Just then a poor Italian colonist came up, hat in hand.  He, too, and all his class were pioneers in those days, and God knows what they suffered.

“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.

No sooner had we begun dinner than it was noticed that we had no wine.

“No wine!  How’s this?  What d’ye mean?” as he angrily turned to the sergeant who was waiting.

“If you please, sir, So-and-so and So-and-so,” mentioning the name of a local firm of storekeepers, “say that they can supply no more wine until they can get some of their accounts settled.”

“How dare you bring me such a message as that!  Take the corporal with a couple of men and bring a half-barrel at once—­in less than three minutes, or I’ll know the reason why.”

The barrel was brought, and, with a bit and brace, quickly tapped, and the wine set flowing round the table.

The dinner dragged on and on, until I thought he meant us to sit there all night.  Ten o’clock came, half-past, and then eleven.  Then I began to smell a rat.  I kept on urging the necessity for action, but it became more and more evident that the Chief was fooling.  He pressed wine upon all and upon me in particular, while he drank little himself, although he pretended otherwise.  At last, I could stand it no longer, and got up in no very good humour to go.

“No, but stop, Don Ernesto!  Where are you going?  Sit down again.  The horses are not saddled yet:  not even caught up.  Sit down and have patience and we’ll all go with you in good time.”