"
"I am only a poor son of the soil," said Marcos meekly. "This young
Englishman is looking for an _estancia_ to buy, and I came as his
attendant from the capital. We were very careless not to get our
passports before starting."
"Then, of course, this young man has plenty of money in his pocket?"
said the officer.
I did not relish the lies Marcos had taken upon himself to tell about
me, but did not quite know what the consequences of contradicting them
might be. I therefore replied that I was not so foolish as to travel
in a country like the Banda Oriental with money on my person. "To pay
for bread and cheese till I reach my destination is about as much as
I have," I added.
"The government of this country is a generous one," said the officer
sarcastically, "and will pay for all the bread and cheese you will
require. It will also provide you with beef. You must now come with
me to the Juzgado de las Cuevas, both of you."
Seeing no help for it, we accompanied our captors at a swinging gallop
over a rough, undulating country, and in about an hour and a half
reached Las Cuevas, a dirty, miserable-looking village, composed of
a few _ranchos_ built round a large plaza overgrown with weeds.
On one side stood the church, on the other a square stone building
with a flagstaff before it. This was the official building of the Juez
de Paz, or rural magistrate; just now, however, it was closed, and
with no sign of life about it except an old dead-and-alive-looking man
sitting against the closed door, with his bare, mahogany-coloured legs
stretched out in the hot sunshine.
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