His eye was in constant motion as if it were trying to do the work of the two; but when Byrne made inquiries as to the possibility of hiring a mule, it became immovably fixed in the direction of the door which was closely besieged by the curious.In front of them, just within the threshold, the little man in the large cloak and yellow hat had taken his stand.He was a diminutive person, a mere homunculus, Byrne describes him, in a ridiculously mysterious, yet assertive attitude, a corner of his cloak thrown cavalierly over his left shoulder, muffling his chin and mouth; while the broad-brimmed yellow hat hung on a corner of his square little head.He stood there taking snuff, repeatedly.
"A mule," repeated the wine-seller, his eyes fixed on that quaint and snuffy figure..."No, senor officer! Decidedly no mule is to be got in this poor place."The coxswain, who stood by with the true sailor's air of unconcern in strange surroundings, struck in quietly -"If your honour will believe me Shank's pony's the best for this job.I would have to leave the beast somewhere, anyhow, since the captain has told me that half my way will be along paths fit only for goats."The diminutive man made a step forward, and speaking through the folds of the cloak which seemed to muffle a sarcastic intention -"Si, senor.They are too honest in this village to have a single mule amongst them for your worship's service.To that I can bear testimony.In these times it's only rogues or very clever men who can manage to have mules or any other four-footed beasts and the wherewithal to keep them.But what this valiant mariner wants is a guide; and here, senor, behold my brother-in-law, Bernardino, wine-seller, and alcade of this most Christian and hospitable village, who will find you one."This, Mr.Byrne says in his relation, was the only thing to do.Ayouth in a ragged coat and goat-skin breeches was produced after some more talk.The English officer stood treat to the whole village, and while the peasants drank he and Cuba Tom took their departure accompanied by the guide.The diminutive man in the cloak had disappeared.
Byrne went along with the coxswain out of the village.He wanted to see him fairly on his way; and he would have gone a greater distance, if the seaman had not suggested respectfully the advisability of return so as not to keep the ship a moment longer than necessary so close in with the shore on such an unpromising looking morning.A wild gloomy sky hung over their heads when they took leave of each other, and their surroundings of rank bushes and stony fields were dreary.
"In four days' time," were Byrne's last words, "the ship will stand in and send a boat on shore if the weather permits.If not you'll have to make it out on shore the best you can till we come along to take you off.""Right you are, sir," answered Tom, and strode on.Byrne watched him step out on a narrow path.In a thick pea-jacket with a pair of pistols in his belt, a cutlass by his side, and a stout cudgel in his hand, he looked a sturdy figure and well able to take care of himself.He turned round for a moment to wave his hand, giving to Byrne one more view of his honest bronzed face with bushy whiskers.The lad in goatskin breeches looking, Byrne says, like a faun or a young satyr leaping ahead, stopped to wait for him, and then went off at a bound.Both disappeared.
Byrne turned back.The hamlet was hidden in a fold of the ground, and the spot seemed the most lonely corner of the earth and as if accursed in its uninhabited desolate barrenness.Before he had walked many yards, there appeared very suddenly from behind a bush the muffled up diminutive Spaniard.Naturally Byrne stopped short.
The other made a mysterious gesture with a tiny hand peeping from under his cloak.His hat hung very much at the side of his head.
"Senor," he said without any preliminaries."Caution! It is a positive fact that one-eyed Bernardino, my brother-in-law, has at this moment a mule in his stable.And why he who is not clever has a mule there? Because he is a rogue; a man without conscience.
Because I had to give up the MACHO to him to secure for myself a roof to sleep under and a mouthful of OLLA to keep my soul in this insignificant body of mine.Yet, senor, it contains a heart many times bigger than the mean thing which beats in the breast of that brute connection of mine of which I am ashamed, though I opposed that marriage with all my power.Well, the misguided woman suffered enough.She had her purgatory on this earth - God rest her soul."Byrne says he was so astonished by the sudden appearance of that sprite-like being, and by the sardonic bitterness of the speech, that he was unable to disentangle the significant fact from what seemed but a piece of family history fired out at him without rhyme or reason.Not at first.He was confounded and at the same time he was impressed by the rapid forcible delivery, quite different from the frothy excited loquacity of an Italian.So he stared while the homunculus letting his cloak fall about him, aspired an immense quantity of snuff out of the hollow of his palm.
"A mule," exclaimed Byrne seizing at last the real aspect of the discourse."You say he has got a mule? That's queer! Why did he refuse to let me have it?"The diminutive Spaniard muffled himself up again with great dignity.
"QUIEN SABE," he said coldly, with a shrug of his draped shoulders.
