"Well, what d'ye want?" asked my companion.
"Sir," said the wretched man, stuttering in his nervousness, "one of my
bullocks has been stolen, and I know the thief. I have been to the
Justice of the Peace, and he told me to bring the thief to him; but,
sir, the th-thief refuses to come."
"_Bueno_! Ten dollars, and ten dollars _down_," roared the majesty of
law.
"But, sir,----"
"No! But me no buts! Ten dollars at once, or I'll call the sergeant to
lock you up until you can get it."
I could see that the poor fellow's heart was breaking as he drew the
money from his pocket and handed it over. Smilingly the bully turned to
me and said, as his victim walked slowly away, "I'll bet you that that
man doesn't come around to molest me again. I'll guarantee to you, Don
Ernesto, that there isn't a district in the whole province where so few
appeals for justice are made."
At last it was dinner-time, and, being ushered into a dirty room with a
brick floor, dim light and grimy tablecloth, I seated myself at the
table with my host, his secretary, the doctor, and a clerk. The dinner
was in the usual native style of those days: ribs of beef roasted on
the gridiron, beef and pumpkin boiled together, to finish up with
"caldo," which is simply the water in which the beef and vegetables have
been boiled, with a good thick coating of grease.
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