after them at so rapid a pace that he gained upon them every moment. Our
traveller turned round and saw a man, or rather a Centaur, for the most
perfect harmony imaginable existed between horse and rider. The latter
was of a robust and plethoric constitution, with large fiery eyes,
rugged features, and a black mustache. He was of middle age and had a
general air of rudeness and aggressiveness, with indications of strength
in his whole person. He was mounted on a superb horse with a muscular
chest, like the horses of the Parthenon, caparisoned in the picturesque
fashion of the country, and carrying on the crupper a great leather bag
on the cover of which was to be seen, in large letters, the word Mail.

"Hello! Good-day, Senor Caballuco," said Licurgo, saluting the horseman
when the latter had come up with them. "How is it that we got so far
ahead of you? But you will arrive before us, if you set your mind to
it."

"I will rest a little," answered Senor Caballuco, adapting his horse's
pace to that of our travellers' beasts, and attentively observing the
most distinguished of the three, "since there is such good company."

"This gentleman," said Licurgo, smiling, "is the nephew of Dona
Perfecta."

"Ah! At your service, senor."

The two men saluted each other, it being noticeable that Caballuco
performed his civilities with an expression of haughtiness and
superiority that revealed, at the very least, a consciousness of great
importance, and of a high standing in the district. When the arrogant
horseman rode aside to stop and talk for a moment with two Civil Guards