over the distant snow-clad peaks of the Sierra Nevada, pointed
forward to the lights of Gaucin, a mountain village with an evil
reputation.

The dawn of the next day saw the travellers in the saddle again, and
the road was worse than ever. A sharp ascent led them up from
Gaucin to regions where foliage grew scarcer at every step, and
cultivation was unknown. At one spot they turned to look back, and
saw Gibraltar like a tooth protruding from the sea. The straits had
the appearance of a river, and the high land behind Ceuta formed the
farther bank of it.

'There is Africa,' said Concepcion gravely, and after a moment
turned his horse's head uphill again. The people of these mountain
regions were as wild in appearance as their country. Once or twice
the travellers passed a shepherd herding sheep or goats on the
mountain side, himself clad in goatskin, with a great brown cloak
floating from his shoulders--a living picture of Ishmael or those
sons of his who dwelt in the tents of Kedar. A few muleteers drew
aside to let the horses pass, and exchanged some words in an
undertone with Conyngham's guide. Fine-looking brigands were these,
with an armoury of knives peeping from their bright-coloured
waistbands. The Andalusian peasant is for six days in the week
calculated to inspire awe by his clothing and general appearance.
Of a dark skin and hair, he usually submits his chin to the barber's
office but once a week, and the timid traveller would do well to
take the road on Sundays only. Towards the end of the week, and
notably on a Saturday, every passer-by is an unshorn brigand capable
of the darkest deeds of villany, while twenty-four hours later the
land will be found to be peopled by as clean and honest and smart,