"On your way back."
"Exactly so."
"I owe you a thousand thanks for that little piece of attention from the Mole fort, señores; but for that, I should now, perhaps, have been chained to an oar in the Queen's galleys at Barcelona, for I was as sure of being taken as there is a saint in heaven. Well, señores, we shall sup together to-night at Trohniona—see, yonder is its spire shining like a red star in the sunset; I have my guitar, and shall sing to you the newest seguidilla and some jovial romances about the Granadine Moors, the Castilian Caballeros, or the Carlists, and enchanters; but, meantime, I must finish a game to which I was challenged by this traveller, on whom I shall have, proper revenge, for he has already won from me forty duros; and you the while will do me the favour to accept some of my best cigars."
There was no resisting this jolly contrabandista; so, as we had before arranged to halt for the night at Trohniona, we were the better for the companionship of another man, who knew the country, and was doubtless a favourite with the people, and who, moreover, was well armed, stout, and determined. We watched the game between him and the raterillo, who won dollar after dollar with a facility that soon left no doubt whatever in our minds that he was cheating poor Pedro, so Jack and I exchanged frequent glances.
"Whose cards are these?" I asked.
"The señor travalero's," said Pedro, "and I begin to think he knows the backs better than the fronts of them."
The raterillo, whose quick eyes rolled in a restless manner, laughed as he pocketed three other duros of Pedro, who began to lose all patience and to flush, while a dark gleam shot over his eyes; and on detecting in his adversary some real or suspected piece of foul play, he dashed the cards full in his face, crying,—
"You are a rogue and a thief—a pitiful little rat, and if you do not yield back every peseta you have won, 'por el nombre de Dios,' I will be at you with my Albacete knife!"
"Then the knife be it," retorted the raterillo, crushing his well-worn hat over his eye-brows; "shall we have our feet tied together?"
"No, we shall fight it out on the grass, and I will have your black blood and my hard-won dollars together," cried Pedro, who was choking with sudden passion; and quick almost as thought, they confronted each other, their dark faces contorted by ferocity, their eyes flashing fire, their feet planted on the turf, their bodies bent forward ready to spring, and their cuchillos held firmly in the right hand, the thumb being pressed upon the blade in such a manner as to enable them to stab or to cut with equal facility.