led the guide; and then, "Hist! hist!" for there was a
whispering behind, and directly after the _contrabandista_ captain
joined them, to ask a low question in Spanish.

"The enemy are in front. They are before us," said the smuggler in
French to Pen.

Then he spoke to his follower, who immediately began to retrace his
steps, while the leader followed him with the two lads, who were led
back to where the King was waiting in the midst of his followers; and
now a short colloquy took place which resulted in all facing round and
following the two smugglers, who retraced their path for the next
half-hour, and then suddenly struck off along a rugged track whose
difficulty was such that it was quite plain to the two lads that they
were striking off right up into the mountains.

It was a wearisome route that was only followed with great difficulty,
and now it was that Pen's wounded leg began to give him such intense
pain that there were moments when he felt that he must break down.

But it came to an end at last, just before daybreak, in the midst of
what seemed to be an amphitheatre of stones, or what might have been
some quarry or place where prospecting had taken place in search of some
one or other of the minerals which abounded in parts of the sterile
land.

And now a halt was made, the smuggler picking out a spot which was rough
with bushes; and here he signed to the two lads to lie down and rest, a
silent command so welcome that Pen sank at full length at once, the
rugged couch seeming to him so welcome that it felt to him like down.

A few specks of orange light high up in the sky told that sunrise was
very near at hand, and for a few minutes Pen gazed upwards, rapt in
wonder by the beauty of the sight. But as he lay and listened to the
low murmur of voices, these gradually grew fainter and apparently more
distant, while the ruddy specks of light paled and there seemed to be
nothing more, for pain and exhaustion had had their way. Thoughts of
Spaniards, officers and men, and the _contrabandistas_ with their arms
of knife and carbine, were quite as naught, danger non-existent, and for
the time being sleep was lord of all.

CHAPTER THIRTY ONE.

A DREAM OF A RAMROD.

It seemed to Pen to be a dream, and then by some kind of mental change
it appeared to be all reality. In the first instance he felt that he
was lying in the loft over the priest's room, trying to sleep, but he
could not get himself into a co