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Updated: May 4, 2025
"That horse didn't fall," said Marcos to his father. "He was thrown. There was a wire across the road." "There was none when I got there," replied Sarrion. "Then it had been removed. I saw it as we fell. My foot caught in it or I could have thrown myself clear in the usual way." Sarrion reflected a moment. "Let me look at the note that Zeneta wrote you," he said.
A roar seemed to arise from the river and spread all up the hills, and simultaneously a cloak of white smoke was laid over the green slopes. Juanita saw Zeneta stand for a moment, with sword upheld, while his men gathered round him. Then with a wild shout of exultation he led them down the hill again.
"You will find it in my pocket, hanging behind the door. I was a fool. I was in too great a hurry. Now that I think of it, Zeneta would not have written a note like that." "Then he never wrote it at all," said Sarrion, who had found the paper and was reading it near the window.
He was a traveling knife-grinder, he explained, and had received the letter from a man on the road whose horse had gone lame. One must be mutually helpful on the road. The letter was from Zeneta at the end of the valley; written hastily in pencil. The Carlists were in force between him and Pampeluna; would Marcos ride down to the camp and hear details?
"Masmuda, one of the five principal tribes of Barbaria; the others are Zeneta, called Zenetes in our novels and histories, Sanhagha which we name Zenagas; Gomêsa is spelt in our histories Gomares and Gomeles. Huroara, some of these were originally from Arabia; there were others, but not so distinguished.
They began to climb the slope, and Zeneta took up his position on a rock jutting out of the hillside. He stood on tiptoe and watched the bridge. The last of the Carlists were on it now. Juanita could see his eager face, with intrepid eyes alert, and lips apart, drawn back over his teeth. She glanced at Sarrion, whose lips were the same. His eyes glittered. He was biting his lower lip.
It was Cousin Peligros' happy lot to consider herself the centre of any party and the pivot upon which social events must turn. She bowed graciously to Captain Zeneta when he came forward to take his leave. "It was most considerate of Marcos," she said to Juanita in his hearing, "to provide this escort.
It was the face of a man who had seen something that he would never forget. He looked at his father. "Evasio Mon," he said. "Killed?" Marcos nodded his head. "You did not do it?" said Sarrion sharply. "No. They found him among the Carlists, There were five or six priests. It was Zeneta wounded himself who recognised him and told me. He was not dead when Zeneta found him and he spoke.
"One has gone to Pampeluna, one has taken a note to the officer commanding the reinforcements sent for by Zeneta. The third has gone down to fetch his mother up here to bake bread all day. There will be a little army here to-night." Juanita stood watching Marcos who seemed entirely absorbed in blowing up the fire with a pair of dilapidated bellows.
Some were officers; one looked like General Pacheco, fat with a chuckling laugh; another seemed to be Captain Zeneta the friend who stood by us in the chapel of Our Lady of the Shadows who was saying his prayers, you remember. Most young men are too conceited to say their prayers nowadays. And there were two civilians, in riding-boots all dusty, who looked singularly like you and Uncle Ramon.
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