was
flying over the plain towards the cleft on the shoulder of Moncayo
beyond which lay the camp of General Elio.

The young Carlist stood a moment aghast. Then slowly he realised the
situation. Whereupon, crying aloud the national oath, he ground his heel
into the grass, snatched at his gun, kneeled upon one knee, took careful
aim, and clicked down the trigger. No report followed, however, and a
slight inspection satisfied him that he had been tricked, duped, made a
fool of by a slip of a girl, a girl with eyes--yes, and eye-lashes. He
leaped in the air and shouted aloud great words in Basque which have no
direct equivalents in any polite European language, but which were well
enough understood in the stone age.

However, he wasted no time foolishly. Well he knew that for such
mistakes there was in Cabrera's code neither forgiveness nor, indeed,
any penalty save one. Adrian Zumaya of the province of Alava was young.
He desired much to live, if only that he might meet that girl again at
whose retreating figure he had a moment before pointed an empty gun
barrel. Ah, he would be even with her yet! So, wasting no time on
leave-taking, he bent low behind the ridge, and keeping well in the
shelter of boulder and underbrush, made a bee-line for the cliffs of
Moncayo, where presently, in one of the caves of which El Sarria had
spoken, he counted his cartridges and reloaded his rifle, with little
regret, except when he wished that the incident had happened after,
instead of before supper.

However, he had in reserve a hand's-breadth of sausage in his pocket,
together with a fragment of most ancient and rock-like cheese. These,
since no better might be, he made the best of, and as the sun sank and
the camp below him grew but a blur in the gloom, he washed them down
with the water which percolated through the roof of the cave and fell in
great drops, as regularly as a pendulum swings, upon the floor below.
These he caught in his palms and drank with much satisfaction. And in
the intervals he execrated the Senorita Concha Cabezos, late of
Andalucia, with polysyllabic vehemence.

But ere he curled himself up to sleep in the dryest corner of the cave,
he burst into a laugh.

"In truth," he said, "she deserves La Perla. For a cleverer wench or a
prettier saw I never one!"

The young man's last act before he laid himself down in his new quarters
had been to take from his coat the circular disc with the letters "C.
V.," the ba