ilence and wonder. "But where?" he said. "What
castle?"

"That you will see," said the stranger.

"But, but how ..." said Rodriguez. What he meant was, "How can I
believe you?" but he did not put it in words.

"My word was never broken," said the other. And that is a good boast to
make, for those of us who can make it; if we need boast at all.

"Whose word?" said Rodriguez, looking him in the eyes.

The smoke from the fire between them was thickening greyly as though
something had been cast on it. "The word," he said, "of the King of
Shadow Valley."

Rodriguez gazing through the increasing smoke saw not to the other
side. He rose and walked round the fire, but the strange man was gone.

Rodriguez came back to his place by the fire and sat long there in
silence. Morano was bubbling over to speak, but respected his master's
silence: for Rodriguez was gazing into the deeps of the fire seeing
pictures there that were brighter than any that he had known. They were
so clear now that they seemed almost true. He saw Serafina's face there
looking full at him. He watched it long until other pictures hid it,
visions that had no meaning for Rodriguez. And not till then he spoke.
And when he spoke his face was almost smiling.

"Well, Morano," he said, "have we come by that castle at last?"

"That man does not lie, master," he answered: and his eyes were
glittering with shrewd conviction.

"What shall we do then?" said Rodriguez.

"Let us go to some village, master," said Morano, "until the time he
said."

"What village?" Rodriguez asked.

"I know not, master," answered Morano, his face a puzzle of innocence
and wonder; and Rodriguez fell back into thought again. And the dancing
flames calmed down to a deep, quiet glow; and soon Rodriguez stepped
back a yard or two from the fire to where Morano had prepared his bed;
and, watching the fire still, and turning over thoughts that flashed
and changed as fast as the embers, he went to wonderful dreams that
were no more strange or elusive than that valley's wonderful king.

When he spoke in the morning the camp-fire was newly lit and there was
a smell of bacon; and Morano, out of breath and puzzled, was calling to
him.

"Master," he said, "I was mistaken about those horses."

"Mistaken?" said Rodriguez.

"They were just as I left them, master, all tied to the tree with my
knots."

Rodriguez left it at that. Morano could make mistakes and the forest
was full of wonder