handle being the whole tusk of a boar. And with their
eating came merriment and tales of past huntings and talk of the forest
and stories of the King of Shadow Valley.

And always they spoke of him not only with respect but also with the
discretion, Rodriguez thought, of men that spoke of one who might be
behind them at that moment, and one who tolerated no trifling with his
authority. Then they sang songs again, such as Rodriguez had heard on
the road, and their merry lives passed clearly before his mind again,
for we live in our songs as no men live in histories. And again
Rodriguez lamented his hard ambition and his long, vague journey,
turning away twice from happiness; once in the village of Lowlight
where happiness deserted him, and here in the goodly forest where he
jilted happiness. How well could he and Morano live as two of this
band, he thought; leaving all cares in cities: for there dwelt cares in
cities even then. Then he put the thought away. And as the evening wore
away with merry talk and with song, Rodriguez turned to Miguel and told
him how it was with la Garda and broached the matter of horses. And
while the others sang Miguel spoke sadly to him. "Master," he said, "la
Garda shall never take you in Shadow Valley, yet if you must leave us
to make your fortune in the wars, though your fortune waits you here,
there be many horses in the forest, and you and your servant shall have
the best."

"Tomorrow morning, senor?" said Rodriguez.

"Even so," said Miguel.

"And how shall I send them to you again?" said Rodriguez.

"Master, they are yours," said Miguel.

But this Rodriguez would not have, for as yet he only guessed what
claim at all he had upon Shadow Valley, his speculations being far more
concerned with the identity of the hidalgo that he had fought the night
before, how he concerned Serafina, who had owned the rose that he
carried: in fact his mind was busy with such studies as were proper to
his age. And at last they decided between them on the house of a
lowland smith, who was the furthest man that the bowmen knew who was
secretly true to their king. At his house Rodriguez and Morano should
leave the horses. He dwelt sixty miles from the northern edge of the
forest, and would surely give Rodriguez fresh horses if he possessed
them, for he was a true man to the bowman. His name was Gonzalez and he
dwelt in a queer green house.

They turned then to listen a moment to a hunting song that all