"Is this how people feel when they talk of the evil eye?" he said to himself with an unmirthful laugh. Then he donned his own clothes and went gloomily downstairs to find his brother officers. *CHAPTER IX* *Some Surprises* At the Cross-Roads—A Mêlée—Bagged—Franceschi’s Chasseurs—Under Guard—A Hard Case—Moore’s Plans—Reconnoitring—Within the Gates—Caged—Blind Man’s Buff—A Strategic Move—A Dash on Rueda—An Alarm—A Chase in the Dark—A Tragedy About two o’clock on a frosty December afternoon, some ten days after Jack Lumsden’s return to Salamanca, four riders were walking their horses up a slight incline about three miles out of Alaejos towards Valladolid. Three of them were troopers in the 18th Light Dragoons, the fourth, riding slightly in advance of the rest, was Jack himself, now wearing his own uniform, and mounted on a fine black charger borrowed from the regiment to which his companions belonged. A few yards from the crest of the hill, lying back from the road, was a mean-looking hovel at the door of which stood a little black-eyed girl, who watched the advancing riders with her finger in her mouth. "Hullo, little girl," said Jack in Spanish, pulling up as he came abreast of her, "are we on the right road for Tordesillas?" The child gave a scared look at the troopers and fled into the hut without replying. "You’ve sent the timid little beggar into her burrow," said Jack with a smile. At the same moment a heavy-browed man appeared at the door, in the rough coat and thick gaiters of a muleteer. "Ha, my friend," said Jack in a genial tone, "your little daughter needn’t have been afraid of us! Are we going right for Tordesillas?" "Straight on, Señor," replied the man, with stolid countenance. "Over the river; you can’t miss your way." "Thanks! Any sign of the French hereabout?" "Never a man—the saints forbid!" said the man with a scowl. "They carried off my last pig six months ago. Gr-r-r! I hate them!" "Well, they won’t trouble you much longer if we can help it. Buenas tardes!" "Vaya usted con Dios, Señor!" replied the muleteer, doffing his hat; and as the Englishman rode off, his little daughter came to his side and watched with him their retreating figures. A mile farther on they had just crossed the stream of which the man had spoken, when Jack suddenly reined up his horse and in a low tone ordered his men to halt. "Do you hear anything, Kelly?" he asked of one of the troopers. The man turned his head aside, and his companions sat motionless, an expectant look upon their faces. "Riders, sir!" said Kelly in a moment. "I thought so," returned Jack. "To our right, eh?" "Yes, sir." There was a moment’s silence. Behind them came a slight murmur from the full river, but more distinctly, from some distant point beyond a wall-enclosed orchard on their right, sounded the unmistakable clatter of horses’ hoofs on the hard road.