“Gomez and his bands have lately been in Cordova,” said I; “of course you were present at all that occurred:  how did they comport themselves?”

“Bravely well,” replied the innkeeper, “bravely well, and I wish they were here still.  I hold with neither side, as I told you before, Don Jorge, but I confess I never felt greater pleasure in my life than when they entered the gate; and then to see the dogs of nationals flying through the streets to save their lives—­that was a sight, Don Jorge—­those who met me then at the corner forgot to shout ‘Halloo, Carlista!’ and I heard not a word about cudgelling; some jumped from the wall and ran no one knows where, whilst the rest retired to the house of the Inquisition, which they had fortified, and there they shut themselves up.  Now you must know, Don Jorge, that all the Carlist chiefs lodged at my house, Gomez, Cabrera, and the Sawyer; and it chanced that I was talking to my Lord Gomez in this very room in which we are now, when in came Cabrera in a mighty fury—­he is a small man, Don Jorge, but he is as active as a wild cat and as fierce.  ‘The canaille,’ said he, ’in the Casa of the Inquisition refuse to surrender; give but the order, General, and I will scale the walls with my men and put them all to the sword’; but Gomez said, ’No, we must not spill blood if we can avoid it; order a few muskets to be fired at them, that will be sufficient!’ And so it proved, Don Jorge, for after a few discharges their hearts failed them, and they surrendered at discretion:  whereupon their arms were taken from them and they were permitted to return to their own houses; but as soon as ever the Carlists departed, these fellows became as bold as ever, and it is now once more, ‘Halloo, Carlista!’ when they see me turning the corner, and it is for fear of them that my son must run like a partridge to his own home, now that he has done waiting on your worship, lest they meet him in the street and kill him with their knives!”

“You tell me that you were acquainted with Gomez:  what kind of man might he be?”

“A middle-sized man,” replied the innkeeper; “grave and dark.  But the most remarkable personage in appearance of them all was the Sawyer:  he is a kind of giant, so tall, that when he entered the doorway he invariably struck his head against the lintel.  The one I liked least of all was one Palillos, who is a gloomy savage ruffian whom I knew when he was a postillion.  Many is the time that he has been at my house of old; he is now captain of the Manchegan thieves, for though he calls himself a royalist, he is neither more nor less than a thief:  it is a disgrace to the cause that such as he should be permitted to mix with honourable and brave men; I hate that fellow, Don Jorge:  it is owing to him that I have so few customers.  Travellers are, at present, afraid to pass through La Mancha, lest they fall into his hands.  I wish he were hanged, Don Jorge, and whether by Christinos or Royalists, I care not.”