Medina was listening intently now. Would his visitor go on with the history of that night!
And Hillyard did go on.
"The tobacco barrels were packed very quickly into the carts, and the carts were driven up the beach and across the Royal road, and into a track which led back to the hills."
José Medina suddenly laughed. He could hear the groaning and creaking of those thin-wheeled springless carts which had carried all his fortunes on that night thirteen years ago, the noise of them vibrating for miles in the air of that still spring night! What terror they had caused him! How his heart had leaped when—and lo! Hillyard was carrying on the tale.
"Two of the Guardia Civil stepped from behind a tree, arrested your carts, and told the drivers to turn back to the main road and the village."
"You ran in front of the leading cart, and stood there blocking the way. The Guardia told you to move or he would fire. You stood your ground."
"Yes."
"Why the Guardia did not fire," continued Hillyard, "who shall say? But he did not."
"No, he did not," José Medina repeated with a smile. "Why? It was Fate—Fortune—what you will."