Instead of being angry, Pedrillo lifted up his hands, and prayed that Heaven and our Lady of the Seven Sorrows would forgive the speaker for his vile suspicions.
"I never closed an eye that night. In the morning I was told by Inez the Patrona, that old Barradas had departed across the hills of Antequera without me. Martin Secco asked me how I had slept? I said, like a dormouse; and as soon as I was free, I ran like a hare back to Malaga; and to make up for the loss of my last night's rest, slept like a torpedo under the trees of the Alameda."
"You acquainted the magistrates—the alguazils, of course," said Hall, knocking the ashes from his third cigar.
"I was only a poor, ragged, little picaro," replied Pedrillo, in a whining voice; "and who would believe me? Besides, old Barradas was a stranger from Cordova or Jaen; and a man, more or less, is nothing in Granada; but since that time Martin's two daughters have been sent to the galleys at Barcelona, by the captain-general of the kingdom, for intriguing in many ways with the contrabandistas of Jaen. Now, señors, the noon is past; and if it please you, 't is time we were moving, if you wish to reach the Sierra."
While we were placing fresh caps on our rifles, and preparing to start, the Spaniard with the patch, who had listened to Pedrillo's story with great impatience, now seized that young gamin by the arm, and grasping it like a vice, gave him a savage scowl, and said something in Spanish; but so rapidly, that I could only make out that he was reprehending him severely for telling us "a succession of falsehoods."
So I thought at that time; afterwards I was enabled to put a different construction upon his indignation, at which Pedrillo seemed to be considerably alarmed.
Bidding adieu to him and the contrabandistas, we departed under Pedrillo's guidance, and (sans leave) shot all along the sides of the mountain range, on the slope of which stands the small but ancient city of Antequera, so noted for the revolt of the Moors in the sixteenth century; and had some narrow escapes from falling into those remarkable pits, where the water settles in the low places, and is formed into salt by the mere heat of the sun.
We did not see much game, but knocked over a few brace of birds, and with these, and two red foxes, our little guide Pedrillo was quite laden. So he seemed to think; for, taking advantage of the concealment afforded him by some olive groves, and the scattered remnants of an abandoned vineyard, among which we had become entangled, the young rogue slipped away with our game and made off, either towards Malaga or Antequera; at least we saw no more of him, or of his burden at that time.
This was just about the close of the day, when Hall and I were draining the last drop of our flask, and surveying from the mountain slope the magnificent prospect of the verdant Vega, spreading at our feet like a brightly-tinted map, having that warm and roseate glow, which well might win it the name of Tierra Caliente. Malaga, the ancient bulwark of Spain against Africa, was shining in the distance, with its towers and gates, its flat-roofed houses, and vast cathedral; its Moorish castles and gothic spires, all bathed in a warm and sunny yellow; while beyond lay the broad blue Mediterranean, dotted by sails, and changing from gold to purple and to blue.
This was all very fine: but our pleasure was lessened by the conviction that our little rascal Pedrillo was absconding with our game; and we knew that it would never do to relate to the gun-room mess how we had been outwitted, on returning to the Blonde next day.