"Well, I hope it," he said. "Mice running under the
headlands."

He fell silent, cherishing his knees and staring into the
fire. It was not Juan Lepe's place to talk when master merchant
talked not. I, too, regarded the fire, and the herded
mountains robed in night, and the half-moon like a sail rising
from an invisible boat.

The night went peacefully by. It was followed by a
hard day's travel and the incident of the road. At evening
we saw the walls of Zarafa in a sunset glory. The merchants
and their train passed through the gate and found
their customary inn. With others, Juan Lepe worked hard,
unlading and storing. All done, he and the bully slept almost
in each other's arms, under the arches of the court,
dreamlessly.

The next day and the next were still days of labor. It
was not until the third that Juan Lepe considered that he
might now absent himself and there be raised no hue and
cry after strong shoulders. He had earned his quittance,
and in the nighttime, upon his hands and knees, he crept
from the sleepers in the court. Just before dawn the inn
gate swung open. He had been waiting close to it, and he
passed out noiselessly.

In the two days, carrying goods through streets to market
square and up to citadel and pausing at varying levels
for breath and the prospect, I had learned this town well