(2/3) The Teeth of the Gale Read Online Free

small town called Corales, "my stomach rumbles like Mount Vesuvius. How about a bite to eat?"
    "With all my heart. And it is time we gave the mules a rest."
    It was a poverty-stricken little place, containing, perhaps, fifty families dwelling in mud huts and set in the midst of dry, dusty flatlands where young corn was beginning to sprout. We asked which was the
posada,
for there was nothing to distinguish it from any other house, and were directed to one in the middle of the village. Here we dismounted and entered, calling for food. A sullen-looking man said there was nothing to be had.
    "What?" said Pedro, pointing to some dried bacon flitches hanging from the rafters. "What about those? And have you no eggs? Bacon and eggs would suit us very well."
    Muttering and grumbling with the most cantankerous ill will, the man at length hoisted down a side of bacon and cut a few slices from it. These he set sizzling in a pan while he growled his way out to a weedy yard at the rear, from which he presently returned bearing a basket of muddy, dusty eggs. These he fried in a great pan of oil so rancid that the smell was horrible.
    "I am sorry now that I asked you to stop here," muttered Pedro. "We should have gone on to Zamora."
    While the eggs were cooking I strolled to the doorway, to get away from the smoke and stink, and stood gazing along the dusty, empty main street of this gloomy little hamlet.
    By and by, in the distance, coming from the same direction as we had done, I discerned another traveler. He was mounted on a big, bony stallion, and though his pace was slow enough now, he had evidently been traveling at a much faster rate, for his horse's shaggy gray coat was soaked and streaked with sweat. The man did not pause in Corales, though he eyed our two tethered mules with attention, I thought, as he rode past.
    "What a weedy little fellow!" said Pedro, joining me in the doorway, attracted by the sound of hooves. "He does not look as if he'd have the strength to master that big brute. Why do you stare after him so?"
    "I felt I knew his face. It seemed in some way familiar."
    At that moment the innkeeper called out in a surly tone that our food was ready, so we returned to eat the unappetizing meal. The bacon was burned, and the eggs drowned in evil-smelling oil. All the while we ate, the man stood eyeing us and grumbling as if we had done him an ill turn by stopping to eat at his posada; it was plain that, as a rule, he reckoned to serve only liquid refreshment, and that only in the evening. Pedro responded to this usage by a smile of beaming goodwill. He commented loudly and flatteringly on the delicious flavor of the food as he munched each disgusting mouthful, and, when we left, cordially shook the owner's hand, assuring him that it was the best meal he had ever eaten, and that he would be sure to recommend the place to all his friends, of whom he had a great many, he assured the man, all over Spain.
    "So you will soon have hundreds of customers for your superb bacon and your incomparable eggs."
    The ruffian gaped at him, incapable of thinking up a suitable reply, since, though Pedro's words were patently untrue, they were delivered with such smiling affability.
    When I asked for the
cuenta,
it was at least double what it should have been, but rather than fall into an argument with this disagreeable fellow, I paid it without haggling. I was still puzzling my wits, as I had done throughout the meal, as to where I could previously have seen the small man on the big gray stallion. He was a weaselly-looking character, who might have been an apothecary, or a lawyer's clerk...
    An hour later, as we traveled on toward Zamora, descending, now, into the valley of the River Duero, I exclaimed, "I have it! Of course, he is Sancho the Spy!"
    "Sancho the Spy?" said Pedro, very startled. "
Who
is Sancho the Spy?"
    "That little fellow who rode by on the gray horse. We used to see him in Salamanca; very often, if a group of students was