The boys need not have been uneasy about water, for as they advanced to the main range every ravine was the bed of a foaming torrent, and there were no more dry camps. The trail crossed the streams by bridges of curious construction. Sometimes the bridge spanned a gorge high above the stream, and sometimes it was thrown across from banks that were near the water.

To build the bridges logs were projected a few feet from one side, being held in place by an abutment of rocks which was built about them and in which they were bedded. Above those logs were laid other longer ones which projected a few feet farther, and were lashed to the lower ones by leather thongs, secured at the inner end by the rock abutment. That was repeated until from each side extended a span so far out that finally the intervening space could be covered by a length of poles. Then a hand-rail was placed along each side, and the result was a rude but stable and safe suspension bridge.

The bridges were a never-failing source of interest and wonder to the boys. Each one that they crossed seemed quite as remarkable as the first one had appeared, and they always stopped to look in admiration. Days afterward, in Batum, when they were describing their mountain journey to an English-speaking Russian, they were told that in all the mountain region the building of bridges was so difficult that the destruction of one was punished by death.

Raymond shot another rabbit, which eked out their scanty stock of bread and cheese for a couple of days. Then, as the food was almost gone, they decided they must stop at the first village they came to. That they found situated high on a mountain-side. Though they had sighted the houses early in the afternoon, the climb up to them was so steep and so long that night was closing in when they arrived.

That village, like the one from which they had escaped, was built in terraces on a mountain slope, but it was much steeper, even, than the first village. The road went up in front of the lower tier of houses, where were standing several men, who, apparently, had been watching the boys’ approach.

Sidney selected the most important-looking of the group and tendered him their passport, with an inquiry for accommodation for the night. The man received the paper, examined it curiously, and then passed it on to another near him. It went around the circle, and was the subject of an animated conversation, coming back in the end to Sidney, with, however, no intelligible comment.

“Can you tell us where we will find supper and lodging?” Sidney asked.

The man who had received the paper looked mystified and replied in a tongue that sounded to the boys different from anything they had previously heard: as indeed it was, for in the mountainous part of Daghestan nearly every village has its own dialect, there being about twenty different languages spoken in that area.

“It’s no use to talk to them, Sid,” said Raymond; “they won’t understand a word you say.”

“I know they won’t, but I can’t just stand and stare at them. It’s much easier to say something, even if they don’t understand.”

“We’ll have to use pantomine, the way Ramon used to with the Tarahumaras. Let’s see what I can do.” And Raymond made the motion of putting something into his mouth, at the same time working his jaws vigorously.

The man laughed, as did all the others. The number present had been increased by many who were curious to see the strangers, and laughter and joking remarks extended through the crowd.

Raymond’s face grew very red. “They are easily amused,” he said sarcastically, “but I’ll bet they understood what I meant.”

It was apparent that they did understand, for the man who had been addressed beckoned to the boys to follow him, and proceeded to a near-by house. As they were about to enter, something over the door caught Raymond’s eye, and he stopped and stared incredulously.

“Goodness! Sid, look over the door!” he exclaimed.

On the lintel were tacked the bony skeletons of two human hands.

“That looks pretty gruesome,” said Sidney; “I wonder what it means.”

“I suppose it’s a pleasant reminder of some nice feud. We’d better not show too much interest in it; they might not like that.”

The room that they entered had a floor that was earth mixed with chopped straw packed down hard and smooth. It was quite dark, being lighted only by the door and two small portholes of windows that had neither sash nor glass. Supper, which consisted of a kettle of stewed mutton, was just ready, and was placed on the floor in the center of the room. The family gathered about the kettle, each person provided with a sharp stick with which he fished out fragments of meat. They also dipped pieces of black bread in the broth, and soaked them before they were eaten. The boys were given sticks and helped themselves as the others did, finding the stew extremely savory.

When supper was finished there was the sound of a fife outside, and the family all got up and went out, followed by the boys. They found a large gathering of people, with torches placed around on the buildings for light. The fife was playing shrilly, and as a drum began to mark time, a man stepped out into a space that had been left in the center. Then a woman from another side joined him and they danced in a stately fashion. The fife and the drum vied with each other in the noise they made, and frequently, as the couple danced, there was a fusillade of pistol shots, fired by the spectators.

Presently, when those dancers had become weary, they retired and their places were taken by others, who danced in the same fashion, to the same accompaniment of pistol shots added to the music of the fife and drum. Besides the circle of people surrounding the dancers, many others were perched on the flat-topped roofs of the near-by houses.

It was well into the night before the dancing ceased and the people scattered to their homes. The boys went with their host, who indicated some rugs on the floor where they might spread their beds. The rugs were fine, silky, and delightfully soft.

“Gee! Sid,”—and Raymond stooped to examine the beautiful rug before placing his blankets on it,—“if mother was here I’ll bet that rug would go with her when she left, if she had to carry it herself.”

“She’d just go wild over them, Ray. They’re finer than anything she’s got.”

“Heck! Sid, why can’t we buy one to take home to her?”

“I’m afraid it would be pretty heavy to pack, with the load we’ve already got,” said Sidney doubtfully. “I’d just love to do it, though, it would please her so.”

“We haven’t got much of a load, Sid, and these rugs are not heavy, they’re so fine and thin. And one would be as good as another blanket. We ought to have more bedding, anyway, as we go higher up.”

“Well, we’ll see in the morning if we can strike a bargain with that fellow. I’ve got to get to sleep now, I’m dead tired. I’m glad we don’t have a dance every night.”

