Reclined against a mass of vine-covered ruin, Slingsby of "Ours" had fallen fast asleep with his horse's bridle buckled over his left arm, and both he and the nag occupied a prominent place in the foreground of my view, and a wayside cross, covered with rich creepers, and having a sulky-looking raven seated on its summit, was in the middle distance. My labours proceeded rapidly and greatly to my own satisfaction when they were suddenly interrupted by a heavy hand being roughly laid on my shoulder. I looked up. Four men, muffled in the inevitable, invariable, and eternal dirty brown cloak, in which we always see the mysterious characters stride, swagger, and swell on the boards of minor theatres, and which a Spaniard is never without, under any circumstances, appeared beside me. Two had drawn swords, and two cocked blunderbusses. "The señores will understand that they are our prisoners?" said one. "Who the deuce are you--comrades of Don Fabrique, I suppose?" "Heaven forbid! we are honest men--alguazils of Arcos, and the Caballeros must both come before the señor alcalde." "For what purpose?" I demanded hastily. "The señor will soon be informed," said one. "To his cost, perhaps," added a second. "Vaya, come along," growled a third, "or it may be the worse for you." Finding expostulation vain, I roused Jack, who after revolving in his own mind whether or not he ought to revolve them--for his pistol had six barrels, we took our horses by their bridles, and accompanied the bravo-like alguazils, whose good-will we sought to cultivate by being liberal with our cases of cheroots. The alcalde, a bustling little manufacturer of Cordovan leather, received us in his office, stuck his barnacles on his nose, summoned his escribano, and opened the case with an air of awful pomp and chilling consequence; but he seemed to be about as well qualified for the office of lawgiver as Mr. Justice Shallow. "The señores, who seemed to be British officers belonging to the garrison of Gibraltar, of which her Most Catholic Majesty Donna Isabella is sovereign, whatever Queen Victoria may assert to the contrary, were found making a sketch--a military sketch, no doubt--of her ancient city of Arcos, in the province of Andalusia; and the señores, of course, knew the law framed by the Cortes on that point." "Of sketching the city of Arcos?" "No." "What then?" "Any city," returned the fussy little alcalde. "But this is not a fortified town." "But it might be fortified." "No doubt--but it is not fortified at the present moment." "Tonto de mi! what does that matter?" "Why you stupid old----" Jack Slingsby was beginning, but I placed a hand upon his mouth, and the irritable little alcalde continued. "For what purpose was the sketch--this sketch made?--answer me that, señor." "To please myself and to show my friends."