It is hilariously funny. A tomboy is not interested in marrying, preferring to go out hunting as shooting a rifle is her passion. She finds herself having to dress like a man to survive, and has to fend off amorous advances from both sexes as she keeps switching between dressing as a woman or disguising herself as a man.
It actually kind of has a very Netflix feel to it! Seventeenth-century Netflix!
And at this so critical point the delightful history came to a stop and stood cut short without any intimation from the author as to where we might find the remaining part of the story.
The fiery Biscayan was the first to strike a blow.
This distressed me greatly because the pleasure derived from having read such a small portion turned to annoyance at the thought of the little chance that presented itself of finding the large part that, so it seemed to me, was missing of such an interesting tale.
It appeared to me to be a thing impossible and contrary to all precedent that so good a knight should have been without some sage to undertake the task of writing his marvelous achievements, something that was never lacking to any of those knights-errant who, they say, went after adventures.