Late in the afternoon of the third day, as the three women and myself sat conversing as usual over the brasero, a shabby looking fellow in an old rusty cloak walked into the room: he came straight up to the place where we were sitting, produced a paper cigar, which he lighted at a coal, and taking a whiff or two, looked at me: "Carracho," said he, "who is this companion?"I saw at once that the fellow was no Gypsy: the women said nothing, but I could hear the grandmother growling to herself, something after the manner of an old grimalkin when disturbed.
"Carracho," reiterated the fellow, "how came this companion here?""NO LE PENELA CHI MIN CHABORO," said the black Callee to me, in an undertone; "SIN UN BALICHO DE LOS CHINELES *;" then looking up to the interrogator she said aloud, "he is one of our people from Portugal, come on the smuggling lay, and to see his poor sisters here."* "Say nothing to him, my lad, he is a hog of an alguazil.""Then let him give me some tobacco," said the fellow, "Isuppose he has brought some with him."
"He has no tobacco," said the black Callee, "he has nothing but old iron.This cigar is the only tobacco there is in the house; take it, smoke it, and go away!"Thereupon she produced a cigar from out her shoe, which she presented to the alguazil.
"This will not do," said the fellow, taking the cigar, "Imust have something better; it is now three months since Ireceived anything from you; the last present was a handkerchief, which was good for nothing; therefore hand me over something worth taking, or I will carry you all to the Carcel.""The Busno will take us to prison," said the black Callee, "ha! ha! ha!""The Chinel will take us to prison," giggled the young girl "he! he! he!""The Bengui will carry us all to the estaripel," grunted the Gypsy grandmother, "ho! ho! ho!"The three females arose and walked slowly round the fellow, fixing their eyes steadfastly on his face; he appeared frightened, and evidently wished to get away.Suddenly the two youngest seized his hands, and whilst he struggled to release himself, the old woman exclaimed: "You want tobacco, hijo - you come to the Gypsy house to frighten the Callees and the strange Caloro out of their plako - truly, hijo, we have none for you, and right sorry I am; we have, however, plenty of the dust A SUSERVICIO."
Here, thrusting her hand into her pocket, she discharged a handful of some kind of dust or snuff into the fellow's eyes;he stamped and roared, but was for some time held fast by the two Callees; he extricated himself, however, and attempted to unsheath a knife which he bore at his girdle; but the two younger females flung themselves upon him like furies, while the old woman increased his disorder by thrusting her stick into his face; he was soon glad to give up the contest, and retreated, leaving behind him his hat and cloak, which the chabi gathered up and flung after him into the street.
"This is a bad business," said I, "the fellow will of course bring the rest of the justicia upon us, and we shall all be cast into the estaripel.""Ca!" said the black Callee, biting her thumb nail, "he has more reason to fear us than we him, we could bring him to the filimicha; we have, moreover, friends in this town, plenty, plenty.""Yes," mumbled the grandmother, "the daughters of the baji have friends, my London Caloro, friends among the Busnees, baributre, baribu (PLENTY, PLENTY)."Nothing farther of any account occurred in the Gypsy house; the next day, Antonio and myself were again in the saddle, we travelled at least thirteen leagues before we reached the Venta, where we passed the night; we rose early in the morning, my guide informing me that we had a long day's journey to make."Where are we bound to?" I demanded."To Trujillo," he replied.
When the sun arose, which it did gloomily and amidst threatening rain-clouds, we found ourselves in the neighbourhood of a range of mountains which lay on our left, and which, Antonio informed me, were called the Sierra of San Selvan; our route, however, lay over wide plains, scantily clothed with brushwood, with here and there a melancholy village, with its old and dilapidated church.Throughout the greater part of the day, a drizzling rain was falling, which turned the dust of the roads into mud and mire, considerably impeding our progress.Towards evening we reached a moor, a wild place enough, strewn with enormous stones and rocks.
Before us, at some distance, rose a strange conical hill, rough and shaggy, which appeared to be neither more nor less than an immense assemblage of the same kind of rocks which lay upon the moor.The rain had now ceased, but a strong wind rose and howled at our backs.Throughout the journey, I had experienced considerable difficulty in keeping up with the mule of Antonio;the walk of the horse was slow, and I could discover no vestige of the spirit which the Gypsy had assured me lurked within him.
We were now upon a tolerably clear spot of the moor: "I am about to see," I said, "whether this horse has any of the quality which you have described." "Do so," said Antonio, and spurred his beast onward, speedily leaving me far behind.Ijerked the horse with the bit, endeavouring to arouse his dormant spirit, whereupon he stopped, reared, and refused to proceed."Hold the bridle loose and touch him with your whip,"shouted Antonio from before.I obeyed, and forthwith the animal set off at a trot, which gradually increased in swiftness till it became a downright furious speedy trot; his limbs were now thoroughly lithy, and he brandished his fore legs in a manner perfectly wondrous; the mule of Antonio, which was a spirited animal of excellent paces, would fain have competed with him, but was passed in a twinkling.This tremendous trot endured for about a mile, when the animal, becoming yet more heated, broke suddenly into a gallop.
