When this display was over, the condé resumed the brown uniform and silver epaulets of the 4th Spanish infantry, and rejoined the duke’s guests in the balcony, from which they were beholding other feats of dexterity. A tall and powerful Spaniard, Gaspar Alozegui, the strongest and most athletic man in the two Castiles, entered the arena, bearing a large cannon-shot, and a sledge-hammer. He waved his broad hat to the populace, who cheered their favourite, as no man yet had ever rivalled him in feats of strength and agility. Taking up the cannon-shot, the weight of which I have forgotten, he poised it for a moment in his hand, and then tossing it from him, sent it whizzing along the pavement, as a bowler does a cricket ball, from one end of the Plaza to the other, where it rebounded against the wall of a house and lay still. Alozegui arrogantly challenged any man among the thousands there assembled to throw it within ten feet of the spot where it then lay, offering in that case to forfeit a purse of ten _onzas_ presented to the victor by the fair _patronas_ of the day,—the daughters of the Duke of Alba de T——. Alozegui looked around him triumphantly; but no man answered the challenge, which was not delivered in very moderate language, and he now grasped the shaft of his ponderous hammer. Swinging it thrice round his head, he hurled it from his hand with the speed of a thunderbolt. The crowd for a moment held their breath, and the gaze of their eyes followed the semicircle which it described through the air. It alighted close by the shot, and again the cheers of the people broke forth; after which Gaspar repeated his challenge in the same arrogant terms. "Such an insolent dog as this Alozegui deserves to be beaten," said the condé. "He has thrown well," observed Stuart, as he leant over the balcony; "yet the sport loses its zest when there is no competitor." "_Viva_, Alozegui," said Donna Olivia. "He deserves to kiss my hand, and should but for his bushy black beard." "I am convinced that my servant, Dugald Mhor, old as he is, will throw these matters further," said Fassifern, who was indignant at Alozegui’s challenge, and burned with eagerness to see him beaten. He spoke in English, "I suppose Dugald is below among the servants. He followed me here. As sure as my name is John Cameron, he will beat Alozegui." "Let some one inquire if he is below?" "I say, colonel," cried Seaton, who was seated at the other end of the balcony, with his glass at his eye; "surely, Campbell of ours is about to answer the challenge of the Spaniard. He has entered the arena." "Now, by heavens! well done Colin, and Dugald Mhor too,—honest old Dugald! Look to yourself, Micer Alozegui; you will scarcely hold the prize against two such men," said Cameron in great glee. "Major, are you about to contend with this impudent loon?"