Now there were huts beside the highway, but all in them seemed sleeping. Dogs howled as he approached. Ahead of him, a door was thrown open, and a streak of light pierced the darkness. He rode toward it.
An Indian stood there holding a crude torch above his head, an aged Indian with scraggy hair and wrinkled face.
“I want food, rest,” the caballero said. “Where sleeps a fray that will awaken easily?”
The Indian stared at him in astonishment.
“You seek a fray?” he asked.
“Else I would not ask the whereabouts of one.”
“It is a bold thing to do, señor. It would be better, would it not, to accept the hospitality of my poor hut, and be sure you are with friends? Scant welcome will you get from a fray. Enter, señor, and honour my poor dwelling. I have food and wine, and a couch. I will see that your horse has attention, and all night I’ll watch, and before the dawn comes I’ll awaken you and send you on your way.”
“This thing passes my understanding, yet I am weary enough to accept the quickest relief,” the caballero said. “If you attempt treachery——”
“Then may I die, señor.”
“That probably would come to pass in such event.”