"Senor!" Said The Gypsy, Coming Up With The Most Serious
Countenance In The World, "I Told You Not To Mount That Animal
Unless Well Bridled And Bitted.
He is a baggage pony, and will
suffer none to mount his back, with the exception of myself who
Feed him." (Here he whistled, and the animal, who was scurring
over the field, and occasionally kicking up his heels, instantly
returned with a gentle neigh.) "Now, your worship, see how gentle
he is. He is a capital baggage pony, and will carry all you have
over the hills of Galicia."
"What do you ask for him?" said I.
"Senor, as your worship is an Englishman, and a good ginete, and,
moreover, understands the ways of the Calore, and their tricks and
their language also, I will sell him to you a bargain. I will take
two hundred and sixty dollars for him and no less."
"That is a large sum," said I.
"No, Senor, not at all, considering that he is a baggage pony, and
belongs to the troop, and is not mine to sell."
Two hours' ride brought us to Palencia, a fine old town,
beautifully situated on the Carrion, and famous for its trade in
wool. We put up at the best posada which the place afforded, and I
forthwith proceeded to visit one of the principal merchants of the
town, to whom I was recommended by my banker in Madrid. I was
told, however, that he was taking his siesta.
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