spirit made possible the preservation and continuance of their highly democratic and orderly form of government.
The sun had rolled far down from its mid-day position when high up over the Tukholian basin our well-known company of huntsmen descended, guided by Maxim Berkut. In the lead, preceded by Maxim, were Tuhar Wolf and his daughter, Peace-Renown. The rest followed them in small groups discussing the experiences of the hunting trip. The Tukholian valley, lit by the bright rays of the hot, mid-afternoon sun, appeared before the eyes of the company, like a huge, translucent lake with tiny black pebbles peeping from its depths. Enclosing it, stood the sheer walls of rock, like an immense stone fence, covered only here and there by patches of lichen growth and raspberry brambles.
At the entrance to the valley roared the waterfall, smashing its way downward, breaking against the rocks into silvery foam. By the side of the cascading stream, cut out of the live rock, was a narrow cart road by means of which the ascent could be made upward to the very top and over the crest of the Ranges, to the other side of the Carpathians into Hungarian territory. This highway was known to the mountaineers simply as the “Tukholian Trail” and considered by them as safer and more convenient than the Duklanian. Ten surrounding districts of the principality of Halich as well as of the Hungarian side of the Carpathians labored almost two years in the clearing of this pass. Since the residents of the Tukholian valley had put in the greatest amount of time and work in its construction, they were as proud of it as if it had been cut through exclusively by themselves.
“Look, Boyarin,” said Maxim, pausing at the cataract, near the twisting, rock-hewn trail. “There you see the handiwork of the Tukholians. It leads as you can see, to away over the Beskid, the topmost range of the Carpathians. It is the first trail of its kind in these upper stretches of the mountain coun-
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