“Is there any other way to get there?” asked Bark, troubled by the uncertainty.
“Some other steamer may come along: we will go to the office of the French line, and inquire when one is expected,” replied Jacob.
They ascertained that the French steamer did not touch at Gibraltar; and there was no other way than to depend upon the Spanish line. As Jacob Lobo had feared, the sailing of the boat advertised was put off till the next day.
“You can go by land, if you are not afraid of the brigands,” said the interpreter.
“Brigands?”
“Within a year a party of English people were robbed by brigands, on the way from Malaga to Ronda; but that is the only instance I ever heard of. The country between here and Malaga used to be filled with smugglers; and there are some of that trade now. When their business was dull, they used to take to the road at times.”
“How long would it take to go by the road?” asked Bark, who was very enthusiastic in the discharge of his duty, and unwilling to lose a single day.
“That depends upon how fast you ride,” laughed Lobo. “It is about sixty miles, and you might make it in a day, if you were a good horseman.”
“But I am not: I was never on a horse above three times in my life.”