But we could find no other stable, and were therefore obliged to tether the unhappy animals to the filthy mangers.  The only provender that could be obtained was Indian corn.  At nightfall I led them to drink at a small river which passes through Betanzos.  My entero swallowed the water greedily; but as we returned towards the inn, I observed that he was sad, and that his head drooped.  He had scarcely reached the stall, when a deep hoarse cough assailed him.  I remembered the words of the ostler in the mountains, “the man must be mad who brings a horse to Galicia, and doubly so he who brings an entero.”  During the greater part of the day the animal had been much heated, walking amidst a throng of at least a hundred pony mares.  He now began to shiver violently.  I procured a quart of anise brandy, with which, assisted by Antonio, I rubbed his body for nearly an hour, till his coat was covered with a white foam; but his cough increased perceptibly, his eyes were becoming fixed, and his members rigid.  “There is no remedy but bleeding,” said I.  “Run for a farrier.”  The farrier came.  “You must bleed the horse,” I shouted; “take from him an azumbre of blood.”  The farrier looked at the animal, and made for the door.  “Where are you going?” I demanded.  “Home,” he replied.  “But we want you here.”  “I know you do,” was his answer; “and on that account I am going.”  “But you must bleed the horse, or he will die.”  “I know he will,” said the farrier, “but I will not bleed him.”  “Why?” I demanded.  “I will not bleed him, but under one condition.”  “What is that?” “What is it!—­that you pay me an ounce of gold.”  “Run for the red morocco case,” said I to Antonio.  It was brought; I took out a large fleam, and with the assistance of a stone, drove it into the principal artery horse’s leg.  The blood at first refused to flow; with much rubbing, it began to trickle, and then to stream; it continued so for half an hour.  “The horse is fainting, mon maitre,” said Antonio.  “Hold him up,” said I, “and in another ten minutes we will stop the vein.”

I closed the vein, and whilst doing so I looked up into the farrier’s face, arching my eyebrows.

“Carracho! what an evil wizard,” muttered the farrier, as he walked away.  “If I had my knife here I would stick him.”  We bled the horse again, during the night, which second bleeding I believe saved him.  Towards morning he began to eat his food.

The next day we departed for Coruna, leading our horses by the bridle:  the day was magnificent, and our walk delightful.  We passed along beneath tall umbrageous trees, which skirted the road from Betanzos to within a short distance of Coruna.  Nothing could be more smiling and cheerful than the appearance of the country around.  Vines were growing in abundance in the vicinity of the villages through which we passed, whilst millions of maize plants upreared their tall stalks and displayed their broad green leaves in the fields.  After walking about