"Oh—impossible!" said Lumsdaine; "Bandolo wandering here, in that way; besides, like a true German or Dutchman, he measured the distance by the smoking of his pipe. Cunning as he is, I do not think a Spaniard would ever have thought of that. It was so natural."
"True—but this man is a spy by profession, and practises all these little things."
"Dioul!" muttered Phadrig Mhor, shaking his halbert; "why did you not think of that before, captain?"
"There was a glamour before his eyes," said Gillian M'Bane in a whisper.
"No," replied Phadrig, gravely, as he shouldered his enormous axe; "but the spy's time is not yet come; it may come with our next meeting, if the captain looks better, for the oldest man that ever lived had to die at last."
I was both ashamed and exasperated at being so outwitted by a rascal like this Spaniard.
"May my tongue be blistered!" thought I; "for, if that was really Bandolo, between his cunning and my folly Duke Bernard will never reach the main army." I remembered the accurate numerical information I had afforded, and had no doubt he was riding as fast as his horse's heels could carry him to communicate with Tilly, who as yet was ignorant of our landing.
We halted at the wood—the remnant of a venerable fir forest, covering about a square mile. I placed a sentinel in front of it, and towards the road; then we penetrated to the centre, and there in an open space piled arms, lighted a fire, and after carefully fencing it round with stones to prevent it reaching the roots of the trees, prepared to cook the provisions our havresacks contained.