were more carelessly carried.
"What hast thou done?" I asked the fugitive at my stirrup. "Tell me thy story."
"I am a doomed man; my days are numbered," he said, smiling, and rolling a cigarette. "But life is sweet, and I wish to live a little longer."
Strange, this man who was at death's door barely an hour ago, was smiling and smoking happily as he walked by my side. He had a most fascinating smile and laughing eyes, and now that the immediate danger was over he had forgotten it.