His confidence had returned: and soon, with swords
at side and cloaks floating brilliant on light winds of April,
Rodriguez and Alderon rode away together.
Soon in the distance they saw Shadow Valley. And then Rodriguez
bethought him of Morano and of the foul wrong he committed against
Don Alderon with his frying-pan, and how he was there in the camp
to which he was bringing his friend. And so he said: "That vile
knave Morano still lives and insists on serving me."
"If he be near," said Don Alderon, "I pray you to disarm him of
his frying-pan for the sake of my honour, which does not suffer me
to be stricken with culinary weapons, but only with the sword, the
lance, or even bolts of cannon or arquebuss ..." He was thinking
of yet more weapons when Rodriguez put spurs to his horse. "He is
near," he said; "I will ride on and disarm him."
So Rodriguez came cantering into the forest while Don Alderon
ambled a mile or so behind him.
And there he found his old camp and saw Morano, sitting upon the
ground by a small fire. Morano sprang up at once with joy in his
eyes, his face wreathed with questions, which he did not put into
words for he did not pry openly into his master's affairs.
"Morano," said Rodriguez, "give me your frying-pan."
"My frying-pan?" said Morano.
"Yes," said Rodriguez. And when he held in his hand that
blackened, greasy utensil he told Morano, "That senor you met in
Lowlight rides with me.
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