_The Scorpion_.—‘My sister is right; I, too, would sooner be a salteadóra (highwaywoman), or a chalána (she-jockey), than steal with the hands, or tell bájis.’ _Myself_.—‘You do not mean to say, O Tuérta, that you are a jockey, and that you rob on the highway.’ _The One-eyed_.—‘I am a chalána, brother, and many a time I have robbed upon the road, as all our people know. I dress myself as a man, and go forth with some of them. I have robbed alone, in the pass of the Guadarama, with my horse and escopéta. I alone once robbed a cuadrilla of twenty Gallégos, who were returning to their own country, after cutting the harvests of Castile; I stripped them of their earnings, and could have stripped them of their very clothes had I wished, for they were down on their knees like cowards. I love a brave man, be he Busné or Gypsy. When I was not much older than the Scorpion, I went with several others to rob the cortíjo of an old man; it was more than twenty leagues from here. We broke in at midnight, and bound the old man: we knew he had money; but he said no, and would not tell us where it was; so we tortured him, pricking him with our knives and burning his hands over the lamp; all, however, would not do. At last I said, “Let us try the _pimientos_”; so we took the green pepper husks, pulled open his eyelids, and rubbed the pupils with the green pepper fruit. That was the worst pinch of all. Would you believe it? the old man bore it. Then our people said, “Let us kill him,” but I said, no, it were a pity: so we spared him, though we got nothing. I have loved that old man ever since for his firm heart, and should have wished him for a husband.’ _The Scorpion_.—‘Ojalá, that I had been in that cortíjo, to see such sport!’ _Myself_.—‘Do you fear God, O Tuérta?’ _The One-eyed_.—‘Brother, I fear nothing.’ _Myself_.—‘Do you believe in God, O Tuérta?’ _The One-eyed_.—‘Brother, I do not; I hate all connected with that name; the whole is folly; me diñela cónche. If I go to church, it is but to spit at the images. I spat at the búlto of María this morning; and I love the Corojai, and the Londoné, {278a} because they are not baptized.’ _Myself_.—‘You, of course, never say a prayer.’ _The One-eyed_.—‘No, no; there are three or four old words, taught me by some old people, which I sometimes say to myself; I believe they have both force and virtue.’ _Myself_.—‘I would fain hear; pray tell me them.’ _The One-eyed_.—‘Brother, they are words not to be repeated.’ _Myself_.—‘Why not?’ _The One-eyed_.—‘They are holy words, brother.’ _Myself_.—‘Holy! You say there is no God; if there be none, there can be nothing holy; pray tell me the words, O Tuérta.’ _The One-eyed_.—‘Brother, I dare not.’ _Myself_.—‘Then you do fear something.’ _The One-eyed_.—‘Not I— ‘_Saboca Enrecar María Ereria_, {278b} and now I wish I had not said them.’