“Master,” Morano said, “that knave shall row us there.”

Rodriguez seeing that the idea was fixed in Morano’s mind determined that events would move it sooner than argument, and so made no reply.

“Shall I tell him, master?” asked Morano.

“Yes,” said Rodriguez, “if he can row us over the Pyrenees.”

This was the permission that Morano sought, and a hideous yell broke from his throat hailing the boatman.  The boatman looked up lazily, a young man with strong brown arms, turning black moustaches towards Morano.  Again Morano hailed him and ran along the bank, while the boat drifted down and the boatman steered in towards Morano.  Somehow Morano persuaded him to come in to see what he wanted; and in a creek he ran his boat aground, and there he and Morano argued and bargained.  But Rodriguez remained where he was, wondering why it took so long to turn his servant’s mind from that curious fancy.  At last Morano returned.

“Well?” said Rodriguez.

“Master,” said Morano, “he will row us to the Pyrenees.”

“The Pyrenees!” said Rodriguez.  “The Ebro runs into the sea.”  For they had taught him this at the college of San Josephus.

“He will row us there,” said Morano, “for a gold piece a day, rowing five hours each day.”

Now between them they had but four gold pieces; but that did not make the Ebro run northward.  It seemed that the Ebro, after going their way, as Morano had said, for twenty or thirty miles, was joined by the river Segre, and that where the Ebro left them, turning eastwards, the course of the Segre took them on their way:  but it would be rowing against the current.

“How far is it?” said Rodriguez.

“A hundred miles, he says,” answered Morano.  “He knows it well.”

Rodriguez calculated swiftly.  First he added thirty miles; for he knew that his countrymen took a cheerful view of distance, seldom allowing any distance to oppress them under its true name at the out set of a journey; then he guessed that the boatman might row five miles an hour for the first thirty miles with the stream of the Ebro, and he hoped that he might row three against the Segre until they came near the mountains, where the current might grow too strong.

“Morano,” he said, “we shall have to row too.”

“Row, master?” said Morano.

“We can pay him for four days,” said Rodriguez.  “If we all row we may go far on our way.”

“It is better than riding,” replied Morano with entire resignation.

And so they walked to the creek and Rodriguez greeted the boatman, whose name was Perez; and they entered the boat and he rowed them down to Caspe.  And, in the house of Perez, Rodriguez slept that night in a large dim room, untidy with diverse wares:  they slept on heaps of things that pertained to the river and fishing.  Yet it was late before Rodriguez slept, for in sight of his mind came glimpses at last