We had talked of Linares, the lead-mining town, as a halting-place for the night, as we were pledged not to track down the Lecomte; and on the outskirts of Bailen, as twilight fell, the Gloria was brought to a sudden stop in the midst of a pulsating crowd, that we might ask the way.

If we aroused their curiosity, they piqued us to the same emotion, for most of the men, and there were hundreds, not only wore upon their legs a kind of divided pinafore, but carried on their backs an apparatus which would have excited wonder in any other than this fairy country.

The machine reminded me at first glance of a fire-extinguisher; then of some appliance used by miners to hold a supply of oxygen. One part of me wished to know what the instrument was; the other preferred to remain in ignorance, lest the explanation should prove too commonplace. But Waring had all my curiosity, and none of my scruples; so he asked a question with a gesture more intelligible than his Spanish; and just as I had feared, the weird union of reservoirs and nozzles was no more than a contrivance for spraying vines to protect them from phylloxera.

As always, we brought the fascinations of the Cherub to bear upon the crowd, as one trains the latest gun upon the enemy; and his crooning brought out facts which made d.i.c.k think it high time he got things into shape, and his motor service to running. It seemed that once upon a time a good road had been made from Bailen to Linares, but the road was crossed by a river; and when the masonry supports for a bridge had been built, it turned out that girders had been forgotten. Somehow, it was n.o.body's place to jog anybody else's memory, and there the matter had ended, so long ago that gra.s.s and flowers had sprouted among the futile stones.

It appeared the most natural thing in the world to the people of Bailen, who were accustomed to ford the river, when they wanted to cross, with horses; but though the weather had been dry for the last few days, the recent torrents which had fallen in the mountains, still swelled the volume of water to such a height that it might "put out the fire in the automobile."

I was glad to hear this, because if it would put out our fire, it would put out Carmona's; and as he was prudent in matters concerning his car, he would probably have stopped at Andujar; thus fate would again bring me near to Monica, despite our promise.

The main reason for going to Linares was because the Cherub believed there was a fair hotel, built to accommodate Englishmen collected for the lead-mining; therefore it was without regret that we turned the Gloria to follow the _carretera_ to Cordoba.

Our advisers ran after us with a warning to avoid the rough cobbles of Bailen by taking the _ronda_ which skirts the town on its left. So slowly, in dusk that blossomed blue as the myrtle flower, we pa.s.sed round outside the town, regained the high road, leaping at speed into a world of wide, silvery s.p.a.ces and mystery of violet hollows, diving into the deep valley of the swollen river, and rejoicing in a hard surface of good macadam for fifteen miles or more.

Thus we arrived at Andujar, the lights of our great acetylene lamps (lit before the sky turned from opal to amethyst) prying into dark doorways and windows as Rontgen rays pry through flesh to bone.

In the white glare, pretty girls in doorways looked like actresses in a costume play, waiting in the wings to "go on." But no yells of a stage mob ever were so realistic as those of the unrehea.r.s.ed band who howled over my poor Gloria as she deposited her pa.s.sengers at the _fonda_; and Ropes and I pushed her through a wall of human beings to a stable-garage, where her flywheel gushed a protest of fiery sparks on the high stone step of entrance.

The _fonda_ was pa.s.sable; but Carmona and his party were not there; neither were they anywhere else in Andujar, as we made it our business to discover; and we guessed that the grey car must after all have ventured to Linares.

As it had vanished, we were free to start when we chose next morning. So we chose an early hour, flying over good roads through a land embroidered with the scarlet of poppies, the blue of gentian, the pink of clover, and gold of b.u.t.tercups, st.i.tched in with the silver of little running streams.

" 'Give us bread and give us bulls,' is the cry of this country," said the Cherub, greeting with joyous glances each feature of his loved Andalucia.

"It sounds like a beef sandwich," d.i.c.k reflected aloud; but Pilar reproached him for flippancy. "You mustn't make jokes about bread in Andalucia!" she exclaimed. "And it's called a sin ever to throw away a crumb. Because it's the gift of Heaven, if you drop a bit you must pick it up and apologize by kissing it."

"Why not eat it instead?" asked d.i.c.k.

"You can do that afterwards. And if bread's made with holes in it, you must stand the holey side up, because the spirit of G.o.d enters through the holes to bless you."

