I confess I did not much like this decision of the Gypsy; I felt very slight inclination to leave the town behind and to venture into unknown places in the dark night:  amidst rain and mist, for the wind had now dropped, and the rain began again to fall briskly.  I was, moreover, much fatigued, and wished for nothing better than to deposit myself in some comfortable manger, where I might sink to sleep, lulled by the pleasant sound of horses and mules despatching their provender.  I had, however, put myself under the direction of the Gypsy, and I was too old a traveller to quarrel with my guide under the present circumstances.  I therefore followed close at his crupper; our only light being the glow emitted from the Gypsy’s cigar; at last he flung it from his mouth into a puddle, and we were then in darkness.

We proceeded in this manner for a long time; the Gypsy was silent; I myself was equally so; the rain descended more and more.  I sometimes thought I heard doleful noises, something like the hooting of owls.  “This is a strange night to be wandering abroad in,” I at length said to Antonio.

“It is, brother,” said he, “but I would sooner be abroad in such a night, and in such places, than in the estaripel of Trujillo.”

We wandered at least a league farther, and appeared now to be near a wood, for I could occasionally distinguish the trunks of immense trees.  Suddenly Antonio stopped his mule; “Look, brother,” said he, “to the left, and tell me if you do not see a light; your eyes are sharper than mine.”  I did as he commanded me.  At first I could see nothing, but moving a little farther on I plainly saw a large light at some distance, seemingly amongst the trees.  “Yonder cannot be a lamp or candle,” said I; “it is more like the blaze of a fire.”  “Very likely,” said Antonio.  “There are no queres (houses) in this place; it is doubtless a fire made by durotunes (shepherds); let us go and join them, for, as you say, it is doleful work wandering about at night amidst rain and mire.”

We dismounted and entered what I now saw was a forest, leading the animals cautiously amongst the trees and brushwood.  In about five minutes we reached a small open space, at the farther side of which, at the foot of a large cork tree, a fire was burning, and by it stood or sat two or three figures; they had heard our approach, and one of them now exclaimed Quien Vive?  “I know that voice,” said Antonio, and leaving the horse with me, rapidly advanced towards the fire:  presently I heard an Ola! and a laugh, and soon the voice of Antonio summoned me to advance.  On reaching the fire I found two dark lads, and a still darker woman of about forty; the latter seated on what appeared to be horse or mule furniture.  I likewise saw a horse and two donkeys tethered to the neighbouring trees.  It was in fact a Gypsy bivouac. . . .  “Come forward, brother, and show yourself,” said Antonio to me; “you are amongst friends; these are of the Errate, the very people whom I expected to find at Trujillo, and in whose house we should have slept.”