g us, child," the Cherub said. "The chivalrous
bandoleros of the past exist in these days only in story books and
ballads. Vivillo is a villainous brute, and a little farther south we'll
find no one on the road who'll care to speak his name. They'll call him
Senor Coso. As for the Seven Men of Ecija, one says that they're disbanded
long ago, yet there's a rumour that they still exist; and by the way, Don
Ramon, for generations that famous band of seven brigands has had a
connection--at least in old wives' gossip--with the Dukes of Carmona."

"How's that?" I inquired, interested; for though I had heard many things
about that house, I had not heard the story at which Colonel O'Donnel
hinted.

"I wonder you don't know!" said he. "Why, the tale runs that, more than a
hundred years ago, the baby heir of the Carmonas was ailing. If they lost
him, the title would go to another branch of the family; but the Duchess
had died within a few days of his birth, and no foster-mother could be
found to give the child health. Then the Duke caused it to be known far
and near that, if any woman could save his boy, she should have a pension
for life, enough to keep her in comfort with all her family; and that her
daughter and her daughter's daughter should, if she chose to make the
contract, be foster-mothers of future Dukes of Carmona. In answer to this
proclamation came a woman of Ecija, the town of the brigands; a Juno of a
creature. She nursed the ailing heir back to health, and when the child
had become devoted to her, the secret leaked out that she was the married
sister of the terrible priest who led the brigand band. But she was not
sent away for that reason. Instead, the Duke used his influence
successfully to obtain a pardon for her husband, the priest's
brother-in-law, when he was taken red-handed for robbery and murder
between Carmona and Seville; and in gratitude for this the man promised
that his sons and sons' sons should be always at the disposal of the ducal
house. For the rest, the story goes that more than once in the last
century this promise has been exacted and fulfilled in secret."

"I wouldn't put it past the present Carmona to have a nest of bandits up
his sleeve," said Dick. "It's a pretty black sleeve, if some of the things
one hears are true. But here's a road-mender's cottage. What about
halting, and cocking snooks at El Vivillo?"

"It will do very well," replied the Cherub. "If worst came to worst, we
could