Part 43

Thus we arrived before a walled town with a Moorish gateway; and, for all the changes which had come or gone since the days of those who set it up, the place might have been under a spell of enchantment, a kind of “sleeping sickness,” for at least five hundred unnoticeable years.

Our maps said that it was Ciudad Real; Colonel O’Donnel added that of all garrison towns it was the one which young officers hated worst. And while the car paused with panting motor for a discussion as to the way on, two dark youths by the roadside interested themselves in our situation. They had red handkerchiefs twisted round their heads, and the smarter of the pair wore two sombreros, one over the other—a simple way of carrying his Sunday hat on week-days; and they looked up from a meal of maize bread and onions to enter into conversation.

Had our honours any doubt as to the road? If so, and our worships would deign to mention the destination desired, they might have the happiness of helping us.

We wanted to go to Manzanares, I replied.

In that case, replied the owner of the two sombreros, there was a short cut which would be of assistance. Not only would it save us a bad section of road, but an hour’s time as well. We must not go through the town, but turn to the left round the wall, nor must we enter the village which we would soon see, but skirt that also. Presently we would come to fields planted with olives, and our way would lead through these. We must not be disheartened if it appeared wild and rough. We should be able to pass, and in the end would be glad that we had availed ourselves of such advice.

Taking this for granted, I gave each of the lads a peseta, which they accepted more as their just due than as a favour. To avoid the town, it seemed that we must steer into chaos, void and formless; but there were only a few hundred yards of desert. Beyond, we found ourselves in a good road, which led to the white village we had been told to expect; and there, as we were already primed with information, we wasted no time in asking questions. Instead, we plunged into open country, with a vista of olive trees in the grey-green distance. From fair, the road dwindled to doubtful; then to a certainty of badness. It narrowed; softened to a sandbank; hardened into a wilderness of rocks and stones scattered between deep ruts dug by the wheels of ox-carts. Apparently no other vehicles than these had ever weathered the terrors of this passage; yet we persevered; for here were the promised olive trees, so near, indeed, that we lurched against them as we rocked from side to side. We had been warned whatever happened not to be discouraged, and we cheered each other bravely, while our heads bumped the roof. “We shall be out of this presently,” we gasped. “It will surely be all right soon.”

Meanwhile, however, it was a nightmare; the sort of thing which a delirious chauffeur might dream and rave of, in a fever; and instead of improving, the way grew worse.

“Can it be possible those chaps deceived us on purpose?” I jerked out between chattering teeth, as the car sprang from one three-foot rut into another, in spite of Ropes’ coaxing.

“I’ll bet it’s a trick of Carmona’s,” gasped Dick, at the risk of biting his tongue. “I thought that fellow in the two hats looked a fox.”

“I did see them laughing when I glanced round after we passed,” said Pilar, as jumpily as if she rode a trotting horse. “But I—thought—they were pleased with the pesetas.”

“I expect they’d got more than we gave, to send us the wrong way,” growled Dick. “We must have been dreaming not to think of it.”

“We can’t go about suspecting everyone we meet to be in Carmona’s pay,” said I. “We’d be mistaken as often as right, and then we should feel small. After all, there isn’t much harm done.”

“It’s a wonder we haven’t smashed something, sir,” sighed the much enduring Ropes.

“That’s what Carmona prayed to his demons we would do,” said Dick.

“I’ll back San Cristóbal against them all,” said I.

“Besides, there was the mule with the four white feet, and the goat-herd,” Pilar reminded me.

“I can’t say they’ve brought us luck.”

“Wait,” said Pilar.

“Meanwhile let’s turn back,” said Dick. “Another hundred yards like this, and even if we don’t smash the differential or the chassis, Ropes will get side-slip of the brain. Half an hour of such driving must be equal to a week in Purgatory for a chauffeur.”

We did turn back, and feeling years older, arrived once more at the point from which he had started. We would have given something to see the man with the two hats, and his companion, but they had prudently taken themselves off, like full-fed vultures. This time we made no inquiries, but trusted to our intuition and our maps, which, without once contradicting each other, led us into a decent road that seemed like a path to paradise after all we had endured.

Making up for lost time, and revelling in joy of motion, we put on our best speed, which for a few moments brought the roadside telegraph posts as close together as fir trees in a Norwegian forest. But suddenly the motor slowed, and stopped with a tired sigh within sight of a village white as newly polished silver.

“Petrol gone,” said Ropes. “It oughtn’t to be, but it is. Extra strain in that short cut of the Duke’s used it up.”

He got out, and untied a bidon from the reserve store fastened upon the foot-board. But the tin was light in his hand as a feather. He gave a low whistle, and a shadow darkened his face, a shadow which was not made by the brim of his motor-cap as he bent his head to examine the bidon.

“There’s a leak here, sir,” he said to me—for though Dick was now supposed to be his master, in moments of stress he clung to old habits. “Looks as if the tin had been pricked with some sharp instrument. H’m! Shouldn’t wonder if it had been. It would be of a piece with all the rest.”

“You mean at Toledo?”

“Yes, sir. Everything was right, then. I bought enough petrol in Madrid to last to Cordoba, pretty well all we could carry, and ordered more to meet us there, grande vitesse, in case I couldn’t get it—as you said we were sure now to go that way.”

“Well, let’s look at your other bidons. We shall be in a fix if we’re held up here.”

“Two more empty,” announced Ropes. “And three bidons don’t suddenly take to leaking, of themselves. I suppose if I’d had my wits about me, I’d have looked, at Toledo, before starting; but who’s to think of everything? I did have a thorough go at the car, for fear of mischief, but forgot the bidons However, there’s one to go on with, I’m pretty sure; for it’s stowed away in a place nobody would think of, if they had to do the villain act in a hurry.”