that there were
three small harbours on the northern coast of Minorca, used exclusively
by fishermen and _contrabandistas_. Further, being a man of guile,
he understood the ways of the outpost Carabinero. He knew that if an
open boat were seen to come into one of these village harbours from
somewhere out of vague seaward darkness, the local preserver of the
king's peace and the king's customs would not be rude enough to look in
that direction. That uniformed worthy would understand that some
gentleman in the neighbourhood wished to land a cargo, probably of
smokable tobacco, free of duty. He would know that if he interfered, he
would probably test the chill sensation of dull steel jabbed between
the shoulder blades before many days were over. He would expect that in
the ordinary course of events judicious short-sightedness would be
rewarded by notes for many pesetas, and American tobacco in generous
quantity. And he would reroll and smoke his Government cigarette,
placidly non-interferent, thanking his best saint for the happy time to
come.

And in fine it was managed in this very fashion. The senna steamer
hove-to in the twilight some three miles off-shore, and a boat put into
the tiny sheltered bay of Cavalleria just two hours after nightfall.
The boat scarcely touched the beach. She disgorged herself of two
passengers and a small lot of luggage, and departed whence she had come
in scared haste.

A Carabinero, with his back ostentatiously turned to the newcomers,
leaned on his rifle, whistling mournfully. Sadi wrapped a greasy note
round a pebble, and chucked it to the man's feet, whence it was
transferred to the pocket of his ragged red trousers without comment,
and then the pair took their way up past the carvel-built fishing-boats
into the straggling village street.

Cavalleria has no regular _fonda_, or even _casa_, but there is a shop
where they sell wine, and black tumour-covered sausages, and white
bread, and _algobra_ beans, and Scotch sewing cotton. The whole village
knew of their arrival, and were gathered in this shop to meet them when
they came in. Few questions were asked. The Spaniard of the lower
orders has a most Hibernian weakness for anything smacking of
conspiracy, or any enterprise which is "agin' the Government." Pether
saluted the audience with one mysterious grin, which they appeared to
consider as fully explanatory, and then inviting them all to drink with
him, put down a peseta,[2] and rec