‘les barrières servent à indiquer où il faut passer.’

an hour’s ride to the west of toledo, on the road to torrijos and talavera, and in the immediate neighbourhood of the village of galvez, two men sat in the shadow of a great rock, and played cards. they played quietly and without vociferation, illustrating the advantages of a minute coinage. they had gambled with varying fortune since the hour of the siesta, and a sprinkling of cigarette ends on the bare rocks around them testified to the indulgence in a kindred vice.

the elder of the two men glanced from time to time over his shoulder, and down towards the dusty high road which lay across the arid plain beneath them like a tape. the country here is barren and stone-ridden, but to the west, where torrijos gleamed whitely on the plain, the earth was green with lush corn and heavy blades of maize, now springing into ear. where the two soldiers sat the herbage was scant and of an aromatic scent, as it mostly is in hot countries and in rocky places. that these men belonged to a mounted branch of the service was evident from their equipment, and notably from the great rusty spurs at their heels. they were clad in cotton—dusky white breeches, dusky blue tunics—a sort of undress, tempered by the vicissitudes of a long war and the laxity of discipline engendered by political trouble at home.

they had left their horses in the stable of a venta, hidden among ilex trees by the roadside, and had clambered to this point of vantage above the highway, to pass the afternoon after the manner of their race. for the spaniard will be found playing cards amid the wreck of the world and in the intervals between the stupendous events of the last day.

‘he comes,’ said the elder man at length, as he leisurely shuffled the greasy cards. ‘i hear his horse’s hoofs.’

and, indeed, the great silence which seems to brood over the uplands of spain—the silence, as it were, of an historic past and a dead present—was broken by the distant regular beat of hoofs.

the trooper who had spoken was a bullet-headed castilian, with square jaw and close-set eyes. his companion, a younger man, merely nodded his head, and studied the cards which had just been dealt to him. the game progressed, and concep?ion vara, on the toledo road, approached at a steady trot. this man showed to greater advantage on horseback and beneath god’s open sky than in the streets of a city. here, in the open and among the mountains, he held his head erect and faced the world, ready to hold his own against it. in the streets he wore a furtive air, and glanced from left to right fearing recognition.

he now took his tired horse to the stable of the little venta, where, with his usual gallantry, he assisted a hideous old hag to find a place in the stalls. while uttering a gay compliment, he deftly secured for his mount a feed of corn which was much in excess of that usually provided for the money.

‘ah!’ he said, as he tipped the measure; ‘i can always tell when a woman has been pretty; but with you, se?ora, no such knowledge is required. you will have your beauty for many years yet.’

thus vara and his horse fared ever well upon the road. he lingered at the stable door, knowing perhaps that corn poured into the manger may yet find its way back to the bin, and then turned his steps towards the mountain.

the cards were still falling with a whispering sound upon the rock selected as a table, and, with the spirit of a true sportsman, concep?ion waited until the hand was played out before imparting his news.

‘it is well,’ he said at length. ‘a carriage has been ordered from a friend of mine in toledo to take the road to-night to talavera—and talavera is on the way to lisbon. what did i tell you?’

the two soldiers nodded. one was counting his gains, which amounted to almost threepence. the loser wore a brave air of indifference, as behoved a reckless soldier taking loss or gain in a spartan spirit.

‘there will be six men,’ continued concep?ion. ‘two on horseback, two on the box, two inside the carriage with their prisoner—my friend.’

‘ah!’ said the younger soldier thoughtfully.

concep?ion looked at him.

‘what have you in your mind?’ he asked.

‘i was wondering how three men could best kill six.’

‘out of six,’ said the older man, ‘there is always one who runs away. i have found it so in my experience.’

‘and of five there is always one who cannot use his knife,’ added concep?ion.

still the younger soldier, who had medals all across his chest, shook his head.

‘i am afraid,’ he said. ‘i am always afraid before i fight.’

concep?ion looked at the man whom general vincente had selected from a brigade of tried soldiers, and gave a little upward jerk of the head.

‘with me,’ he said, ‘it is afterwards—when all is over. then my hand shakes, and the wet trickles down my face.’

he laughed, and spread out his hands.

‘and yet,’ he said gaily, ‘it is the best game of all—is it not so?’

the troopers shrugged their shoulders. one may have too much of even the best game.

‘the carriage is ordered for eight o’clock,’ continued the practical concep?ion, rolling a cigarette, which he placed behind his ear where a clerk would carry his pen. ‘those who take the road when the night-birds come abroad have something to hide. we will see what they have in their carriage, eh? the horses are hired for the journey to galvez, where a relay is doubtless ordered. it will be a fine night for a journey. there is a half moon, which is better than the full for those who use the knife; but the galvez horses will not be required, i think.’

the younger soldier, upon whose shoulder gleamed the stars of a rapid promotion, looked up to the sky, where a few fleecy clouds were beginning to gather above the setting sun like sheep about a gate.

‘a half moon for the knife and a full moon for firearms,’ he said.

‘yes; and they will shoot quick enough if we give them the chance,’ said concep?ion. ‘they are carlists! there is a river between this and galvez—a little stream such as we have in andalusia—so small that there is only a ford and no bridge. the bed of the river is soft; the horses will stop, or, at all events, must go at the walking pace. across the stream are a few trees’ (he paused, illustrating his description with rapid gestures and an imaginary diagram drawn upon the rock with the forefinger), ‘ilex, and here, to the left, some pines. the stream runs thus from north-east to south-west. this bank is high, and over here are low-lying meadows where pigs feed.’

he looked up, and the two soldiers nodded. the position lay before them like a bird’s-eye view; and concep?ion, in whom spain had perhaps lost a guerilla general, had only set eyes on the spot once as he rode past it.

