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'What mountains are those?' I inquired of a barber-surgeon who, mounted
like myself on a grey burra, joined me about noon, and proceeded in my
company for several leagues. 'They have many names, Caballero,' replied
the barber; 'according to the names of the neighbouring places, so they
are called. Yon portion of them is styled the Serrania of Plasencia; and
opposite to Madrid they are termed the Mountains of Guadarrama, from a
river of that name, which descends from them. They run a vast way,
Caballero, and separate the two kingdoms, for on the other side is Old
Castile. They are mighty mountains, and, though they generate much cold,
I take pleasure in looking at them, which is not to be wondered at,
seeing that I was born amongst them, though at present, for my sins, I
live in a village of the plain. Caballero, there is not another such
range in Spain; they have their secrets, too--their mysteries. Strange
tales are told of those hills, and of what they contain in their deep
recesses, for they are a broad chain, and you may wander days and days
amongst them without coming to any termino. Many have lost themselves on
those hills, and have never again been heard of. Strange things are told
of them: it is said that in certain places there are deep pools and
lakes, in which dwell monsters, huge serpents as long as a pine tree, and
horses of the flood, which sometimes come out and commit mighty damage.
One thing is certain, that yonder, far away to the west, in the heart of
those hills, there is a wonderful valley, so narrow that only at mid-day
is the face of the sun to be descried from it. That valley lay
undiscovered and unknown for thousands of years; no person dreamed of its
existence. But at last, a long time ago, certain hunters entered it by
chance, and then what do you think they found, Caballero? They found a
small nation or tribe of unknown people, speaking an unknown language,