From this scene we emerged into wide plains, green with sprouting corn, and bordered by gigantic aloes. These plains yield three crops a year. On jog the jingling mules, while the clouds of yellow dust whirl away in the morning breeze. We pass pretty flat-roofed, Oriental-looking houses, with coloured blinds and balconies, buried in groves of acacia and prickly pear. We were saluted on our way by many a dark-eyed maid, hooded in her gauzy capote, and with the one long plait of hair, or by stalwart labourers as they walked briskly to their day's work. There were other peasants working in the fields, dressed in long, loose Turkish trousers and bright sash, their heads bound in gaudy kerchiefs, who all paused from their labour to wave a greeting as we passed, and to cry, "Tenga, Señores, tenga."[28] In character, these good people are the reverse of their neighbours of Valencia or Catalonia. They are so simple and honest, that crime in Majorca is a great exception; while in Valencia it is dangerous to walk abroad after dark without some weapon of defence, and that, of course, is useless against the assassin who approaches from behind. In this homely isle one may wander about as much as he pleases, in the alleys of the city or amidst the mountain passes, secure and unmolested. There are few or no means of escape for the criminal, and, therefore, his detection is certain, for the people refuse him all shelter. Majorcans eagerly desire to maintain peace and order in their island, and crime is, therefore, rendered a losing game.