“The cave is clean,” he announced, “but it smells of fox.”

“It is better than sleeping out in the open,” Skye answered. “I should have brought a coat.”

She shivered as she spoke.

“Poor señora, but I have something make you warm,” Pedro said sympathetically.

As he spoke, he drew a bottle from his pocket and held it out to her.

“It is good,” he said encouragingly as she looked at it apprehensively.

She pulled out the cork and smelt it. It was a fiery raw wine, strong in alcohol, which had the potency of Irish poteen.

She handed it back to him with a smile.

“No, thank you. The cave will keep me warm.”

Pedro threw back his head and took a long drink from the bottle and then corked it up again.

“Be careful, señora, it’s dark inside,” he said. “Let me show you the way. I have my matches.”

“We could build a fire,” Skye cried.

“Yes, of course,” he agreed, but without enthusiasm.

“Then, quickly, find wood before it gets too dark to see what we are collecting!”

They were lower down the mountains than they had been for hours and there was an abundance of dried shrubs and leaves from the previous autumn scattered around the hillside, besides an occasional branch from a pine tree.

Skye soon gathered a huge armful and then, as the sun sank blood red, the peaks standing out against the still faintly blushing sky after all else had turned black, she collected another and yet another before finally it was too dark to see any more.

She was so tired that it was almost a torture to force herself to move over the rough ground, to bend down, to carry her heavy load, and she was annoyed to see that Pedro had not brought in nearly as much as she had.

But with an effort she fought down her irritation and asked him to light the fire.

“You will be able to collect some more fuel by the light of the flames,” she said pointedly.

He laid the fire cleverly, lit it skilfully with one match and the fire flared up yellow against the night.

“That is better,” Skye approved with a little sigh. “At least it will keep away the foxes from their home. I do not wish to share my bed, hard though it may be, with a wild animal.”

She saw as she spoke that Pedro was drinking again from the bottle he carried in his pocket. Now he wiped the top on his sleeve and pressed the cork back home.

“The señora is frightened?” he asked. “Pedro protect her.”

“No, I am not in the least frightened,” Skye answered. “I wish we had brought some food with us, but, as we have not, it is best not to think that we are hungry. Let’s get some sleep. As soon as the moon is high, we can move on again.”