When he needs us there is his clear horn. But when men
need him who knows which shadow is his of all that lie in the
forest?" Whether or not there was anything interesting in the
mystery, to Rodriguez it was merely annoying; and finding it grew
no clearer he turned his attention to shelter for the night, to
which all travellers give a thought at least once, between noon
and sunset.
"Is there any house on this road, senor," he said, "in which we
could rest the night?"
"Ten miles from here," said he, "and not far from the road you
take is the best house we have in the forest. It is yours, master,
for as long as you honour it."
"Come then," said Rodriguez, "and I thank you, senor."
So they all started together, Rodriguez with the leader going in
front and Morano following with all the bowmen. And soon the
bowmen were singing songs of the forest, hunting songs, songs of
the winter; and songs of the long summer evenings, songs of love.
Cheered by this merriment, the miles slipped by.
And Rodriguez gathered from the songs they sang something of what
they were and of how they lived in the forest, living amongst the
woodland creatures till these men's ways were almost as their
ways; killing what they needed for food but protecting the
woodland things against all others; straying out amongst the
villages in summer evenings, and always welcome; and owning no
allegiance but to the King of the Shadow Valley.
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