They ate and slept at noon in the forest’s glittering greenness.

They passed afterwards by the old house in the wood, in which the bowmen feasted, for they followed the track that they had taken before.  They knocked loud on the door as they passed but the house was empty.  They heard the sound of a multitude felling trees, but whenever they approached the sound of chopping ceased.  Again and again they left the track and rode towards the sound of chopping, and every time the chopping died away just as they drew close.  They saw many a tree half felled, but never a green bowman.  And at last they left it as one of the wonders of the forest and returned to the track lest they lose it, for the track was more important to them than curiosity, and evening had come and was filling the forest with dimness, and shadows stealing across the track were beginning to hide it away.  In the distance they heard the invisible woodmen chopping.

And then they camped again and lit their fire; and night came down and the two wanderers slept.

The nightingale sang until he woke the cuckoo:  and the cuckoo filled the leafy air so full of his two limpid notes that the dreams of Rodriguez heard them and went away, back over their border to dreamland.  Rodriguez awoke Morano, who lit his fire:  and soon they had struck their camp and were riding on.

By noon they saw that if they hurried on they could come to Lowlight by nightfall.  But this was not Rodriguez’ plan, for he had planned to ride into Lowlight, as he had done once before, at the hour when Serafina sat in her balcony in the cool of the evening, as Spanish ladies in those days sometimes did.  So they tarried long by their resting-place at noon and then rode slowly on.  And when they camped that night they were still in the forest.

“Morano,” said Rodriguez over the camp-fire, “tomorrow brings me to Lowlight.”

“Aye, master,” said Morano, “we shall be there tomorrow.”

“That senor with whom I had a meeting there,” said Rodriguez, “he ...”

“He loves me not,” said Morano.

“He would surely kill you,” replied Rodriguez.

Morano looked sideways at his frying-pan.

“It would therefore be better,” continued Rodriguez, “that you should stay in this camp while I give such greetings of ceremony in Lowlight as courtesy demands.”

“I will stay, master,” said Morano.

Rodriguez was glad that this was settled, for he felt that to follow his dreams of so many nights to that balconied house in Lowlight with Morano would be no better than visiting a house accompanied by a dog that had bitten one of the family.

“I will stay,” repeated Morano.  “But, master ...”  The fat man’s eyes were all supplication.

“Yes?” said Rodriguez.

“Leave me your mandolin,” implored Morano.

“My mandolin?” said Rodriguez.

“Master,” said Morano, “that senor who likes my fat body so ill he would kill me, he ...”