"Why," he said, "seems to me 'sif we should ha' come that way. I's
shorrer road to Pesqueira than by the river."

"As the bird fly," said Souza. "But the roads be bad - just mule
tracks, while by the river the road is tolerable good."

"Yet," said the lieutenant, "I think I shall go back tha' way."

The fumes of the wine were mounting steadily to addle his indifferent
brains. Every moment he was seeing things in proportions more and
more false. His resentment against priests who, sworn to
self-abnegation, hoarded good wine, whilst soldiers sent to keep
harm from priests' fat carcasses were left to suffer cold and even
hunger, was increasing with every moment. He would sample that wine
at Tavora; and he would bear some of it away that his brother
officers at Pinhel might sample it. He would buy it. Oh yes! There
should be no plundering, no irregularity, no disregard of general
orders. He would buy the wine and pay for it - but himself he would
fix the price, and see that the monks of Tavora made no profit out
of their defenders.

Thus he thought as he considered the map. Presently, when having
taken leave of Fernando Souza - that prince of hosts - Mr. Butler
was riding down through the town with Sergeant Flanagan and ten
troopers at his heels, his purpose deepened and became more fierce.
I think the change of temperature must have been to blame. It was
a chill, bleak evening. Overhead, across a background of faded blue,
scudded ragged banks of clouds, the lingering flotsam of the
shattered rainstorm of yesterday: and a cavalry cloak afforded but
indifferent protection against the wind that blew hard and sharp