This horse, as though quite used to similar
occurrences, stood quietly contemplative, till Mike had restored her to
a perpendicular.
Then on again. At times the tracks grew very muddy, and the horses
side-slipped a good deal. At the top of a pass we halted to get coffee
from a leafy hut. Before us were the mountains of Voynik, a blue ridge
with shadowy, strange crevasses and cliffs; behind us Dormitor was still
visible, a faint stain on the sky, as though that great canopy had been
dragging edges in the dew.
Four women clambered up towards us. When they had reached the top they
flung down their enormous knapsacks and sat down. They were a cheery,
pretty set, and we asked them where they were going.
"To the front," they said.
"What for?"
"Those are for our husbands and brothers," answered they, patting the
huge coloured knapsacks.
"How far have you to walk?" we asked.
"Four more days."
"And how far have you walked?"
"Four days."
No complaining, no repining, just a statement of fact, these women were
cheerfully tramping eight days with bundles weighing from 45 to 50
pounds upon their backs, to take a few luxuries, or necessities, to
their fighting kin.
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