In one town the alcalde kept him a week, denying him the road beyond while inquiries were made as to his identity or non-identity with some famed outlaw escaping from justice.
Further on, his horse fell badly lame and he stayed day after day in a miserable village, lounging under a cork-tree, learning patois.

There was a girl with great black eyes.

He watched her, two or three times spoke to her.

But when she saw how he must haggle over the price of food and lodging she laughed, and returned to the side of a muleteer with a sash and little bells upon his hat.
All along the road fell these retardations.

Then as the mountains loomed higher, the spirit of contradiction apparently grew tired and fell behind.