In the morning, when the boys had eaten and wished to depart, Sidney took a piece of bread, and opening their knapsacks, showed that they contained no food, at the same time holding the bread up inquiringly. Their host understood at once that they wished to buy food, and brought two or three loaves of black bread. Then Sidney held four rubles out on his open hand, motioning toward their beds to indicate that he wished to include that accommodation as well as the food. The man took two rubles from the four, and bowed in assent.

There still remained the rug which the boys wished to buy, and Sidney picked up the finer of the two pieces of carpet and held it up, saying, “How much?”

The man considered for a few moments, and held a short consultation with his wife, after which he extended his hands with the fingers all open.

“He means ten rubles, Sid,” said Raymond. “That’s dirt cheap.”

“It certainly is, and I guess we’d better take it.” Whereupon Sidney nodded in affirmation and took out his purse for the money. “I hope I’ve got enough here without going down under my clothes.”

“If you haven’t, I have a few rubles in my purse.”

“Yes, I have exactly ten rubles. When we’re out on the trail, Ray, you must remind me to take some more money from my secret stock.”

“Now I’ll take your cloak, Sid,” said Raymond, “and carry it with my cloak and blanket. Then you take the rug with your blanket, and that will be about even. Gee! won’t mother be pleased with that rug! And you certainly are a peach, Sid, with sign language.”

“I feel silly as can be when I try to talk without saying anything. I wish we were in Mexico, or some other place where we could use Spanish.”

When the boys started out they were obliged to drop down to the bottom of the caÑon again to pick up the trail. Then began the really difficult part of their mountain journey. For several days they climbed steep slopes by endless zigzags, or trod the edges of dizzy precipices. The caÑons were deep, dark, and narrow, and occurred one right after another, with no intervening level ground. The boys were always either straining forward to toil up a precipitous ascent, or holding back to keep from pitching down another. And always when they opened their bed under some sheltering rock they were at a higher elevation than on the previous night. That meant, as a general thing, that each camp was colder than the preceding one.

The camps soon became very cold indeed, and the boys were obliged each night to seek a spot that was protected from the biting winds that raced and surged from the crests above. As soon as the sun was gone, the cold air descended from the summits to take the place of the layers that rose from the rocks which had been warmed during the day.

The lower portions of the range had been destitute of trees, but between that section and the heights that were above the timber line was a zone where a little timber grew. When the boys reached that belt they also ran into clouds and drizzling mists.

One day the weather had been threatening and damp, but not actually raining. Toward night, however, the clouds thickened and descended in genuine rain. The boys saw that they would soon be soaked through, their beds as well as their clothes. That would mean a night of misery, so they hunted for a spot that was sheltered from the storm. Fortune smiled on them, for almost immediately Sidney, who had gone a little to one side of the trail to examine a ledge of rocks for possible shelter, called out to his brother,—

“Here’s a dandy place, Ray.”

In the face of the ledge was a narrow fissure which was just wide enough, with some squeezing, to admit the boys. Once inside, however, the opening proved to be a good-sized cave. The ceiling was high enough for the boys to stand upright, and there was plenty of room for them to spread their beds comfortably. Moreover, it was absolutely dry, and there was a thick coating of fine soil on the floor which would make a soft bed.

“This is swell, Sid,” exclaimed Raymond, when they were inside. “Jiminy! it’s good to be out of the rain. Just see how it’s coming down now.”

“Yes,” replied Sidney, “it’s raining so hard that we shan’t be able to get any wood for a fire.”

“Oh, well, it’s warm in here, and we have nothing to cook anyway. I think there’s a little meat left, and there’s always that horrid bread.”

Raymond had succeeded in keeping them supplied with small game. The day before he had shot two fine grouse, and there was still some of that meat. The boys ate their cold supper and spread their beds before it became dark, then sat in the gloom talking. Night fell rapidly, and with the heavy downpour of rain it soon became very dark. The boys were just about to roll up in their blankets for the night when they heard strange noises outside. There was a low, muttered grumbling, mingled with a strange whimpering.

The boys sat breathless, listening intently. At first they thought it must be some large animal, though they had seen no animals larger than rabbits. In a moment, however, the voice whimpered complainingly, and the boys thought it was surely a person in distress. The storm was turning colder, and the rain and sleet were coming down in such volumes that any one caught in it, perhaps insufficiently clothed, would suffer greatly.

Raymond was about to step to the opening and call out that there was shelter near, when the whimpering ceased and the growling began again, in a heavier, gruffer tone than at first. It was plain that it could not be a human being that made such noises, and it seemed to the frightened boys that it must be a very large animal.

“What can it be, Sid?” whispered Raymond.

“I don’t know, unless it’s a wolf. We’ve read of the terrible Russian wolves.”

“The animal that’s growling like that is bigger than a wolf,” declared Raymond.

“Then I hope it’s so big that it can’t squeeze in here.”

The growling and muttering continued, and steadily drew nearer. The boys sat shivering. The cave had grown much colder, they thought, and their teeth chattered. Suddenly the noises ceased and there was a dreadful silence. The rain was still pouring outside, with a steady roar on the rocks, but the boys did not notice that, and it seemed to them that all sounds had stopped.

Silently the two sat in suspense, wondering what would happen, whether they would suddenly be conscious of an animal in the cave with them. Then they reflected that the entrance was so small that no large animal could pass through, at least not quickly.

They were gazing intently toward the opening, though the darkness was so dense that not even its outline could be distinguished. As they sat, rigid, they realized with a shock that they were looking at two small balls of fire which must be just outside the opening. The fiery globes remained stationary, and colder shivers ran along the boys’ spines.