"I thought only olives were sacred in Andalucia," said d.i.c.k, staring away over enormous tracts of the silver-grey trees growing out of copper soil, waving as far as the eye could follow, to the floating line of ethereal blue mountains.

"They're sacred, too," a.s.sented Pilar. "Did you know, in the old days they used to be sold only for gold, gold carried on mule back in great bags, and exchanged on the spot, for the trees-so many for so much? We have olives at our place, and they're gathered in such a nice old-fashioned way; papa doesn't care for new ways, even if they make a little more money. It's pretty to watch. I should like you to see it, only-Senor Waring doesn't like old-fashioned things."

"I like making the 'little more money,' I'm afraid," d.i.c.k confessed.

"Sometimes I like money too-when I want to buy anything. At other times I don't care. Lately I've been saving up. I've got one thousand nine hundred pesetas."

"Good gracious!" laughed d.i.c.k, "are you going to buy a bull-farm with such a gigantic sum?"

"Funny you should have said that. I'm going to buy one bull. He's the only possession of the Duke of Carmona's that I want, and I want him so much that I've sacrificed oh,-I can't remember how many Paris hats, and shoes, and silk petticoats, and pretty dresses to get him, with _all_ my own money! The worst of it is, he'll _never_ know about the hats and things."

d.i.c.k was looking interested now.

"What in the name of goodness will you do with him when you get him?" he inquired.

"Save him," said the girl.

"From what?"

"From the bull-ring. Oh, he's a _toro bravo_, is Vivillo, a heart of gold.

Not the most famous _torero_ in Spain shall pierce it. I've loved him for four years, since he was a baby at his mother's side, and Rafael Calmenare used to take me to visit him; loved him better even than Corcito, and all this time I've been saving up to buy him before he's of the age for a _corrida_. Now I've enough, or nearly, and there aren't many weeks to waste, for soon he'll be five; and already he has the strength and courage of three bulls, my Vivillo! I long to see him again-long for the day when I can put my arms round his great neck, and say, 'Hermanito, you're mine!' "

"Your arms round his neck!" gasped d.i.c.k. "A fighting bull! You're joking.

Say you mean an Irish bull, and put me out of misery."

"He's a true Spanish grandee of a bull, and my arms have been round his neck often," said Pilarcita.

"Then he can't be very fierce."

"He can be terrible. He has nearly killed two men-strangers who teased him, so he meant no harm, poor darling! and they daren't let any except black horses come near him. No Muira bull is more savage than he if he's roused. You know, the Duke of Carmona's bulls are as celebrated as the Muiras themselves. But Vivillo has always loved me, and one or two others-me best, though-and he'll eat out of my hand, the great brown velvet beast, like a kitten."

"How long since he's seen you?" asked d.i.c.k.

"Six weeks."

"I wouldn't trust his memory."

"I trust it as I would my brother's. You shall see me petting him."

"Great Scott! you won't let her risk her life with this wild beast, will you, Colonel O'Donnel?" d.i.c.k cried out.

But the Cherub smiled his placid smile.

"Don Cipriano calls her Una, because she can tame wild beasts," said he.

d.i.c.k's face became almost too expressive. If he did not want Pilar's eyes to read his every emotion, I thought he would be wiser to put on his motor-mask.

XXV

WHAT CORDOBA LACKED

Through a flowery field of cloth-of-gold we came, while the afternoon was young, into Cordoba-"Kartuba the Important," lying like a grave entombing its dead glory, p.r.o.ne at the foot of tombstone mountains.

After the dazzle of wild-flowers shining in the sun, and the ozone of country breezes, a sudden entrance into the network of narrow streets was like being thrown, without a clue, into the Minotaur's dark labyrinth.

I had thought that no town could have narrower streets than Toledo; but the streets of Cordoba were mere slits between house-walls. As we sc.r.a.ped through on the car, d.i.c.k likened the town to a huge white cake divided into slices by a sharp knife, but left in shape with only one or two pieces pulled out to loosen the ma.s.s.

Still, the stone-paved slits contrived to make pictures; with here and there a pair of splendid Moorish doors, a row of ancient eastern-patterned windows, or a fairy glimpse of a sunlit _patio_ beyond a tunnel of shadow; a fountain spraying jewels, a waving of palms and glow of hanging roses.

"She's sure to be here," I said to myself, as we stopped at last before the princ.i.p.al hotel. "Since the journey's supposed to be a pleasure trip, Carmona's bound to give his guests time to see the sights of Cordoba."