"What are you talking about?" said Pen, as they marched along the mountain-slope like some one of old who "went delicately," for the way was stony, and Nature had not had time to commence the promised soleing and heeling process.

"What was I talking about? You said they'd slipped some 'bacco into the bag."

"Nonsense!" cried Pen.

"I swear you did. You said quid something."

"I said a few Latin words that sounded like it."

"Well, look ye here, comrade; don't do it again. Latin was all very well for that old _padre_--good old chap! Bless his bald head! Regular trump he was! And parlyvooing was all very well for Mr Contrabando; but plain English for Bob Punchard, sivvy play, as we say in French."

CHAPTER FORTY TWO.

FRIEND AND ENEMY.

The two lads started off light-hearted and hopeful, for if they could trust the goat-herds, whose information seemed to be perfectly correct, a day's journey downward to the river in the valley, though seeming far distant, must bring them pretty near the goal they sought--in other words, the headquarters of the army that had crossed over from Portugal into Spain to drive back the French usurper, the task having been given to England's most trusted General, Wellesley, who was in time to come always to be better known as Wellington.

Thanks to the goat-herds, the lads were well provisioned for a day; but at the same time, and again thanks to their hosts of the past night, they were sadly crippled for their task.

It was not long before they began to feel how badly they were equipped, for the princ.i.p.al production of the part of the country they traversed seemed to be stones, from the smallest sharp-cornered pebble up to huge blocks half the size of a house. But for hours they trudged on st.u.r.dily, chatting cheerfully at first, then growing silent, and then making remarks which were started by Punch.

"Say, comrade," he said, "is Spain what they call a civilised country?"

"Yes, and one of the most famous in Europe; at least, it used to be."

"Ah, used to be!" said Punch sharply. "Used. 'Tain't now. I don't call a place civilised where they have got roads like this."

"Yes, it is rough," said Pen.

"Rough! Rough ain't the word for it," grumbled Punch. "If we go on much farther like this I shall wear my feet to the bone. Ain't it time we sat down and had a bit of dinner?"

"No," replied Pen. "We will sit down and rest if you like, but we must try and husband our provisions so as to make them last over till to-morrow night."

"What's to-morrow night got to do with it? We ought to be along with the British army by to-night; and what's husbands got to do with it? We are not going to share our prog with anybody else, and if it's husbands, how do we know they won't bring their wives? Bother! You will be telling me they are going to bring all their kids next."

"Is that meant for a joke, Punch? Let's go a little farther first.

Come along, step out."

"Step out indeed!" grumbled the boy. "I stepped out first thing--right out of my boots. I say, comrade, oughtn't the soles of our feet to begin to get hard by now?"

"Don't talk about it, Punch."

"Oh, you can feel it too? If it's like this now, what's it going to be by to-night? I did not know that it was going to be so bad. If I had, blest if that goat-stalker should have had my boots! I'd have kept them, and shared them--one apiece--and every now and then we could have changed foots. It would have been better then, wouldn't it?"

"I don't know, Punch. Don't think about it. Let's go on till we get to the first spring, and then rest and bathe our feet."

"All right."

The boys kept on their painful walk for another hour; and then, the spring being found, they rested and bathed their tender soles, partook of a portion of their provisions, and went on again.

That night the river seemed to be as far off as ever, and as they settled upon a sheltered spot for their night's rest, and ate their spare supper, Punch hazarded the remark that they shouldn't overtake the army the next day. Pen was more hopeful, and that night they fell asleep directly, with Punch quite forgetful of the wolves.

The morning found the travellers better prepared for the continuance of their journey, and they toiled on painfully, slept for another night in a patch of forest, and started off at the first blink of dawn so as to reach the river, which was now flowing swiftly westward on their left.

Their provisions were finished, all but a sc.r.a.p of the bread which was so hard that they were glad to soak it in the river; but in spite of their pain they walked on more bravely, their sufferings being alleviated by the water, which was now always on their left, and down to whose bubbling surface they descended from time to time.

"I say," said Punch, all at once, "I hope those chaps were right, because we have come a long way, and I can't see no sign of the army.

You must have patience, Punch."

"All right; but it's nearly all used up. I say, look here, do you think the army will be this side of the river?"

"Can't say, Punch.--I hope so."

"But suppose it's the other side. How are you going to get across? Are we likely to come to a town and a bridge?"

"No; we are too far away up in the mountains. But I dare say we shall be able to find a ford where we can cross."

"Oh!" said Punch thoughtfully; and they journeyed on, beginning to suffer now from hunger in addition to weariness and pain; and just about midday, when the heat of the sun was beating down strongly in the river valley, Punch limped off painfully to where an oak-tree spread its shady boughs, and threw himself p.r.o.ne.

"It's all up, comrade," he said. "Can't go no farther."

"No, no; don't give way," said Pen, who felt painfully disposed to follow his companion's example. "Get well into the shade and have a few hours' sleep. It will be cooler by-and-by, and we shall get on better after a rest. There, try and go to sleep."

"Who's to sleep with a pair of red-hot feet and an empty cupboard? I can't," said Punch. And he took hold of his ankles, drew them up, and sat Chinese-tumbler fashion, rocking himself to and fro; while with a weary sigh Pen sank down beside him and sat gazing into the sunny distance.

"Couldn't we get over to the other side?" said Punch at last. "It's all rocks and stones and rough going this side, and all green and meadowlike over the other. Can you swim?"

"Yes, pretty well," said Pen; "but I should be too tired to try."

"So can I, pretty tidy. I am tired, but not too tired to try. Let's just rest a bit, and then swim across. It runs pretty fast, but 'tain't far, and if it carried us some way down, all the better."

"Very well, after a bit I don't mind if we try," said Pen; "but I must rest first."

Then the boys were silent for a time, for Punch, whose eyes were wandering as he scanned the distance of the verdant undulating slope on the other side of the river, suddenly burst out with: "Yes, we had better get across, for our chaps are sure to be on the other side of the river."

"Why?" said Pen drowsily.

"'Cause we are this. Soldiering always seems to be going by the rules of contrary; and--there!" cried the boy excitedly, "what did I tell you?

There they are!"

"What, our men? Where?" cried Pen excitedly.

"Right over yonder, a mile away."

"I can see nothing."