Outing . g downthe stairs, started on his long tramp home. We were of one kind that night in thevillage club. The traveling bartender dida thriving business, and the air was bluewith friendly smoke. It was then we askedthe meaning of the rude cross which hadmarked the place where our car lay. Itwas then we learned that ten days beforea wayfarer had been shot and killed uponthat very spot—on a dark night while therain fell. Bandits? Ah, no, senora, inSpain never! Probably for love! But, we persisted, we left our motorcar upon the road. It was have traveled without firearms andwith
Outing . g downthe stairs, started on his long tramp home. We were of one kind that night in thevillage club. The traveling bartender dida thriving business, and the air was bluewith friendly smoke. It was then we askedthe meaning of the rude cross which hadmarked the place where our car lay. Itwas then we learned that ten days beforea wayfarer had been shot and killed uponthat very spot—on a dark night while therain fell. Bandits? Ah, no, senora, inSpain never! Probably for love! But, we persisted, we left our motorcar upon the road. It was have traveled without firearms andwith money on us. We had no maps toguide us and little knowledge of the there no men bad enough to turnbandit even for a night? There was a moments silence as thespokesman turned into Spanish our laughed, others shrugged their shoul-ders, but a tall, bronzed muleteer, smokingupon the balcony, flicked the ashes fromhis cigarro and sonorously murmured: La Muerte, que mata, no se Vending our way through Baza, whose streets remind us of country roads at h< The Spanish Bandit and the Motor Car 177 Catching the sentence, which was mean-ingless to us, we repeated it in interroga-tion, but the spokesman as though thedriver had overstepped the bounds ofcourtesy, led us on to other subjects. Forthe night we forgot it, but with the firstwhirr of the engine the next day, it cameback to us, beating itself out rhythmicallyas we journeyed toward the coast. Within a few miles of Murcia, a citywith a bath tub, as it had been describedin Baza, we met a little girl in Sabbathbest leading a small donkey. Fascinated,they stood motionless at our approach, but clumsily in unwieldy shoes, I panting butpersistent with the peseta clutched in myhand. Suddenly they dropped beyond thehorizon and were lost to view. We neverfound a trace of them afterward, and, ahalf hour later, the artist, scouting care-fully along, picked me up, lamenting thatour kindly intentioned selves c
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Keywords: ., bookcentury1800, bookdecade, booksubjectsports, booksubjecttravel
