Without waiting for my answer, he hurried into the stable, from whence he presently returned, leading an animal by a halter.  It was a pony of about thirteen hands high, of a dark red colour; it was very much galled all over, the marks of ropes and thongs being visible on its hide.  The figure, however, was good, and there was an extraordinary brightness in its eye.

“There, your worship,” said the Gypsy; “there is the best pony in all Spain.”

“What do you mean by showing me this wretched creature?” said I.

“This wretched creature,” said the Gypsy, “is a better horse than your Andalou!”

“Perhaps you would not exchange,” said I, smiling.

“Senor, what I say is, that he shall run with your Andalou, and beat him!”

“He looks feeble,” said I; “his work is well nigh done.”

“Feeble as he is, Senor, you could not manage him; no, nor any Englishman in Spain.”

I looked at the creature again, and was still more struck with its figure.  I was in need of a pony to relieve occasionally the horse of Antonio in carrying the baggage which we had brought from Madrid, and though the condition of this was wretched, I thought that by kind treatment I might possibly soon bring him round.

“May I mount this animal?” I demanded.

“He is a baggage pony, Senor, and is ill to mount.  He will suffer none but myself to mount him, who am his master.  When he once commences running, nothing will stop him but the sea.  He springs over hills and mountains, and leaves them behind in a moment.  If you will mount him, Senor, suffer me to fetch a bridle, for you can never hold him in with the halter.”

“This is nonsense,” said I.  “You pretend that he is spirited in order to enhance the price.  I tell you his work is done.”

I took the halter in my hand and mounted.  I was no sooner on his back than the creature, who had before stood stone still, without displaying the slightest inclination to move, and who in fact gave no farther indication of existence than occasionally rolling his eyes and pricking up an ear, sprang forward like a racehorse, at a most desperate gallop.  I had expected that he might kick or fling himself down on the ground, in order to get rid of his burden, but for this escapade I was quite unprepared.  I had no difficulty, however, in keeping on his back, having been accustomed from my childhood to ride without a saddle.  To stop him, however, baffled all my endeavours, and I almost began to pay credit to the words of the Gypsy, who had said that he would run on until he reached the sea.  I had, however, a strong arm, and I tugged at the halter until I compelled him to turn slightly his neck, which from its stiffness might almost have been of wood; he, however, did not abate his speed for a moment.  On the left side of the road down which he was dashing was a deep trench, just where the road took a turn towards the right, and over this he sprang in a sideward direction; the halter broke with the effort, the pony shot forward like an arrow, whilst I fell back into the dust.