‘this matter is best settled on foot; is it not so? we cross the stream, and tie our horses to the pine trees. i will recross the water, and come back to meet the carriage at the top of the hill—here. the horsemen will be in advance. we will allow them to cross the stream. the horses will come out of the water slowly, or i know nothing of horses. as they step up the incline, you take their riders, and remember to give them the chance of running away. in midstream i will attack the two on the box, pulling him who is not driving into the water by his legs, and giving him the blade in the right shoulder above the lung. he will think himself dead, but should recover. then you must join me. we shall be three to three, unless the englishman’s hands are loose; then we shall be four to three, and need do no man any injury. the englishman is as strong as two, and quick with it, as big men rarely are.’

‘do you take a hand?’ asked the castilian, fingering the cards.

‘no; i have affairs. continue your game.’

so the sun went down, and the two soldiers continued their game, while concep?ion sat beside them and slowly, lovingly sharpened his knife on a piece of slate which he carried in his pocket for the purpose.

after sunset there usually arises a cold breeze which blows across the table-lands of castile quite gently and unobtrusively. a local proverb says of this wind that it will extinguish a man but not a candle. when this arose, the three men descended the mountain-side and sat down to a simple if highly-flavoured meal provided by the ancient mistress of the venta. at half-past eight, when there remained nothing of the day but a faint greenish light in the western sky, the little party mounted their horses and rode away towards galvez.

‘’tis better,’ said concep?ion, with a meaning and gallant bow to the hostess. ‘’tis for my peace of mind. i am but a man.’

then he haggled over the price of the supper.

they rode forward to the ford described by concep?ion, and there made their preparations—carefully and coolly—as men recognising the odds against them. the half moon was just rising as the soldiers splashed through the water leading concep?ion’s horse, he remaining on the toledo side of the river.

‘the saints protect us!’ said the nervous soldier, and his hand shook on the bridle. his companion smiled at the recollection of former fights passed through together. it is well, in love and war, to beware of him who says he is afraid.

shortly after nine o’clock the silence of that deserted plain was broken by a distant murmur, which presently shaped itself into the beat of horses’ feet. to this was added soon the rumble of wheels. the elder soldier put a whole cigarette into his mouth and chewed it. the younger man made no movement now. they crouched low at their posts one on each side of the ford. concep?ion was across the river, but they could not see him. in andalusia they say that a contrabandist can conceal himself behind half a brick.

the two riders were well in front of the carriage, and, as had been foreseen, the horses lingered on the rise of the bank as if reluctant to leave the water without having tasted it. in a moment the younger soldier had his man out of the saddle, raising his own knee sharply as the man fell, so that the falling head and the lifted knee came into deadly contact. it was a trick well known to the trooper, who let the insensible form roll to the ground, and immediately darted down the bank to the stream. the other soldier was chasing his opponent up the hill, shelling him, as he rode away, with oaths and stones.

in mid-stream the clumsy travelling carriage had come to a standstill. the driver on the box, having cast down his reins, was engaged in imploring the assistance of a black-letter saint, upon which assistance he did not hesitate to put a price, in candles. there was a scurrying in the water, which was about two feet deep, where concep?ion was settling accounts with the man who had been seated by the driver’s side. a half-choked scream of pain appeared to indicate that concep?ion had found the spot he sought, above the right lung, and that amiable smuggler now rose dripping from the flood and hurried to the carriage.

‘conyngham!’ he shouted, laying aside that ceremony upon which he never set great store.

‘yes,’ answered a voice from within. ‘is that you, concep?ion?’

‘of course; throw them out.’

‘but the door is locked,’ answered conyngham in a muffled voice. and the carriage began to rock and crack upon its springs, as if an earthquake were taking place inside it.

‘the window is good enough for such rubbish,’ said concep?ion. as he spoke a man, violently propelled from within, came head foremost, and most blasphemously vociferous, into concep?ion’s arms, who immediately, and with the rapidity of a terrier, had him by the throat and forced him under water.

‘you have hold of my leg—you, on the other side,’ shouted conyngham from the turmoil within.

‘a thousand pardons, se?or!’ said the soldier, and took a new grip of another limb.

concep?ion, holding his man under water, heard the sharp crack of another head upon the soldier’s kneecap, and knew that all was well.

‘that is all?’ he inquired.

‘that is all,’ replied the soldier, who did not seem at all nervous now. ‘and we have killed no one.’

‘put a knife into that son of a mule who prays upon the box there,’ said concep?ion judicially. ‘this is no time for prayer. just where the neck joins the shoulder—that is a good place.’

and a sudden silence reigned upon the box.

‘pull the carriage to the bank,’ commanded concep?ion. ‘there is no need for the english excellency to wet his feet. he might catch a cold.’

they all made their way to the bank, where, in the dim moonlight, one man sat nursing his shoulder while another lay, at length, quite still, upon the pebbles.

the young soldier laid a second victim to the same deadly trick beside him, while concep?ion patted his foe kindly on the back.

‘it is well,’ he said, ‘you have swallowed water. you will be sick, and then you will be well. but if you move from that spot i will let the water out another way.’

and, laughing pleasantly at this delicate display of humour, he turned to help conyngham, who was clambering out of the carriage window.

‘whom have you with you?’ asked conyngham.

‘two honest soldiers of general vincente’s division. you see, se?or, you have good friends.’

‘yes, i see that.’

‘one of them,’ said concep?ion meaningly, ‘is at toledo at the moment, journeying after you.

‘ah!’

‘the se?or pleydell.’

‘then we will go back to meet him.’

‘i thought so,’ said concep?ion.