Here he remained,
counting the quarters of hours as they were sounded on the bell of the
watchtower, and listening to the dreary hootings of owls, and the
distant barking of dogs from the gipsy caverns.
At length he heard the tramp of hoofs, and, through the gloom of the
overshadowing trees, imperfectly beheld a steed descending the avenue.
The sturdy friar chuckled at the idea of the knowing turn he was about
to serve honest Lope.
Tucking up the skirts of his habit, and wriggling like a cat
watching a mouse, he waited until his prey was directly before him,
when darting forth from his leafy covert, and putting one hand on
the shoulder and the other on the crupper, he made a vault that
would not have disgraced the most experienced master of equitation,
and alighted well-forked astride the steed. "Ah ha!" said the sturdy
friar, "we shall now see who best understands the game." He had scarce
uttered the words when the mule began to kick, and rear, and plunge,
and then set off full speed down the hill. The friar attempted to
check him, but in vain. He bounded from rock to rock, and bush to
bush; the friar's habit was torn to ribbons and fluttered in the wind,
his shaven poll received many a hard knock from the branches of the
trees, and many a scratch from the brambles. To add to his terror
and distress, he found a pack of seven hounds in full cry at his
heels, and perceived, too late, that he was actually mounted upon
the terrible Belludo!
Away then they went, according to the ancient phrase, "pull devil,
pull friar," down the great avenue, across the Plaza Nueva, along
the Zacatin, around the Vivarrambla- never did huntsman and hound make
a more furious run, or more infernal uproar.
Pages:
390
391
392
393
394
395
396
397
398
399
400
401
402
403
404
405
406
407
408
409
410
411
412
413
414