After spending far too long at DuLac's hunting lodge and putting on far more weight than is considered 'healthy' for a retired soldier, I finally donned my best travelling gear and headed south through the valleys winding their way over and under the foothills of the Pyrenees. I accepted the advice of the local hostelry owners and farmers and avoided the winding paths through what they humorously termed 'bandit country'. A fellow traveller of the Colonial Geographic Society, Lord Bonneville, second nephew to the Earl of Wessex and quite the batsman with the CGS Cricket Club, suggested these hostels and farmers as a circumstance of my releasing his faro debt to me. Along for the walking vacation is Sweet Lida Rose, my trusty colonial-made single-shot 1885 high-wall rifle, chambered in a .45-110 sharps round, an 1855 .41 caliber Volcanic Repeater on my hip and a 15 inch 'coffin-handled' bowie knife on the other. Tagging along behind for companionship as well as for protection are a pair of Kentucky blue-tick hounds 'gifted' me by a southern gent with too much money and not enough sense.

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