"My name is Pedro Lucas," answered the man of the gray cloak, again
making a motion to take off his hat; "but they call me Uncle Licurgo.
Where is the young gentleman's baggage?"

"There it is--there under the cloak. There are three pieces--two
portmanteaus and a box of books for Senor Don Cayetano. Here is the
check."

A moment later cavalier and squire found themselves behind the barracks
called a depot, and facing a road which, starting at this point,
disappeared among the neighboring hills, on whose naked slopes could be
vaguely distinguished the miserable hamlet of Villahorrenda. There were
three animals to carry the men and the luggage. A not ill-looking nag
was destined for the cavalier; Uncle Licurgo was to ride a venerable
hack, somewhat loose in the joints, but sure-footed; and the mule, which
was to be led by a stout country boy of active limbs and fiery blood,
was to carry the luggage.

Before the caravan had put itself in motion the train had started, and
was now creeping along the road with the lazy deliberation of a way
train, awakening, as it receded in the distance, deep subterranean
echoes. As it entered the tunnel at kilometre 172, the steam issued from
the steam whistle with a shriek that resounded through the air. From the
dark mouth of the tunnel came volumes of whitish smoke, a succession of
shrill screams like the blasts of a trumpet followed, and at the sound
of its stentorian voice villages, towns, the whole surrounding country
awoke. Here a cock began to crow, further on another. Day was beginning
to dawn.