To this archway we hastily crossed, and had barely time to close the door behind us before the soldiers, whose billets lay farther up the lane, came running by in twos and threes for the alarm-post, the later ones buckling their accoutrements as they ran halting now and then, and muttering as they fumbled with a strap or a button.  Jose at my instruction had loosened his horse’s off hind shoe just sufficiently to allow it to clap; and as soon as he was ready I opened the door boldly, and we stepped out into the lane among the soldiers, cursing the dog’s son of a smith who would not arise from his lazy bed to attend to two poor marketers pressed for time.

Now it had been dim within the archway, but out in the lane there was plenty of light, and it did me good to see Jose start when his eyes fell on me.  For a couple of seconds I am sure he believed himself betrayed:  and yet, as I explained to him afterwards, it was perhaps the simplest of all my disguises and—­barring the wig—­depended more upon speech and gait than upon any alteration of the face. (For a particular account of it I must refer the reader back to my adventure in Villafranca.  On this occasion, having proved it once, I felt more confident; and since it deceived Jose, I felt I could challenge scrutiny as an aged peasant travelling with his son to market.)

A couple of soldiers passed us and flung jests behind them as we hobbled down the lane, the loose shoe clacking on the cobbles, Jose tugging at his bridle, and I limping behind and swearing volubly, with bent back and head low by the horse’s rump, and on the near side, which would be the unexposed one when we gained the ford.  And so we reached the main street and the river, Jose turning to point with wonder at the troops as we hustled past.  One or two made a feint to steal an egg from our panniers.  Jose protested, halting and calling in Spanish for protection.  A sergeant interfered; whereupon the men began to bait us, calling after us in scraps of camp Spanish.  Jose lost his temper admirably; for me, I shuffled along as an old man dazed with the scene; and when we came to the water’s edge felt secure enough to attempt a trifle of comedy business as Jose hoisted my old limbs on to the horse’s back behind the panniers.  It fetched a shout of laughter.  And then, having slipped off boots and stockings deliberately, Jose took hold of the bridle again and waded into the stream.  We were safe.

I had found time for a glance at the farther bank, and saw that the troopers were leisurely riding to and fro.  They met and parted just as we entered the ford.  Before we were half-way across they had come near to the end of their beat, with about three hundred yards between them, and I was thinking this a fair opportunity for the Captain when Jose whispered, “There he goes,” very low and quick, and with a souse, horse and rider struck the water behind us by the gable of the inn.  As the stream splashed up around them we saw the horse slip