The Pass of Mirabete—Wolves and Shepherds—Female Subtlety—Death by Wolves—The Mystery solved—The Mountains—The Dark Hour—The Traveller of the Night—Abarbenel—Hoarded Treasure—Force of Gold—The Archbishop—Arrival at Madrid. I proceeded down the pass of Mirabete, occasionally ruminating on the matter which had brought me to Spain, and occasionally admiring one of the finest prospects in the world. Before me outstretched lay immense plains, bounded in the distance by huge mountains, whilst at the foot of the hill which I was now descending rolled the Tagus, in a deep narrow stream, between lofty banks; the whole was gilded by the rays of the setting sun, for the day, though cold and wintry, was bright and clear. In about an hour I reached the river at a place where stood the remains of what had once been a magnificent bridge, which had, however, been blown up in the Peninsular war and never since repaired. I crossed the river in a ferry-boat; the passage was rather difficult, the current very rapid and swollen, owing to the latter rains. “Am I in New Castile?” I demanded of the ferryman, on reaching the further bank. “The _raya_ is many leagues from hence,” replied the ferryman; “you seem a stranger. Whence do you come?” “From England,” I replied, and without waiting for an answer, I sprang on the _burra_, and proceeded on my way. The _burra_ plied her feet most nimbly, and shortly after nightfall, brought me to a village at about two leagues’ distance from the river’s bank. I sat down in the _venta_ where I put up; there was a huge fire, consisting of the greater part of the trunk of an olive-tree. The company was rather miscellaneous: a hunter with his _escopeta_; a brace of shepherds with immense dogs, of that species for which Estremadura {146} is celebrated; a broken soldier, just returned from the wars; and a beggar, who, after demanding charity for the seven wounds of _Maria Santísima_, took a seat amidst us, and made himself quite comfortable. The hostess was an active, bustling woman, and busied herself in cooking my supper, which consisted of the game which I had purchased at Jaraicejo, and which, on my taking leave of the gypsy, he had counselled me to take with me. In the mean time, I sat by the fire listening to the conversation of the company. “I would I were a wolf,” said one of the shepherds; “or, indeed, anything rather than what I am. A pretty life is this of ours, out in the _campo_, among the _carrascales_, suffering heat and cold for a _peseta_ a day. I would I were a wolf; he fares better, and is more respected than the wretch of a shepherd.” “But he frequently fares scurvily,” said I; “the shepherd and dogs fall upon him, and then he pays for his temerity with the loss of his head.”