Thanks to the goat-herds, the lads were well provisioned for a day; but at the same time, and again thanks to their hosts of the past night, they were sadly crippled for their task.
It was not long before they began to feel how badly they were equipped, for the principal production of the part of the country they traversed seemed to be stones, from the smallest sharp-cornered pebble up to huge blocks half the size of a house. But for hours they trudged on sturdily, chatting cheerfully at first, then growing silent, and then making remarks which were started by Punch.
“Say, comrade,” he said, “is Spain what they call a civilised country?”
“Yes, and one of the most famous in Europe; at least, it used to be.”
“Ah, used to be!” said Punch sharply. “Used. ’Tain’t now. I don’t call a place civilised where they have got roads like this.”
“Yes, it is rough,” said Pen.
“Rough! Rough ain’t the word for it,” grumbled Punch. “If we go on much farther like this I shall wear my feet to the bone. Ain’t it time we sat down and had a bit of dinner?”
“No,” replied Pen. “We will sit down and rest if you like, but we must try and husband our provisions so as to make them last over till to-morrow night.”
“What’s to-morrow night got to do with it? We ought to be along with the British army by to-night; and what’s husbands got to do with it? We are not going to share our prog with anybody else, and if it’s husbands, how do we know they won’t bring their wives? Bother! You will be telling me they are going to bring all their kids next.”
“Is that meant for a joke, Punch? Let’s go a little farther first. Come along, step out.”