Marcos was first marched out of the room by two of the soldiers; for it happened that an outhouse on the place was provided with the usual wooden arrangement to make captives secure for the night. But when the other men took me by the arms, I recovered from the astonishment the magistrate's order had produced in me, and shook them roughly aside. “Señor Juez,” I said, addressing him, “let me beg you to consider what you are doing. Surely my accent is enough to satisfy any reasonable person that I am not a native of this country. I am willing to remain in your custody, or to go wherever you like to send me; but your men shall tear me to pieces before making me suffer the indignity of the stocks. If you maltreat me in any way, I warn you that the government you serve will only censure, and perhaps ruin you, for your imprudent zeal.” Before he could reply, his fat spouse, who had apparently taken a great fancy to me, interposed on my behalf, and persuaded the little savage to spare me. “Very well,” he said, “consider yourself a guest in my house for the present; if you are telling the truth about yourself, a day's detention cannot hurt you.” I was then conducted by my kind intercessor into the kitchen, where we all sat down to partake of _maté_ and talk ourselves into good humour. I began to feel rather sorry for poor Marcos, for even a worthless vagabond, such as he appeared to be, becomes an object of compassion when misfortune overtakes him, and I asked permission to see him. This was readily granted. I found him confined in a large empty room built apart from the house; he had been provided with a _maté_-cup and a kettle of hot water, and was sipping his bitter beverage with an air of stoical indifference. His legs, confined in the stocks, were thrust straight out before him; but I suppose he was accustomed to uncomfortable positions, for he did not seem to mind it much. After sympathising with him in a general way, I asked him whether he could really sleep in that position. “No,” he replied, with indifference. “But, do you know, I do not mind about being taken. They will send me to the _comandancia_, I suppose, and after a few days liberate me. I am a good workman on horseback, and there will not be wanting some _estanciero_ in need of hands to get me out. Will you do me one small service, friend, before you go to your bed?” “Yes, certainly, if I can,” I answered.