heel in my hand, the
steady thrum of the motor seemed to say, "You'll do it; you'll do it;--I'll
help you to do it."

The air was made of perfume--orange blossoms and acacias; and the vast
flowery plain where Seville is queen gave us a tolerable road, on which
the car ran lightly. Soaring snow peaks of fantastic shapes walled the
green arena of rolling meadows, and the day was like a day of June.

Save for the grey Lecomte, scarcely a motor had we seen since leaving
Biarritz, except in Madrid; but now, when I tried to decipher the road
hieroglyphics, the dust showed more than one track of pneus. Cars had come
to Seville from Madrid for _Semana Santa_, and had evidently run out this
way for a spin more than once. As I had not Ropes' detective talent I was
unable to distinguish the Lecomte's tyre-marks from others.

In sight of the conspicuous church tower at Utrera--ancient home of
outlaws--we came upon a dusty white line diverging to Ecija. Pausing to
question a road-mender, I remembered Colonel O'Donnel's story of the Seven
Men of Ecija, and the curious bond between them and the Dukes of Carmona.
But what brought the tale to my mind--unless it was the name of Ecija on
the road-map and signpost, or the fact that we were now in the real heart
of brigand-land--I could not have told.

Yes, said the road-mender, he had seen an automobile go by--a big one, not
long ago, steering as if for Jerez. Was it grey? He would not be sure, but
at all events the thing was so grey with dust that had there been another
colour underneath, no one could have seen it. Ladies in the car? Well, he
was not positive, for it had gone by like a cannon-ball in a cloud of
smoke; but there were several persons inside, and it was the only motor
which had passed him to-day. Several cars had appeared in the distance
yesterday, but they had turned back on the Seville side of Utrera.

One automobile, a big one, apparently grey, and with several persons
inside, had gone by at a tremendous pace not long before. That sounded as
if the car we chased could not be far away. Our eyes searched the
tell-tale dust, and found the sleek, straight trail of a pneu in the midst
of wobbling cart tracks. We had but to follow that straight trail, then, I
said, to come up with Carmona and interfere with his new plans.

Now we were racing through a wide region of salt marsh, where within
enclosures grazed hundreds of fierce black bulls, sooner or later to die
in the are