“We shall soon see. Forward!” said the young man, putting spurs to his nag. “They are not very terrible, I dare say.”
“Keep quiet, Señor Don José,” exclaimed the peasant, stopping him. “Those people are worse than Satan himself. The other day they murdered two gentlemen who were on their way to take the train. Let us leave off jesting. Gasparon el Fuerte, Pepito Chispillas, Merengue, and Ahorca Suegras shall not see my face while I live. Let us turn into the path.”
“Forward, Señor Licurgo!”
“Back, Señor Don José,” replied the peasant, in distressed accents. “You don’t know what kind of people those are. They are the same men who stole the chalice, the Virgin’s crown, and two candlesticks from the church of the Carmen last month; they are the men who robbed the Madrid train two years ago.”
Don José, hearing these alarming antecedents, felt his courage begin to give way.
“Do you see that great high hill in the distance? Well, that is where those rascals hide themselves; there in some caves which they call the Retreat of the Cavaliers.”
“Of the Cavaliers?”
“Yes, señor. They come down to the high-road when the Civil Guards are not watching, and rob all they can. Do you see a cross beyond the bend of the road? Well, that was erected in remembrance of the death of the Alcalde of Villahorrenda, whom they murdered there at the time of the elections.”
“Yes, I see the cross.”
“There is an old house there, in which they hide themselves to wait for the carriers. They call that place The Pleasaunce.”