“We have only your word for that,” said the man. “There is an English consul in the capital, who provides English subjects with passports for their protection, in this country. If you have not got one you must suffer for it, and no one but yourself is to blame. I see in you only a young man complete in all his members, and of such the republic is in need. Your speech is also like that of one who came into the world under this sky. You must go with us.” “I shall do nothing of the sort,” I returned. “Do not say such a thing, master,” said Marcos, astonishing me very much with the change in his tone and manner. “You know I warned you a month ago that it was imprudent to leave Montevideo without our passports. This officer is only obeying the orders he has received; still, he might see that we are only what we represent ourselves to be.” “Oh!” exclaimed the officer, turning to Marcos, “you are also an Englishman unprovided with a passport, I suppose? You might at least have supplied yourself with a couple of blue crockery eyes and a yellow beard for your greater safety.” “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 Orientál 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. “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.