He was a taciturn fellow, and save that he was going to Fochar we
learnt nothing about him. On a long uphill we gained a hundred yards,
and by supreme efforts held our gains. He eventually disappeared from
view, and we were rejoicing at our speed when we realized that the
telegraph wires were no longer with us--one can always find the nearest
way by following the telegraph, for governments do not waste wire. Jan
looked for them and found them streaming away to the left, and among
them, well up on the horizon, our enemy the soldier.
"Look," we cried to Bogami, "isn't that the shortest way? The wires go
there."
"Bogami," he replied; "wires can, horses can't, bogami."
There is a fine military road to Chainitza, made by the Austrians, but
it remains a white necklace on the hills, almost an ornament to the
landscape. No one seemed to use it, while our old Turkish road which
snaked and twisted up and down was pitted with the hoofs of countless
horses. It is a stony path, and our animals were shod with flat plates
instead of horseshoes; they slipped and slithered, and we wondered if in
youth they had ever had lessons in skating.
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