The Hindimini ravine
Riza, on horseback, was synonymous with, a funeral, and
implored me to trot, which I did, rising in my silver inlaid
stirrups as on a platform with a flutter of tassels around me.
These stirrups, like most things invented for the country in
which they are used, are very sensible in their own place.
Their sharp corners, sticking well out beyond the rider's
footwear, save him from innumerable knocks against the
rocky sides of narrow mountain paths.
In the dusk we descended to the Hindimini ravine. Sur-
rounded by a chaos of enormous boulders, tumbling down to
a small amphitheatre, a clear spring of water is made to run
in wooden troughs where half a flock could drink at a rime.
We took off our horses' bridles and let them enjoy themselves.
Two other travellers, a brown black-bearded fellow and his
companion, were also on their way down. The Dusan guide,
who had observed one of my feet sticking out from the
dilapidated remains of my cotton giva shoe, remarked that
this was the man to make me a new pair before to-morrow
morning. The Hindimini, he said, are a famous tribe for the
making ofgivas and for the beauty of their girls. The bargain
was on the point of being concluded when the Philosopher,
scenting danger from a distance, came trotting up, flapping
his elbows in his anxiety to inspire his horse with speed.
" You will never get them," he shouted when barely within
earshot. " Why buy what we can make ourselves? Do I
not know how to sew givas from the rime of my childhood?
By the Hand of God, why do you believe people when they
speak to you?"
The Dusan guide was a man of insight. He knew the
impossible when he saw it. Leaving the black-bearded
stranger without a word, he strode on down the steep hillside
which formed the ravine's eastern border. I followed, also
on foot. The light was fading off the path as we descended.
["9]