There is a listlessness, born of harsh treatment, suckled on dying hopes, reared on the bitter memory of happier days, which is more eloquent than tears. There is an air of frozen misery, of a despair so deep that a kind word has come to lose its meaning, which none but horses wear. Looking upon Zed, I felt ashamed to be a man. Gaunt, filthy, and tottering, the flies mercilessly busy about three shocking sores, the roan was presenting a terrible indictment to be filed against the Day of Judgment. '...And not one of them is forgotten before God....' But there was worse than pain of body here. The dull, see-nothing eyes, the heavy-laden head, the awful-stricken mien, told of a tragedy to make the angels weep--an English thoroughbred, not dead, but with a broken heart. We had administered the brandy, Jonah was bathing a sore, and I had made a wisp and was rubbing Zed down, when-- "Good day," said a voice. With his arms folded upon the sill, a little grey-headed man was watching us from a window. I looked up and nodded. "Good day," I said. "Ah like boxing," said the man. "Ah've bin twelve years in the States, an' Ah'd rather see boxing than a bull-fight. You like baseball?" I shook my head. "I've never seen it," I said. "Haven't missed much," was the reply. "But Ah like boxing. You visiting Spain?" "For a few days." "'S a fine country. Bin to Sevilla?" Entirely ignoring the violence which he had just witnessed, to say nothing of our trespass upon his property and our continued attention to his horse, the farmer proceeded to discuss the merits and shortcomings of Spain with as much detached composure as if we had met him in a tavern. At length Jonah got up. "Will you sell me this horse?" "Yes," said the man. "Ah will." "What d'you want for him?" "Five hundred pesetas." "Right," said Jonah. "Have you got a halter?" The man disappeared. Presently he emerged from a door halter in hand. The twenty pounds passed, and Zed was ours. Tenderly my cousin fitted the halter about the drooping head. "One more effort, old chap," he said gently, turning towards the gate.... Out of compassion for the mules, I drew the farmer's attention to the hub which was nursing the gatepost. He just nodded. "Pedro could never drive," he said. "I should get a new carter," I said. He shrugged his shoulders. Then he jerked his head in the direction of the carcase upon the midden. "He is my step-father. We do not speak," he said simply. We found the others in the hamlet through which we had passed. There I handed over Ping to Adèle, and thence Jonah and Zed and I walked to Zumaya. To find a box at the station was more than we had dared hope for, but there it was--empty and waiting to be returned to San Sebastian. Beneath the influence of twenty-five pesetas, the station-master saw no good reason why it should not be returned by the evening train. We left Jonah to accompany his horse and hurried home by car to seek a stable.