"Well, senor, as you may suppose, Tio Nicolo was mightily puzzled at
all this, but while he was gazing down upon the city, a great army
came marching up the mountains, winding along the ravines, sometimes
in the moonshine sometimes in the shade. As it drew nigh, he saw
that there were horse and foot all in Moorish armor. Tio Nicolo
tried to scramble out of their way, but his old mule stood stock
still, and refused to budge, trembling, at the same time, like a leaf-
for dumb beasts, senor, are just as much frightened at such things
as human beings. Well, senor, the hobgoblin army came marching by;
there were men that seemed to blow trumpets, and others to beat
drums and strike cymbals, yet never a sound did they make; they all
moved on without the least noise, just as I have seen painted armies
move across the stage in the theatre of Granada, and all looked as
pale as death. At last, in the rear of the army, between two black
Moorish horsemen, rode the Grand Inquisitor of Granada, on a mule as
white as snow. Tio Nicolo wondered to see him in such company, for the
Inquisitor was famous for his hatred of Moors, and indeed, of all
kinds of Infidels, Jews, and Heretics, and used to hunt them out
with fire and scourge.
"However, Tio Nicolo felt himself safe, now that there was a
priest of such sanctity at hand. So making the sign of the cross, he
called out for his benediction, when hombre! he received a blow that
sent him and his old mule over the edge of a steep bank, down which
they rolled, head over heels, to the bottom! Tio Nicolo did not come
to his senses until long after sunrise, when he found himself at the
bottom of a deep ravine, his mule grazing beside him, and his panniers
of snow completely melted.
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