"Won't go with that fellow. Don't like his horse," Considine declared.
The crowd had got thicker and people jeered and laughed.
"Todos animales. Gente sin verguenza!" one remarked.
Kit frowned. He knew the Castilian taunt about people who have no shame, but he held on to Considine. The drivers did not help; they disputed noisily who should get the passenger. Then the man Kit had noted with the girl came up.
"Put him on board. I'll lift his legs," he said.
They did so with some effort, for Considine was heavy and kicked.
"To the mole; African steamer's boat," said Kit; Considine occupied the driver's seat.
"Show you how to drive!" he said, and shoving back the tartanero, used the whip.
The horse plunged, the wheels jarred the pavement, there was a crash as a stall overturned, and the tartana rolled across the square and vanished. Kit heard Considine's hoarse shout and all was quiet. He looked about. The girl who wore the yellow dress was gone, but the man stood close by and gave him a quiet smile. He had a thin, brown face and Kit saw a touch of white in his hair. A mark on his cheek looked like an old deep cut.
"You didn't go with your friend," he remarked.