"This is a very fine thing!" exclaimed the officer, with a curse. "I
feel very much inclined to let the men go."
"You will lose nothing by doing so, except, perhaps, a headache," said
Marcos.
"Hold your tongue till your advice is asked!" retorted the officer,
thoroughly out of temper.
"Lock them up in the _calaboso_ till the Juez comes to-morrow,
Lieutenant," suggested the old man by the door, speaking through a
bushy white beard and a cloud of tobacco-smoke.
"Do you not know that the door is broken, old fool?" said the officer.
"Lock them up! Here I am neglecting my own affairs to serve the State,
and this is how I am treated. We must now take them to the Juez at his
own house and let him look after them. Come on, boys."
We were then conducted out of Las Cuevas to a distance of about two
miles, where the Senor Juez resided in the bosom of his family. His
private residence was a very dirty, neglected-looking _estancia_
house, with a great many dogs, fowls, and children about. We dismounted,
and were immediately taken into a large room, where the magistrate sat
at a table on which lay a great number of papers--goodness knows what
they were about. The Juez was a little hatchet-faced man, with bristly
grey whiskers, standing out like a cat's moustache, and angry eyes--or,
rather with one angry eye, for over the other a cotton handkerchief
was tied.
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