The young man did not understand.

“I assure you, Senor Don Jose,” added the Lacedaemonian legislator, with energy, “that it was very well done; for it is of no use to try those rascals.  The judge cross-questions them a little and then lets them go.  If at the end of a trial dragged out for half a dozen years one of them is sent to jail, at the moment least expected he escapes, and returns to the Retreat of the Cavaliers.  That is the best thing to do—­shoot them!  Take them to prison, and when you are passing a suitable place—­Ah, dog, so you want to escape, do you? pum! pum!  The indictment is drawn up, the witnesses summoned, the trial ended, the sentence pronounced—­all in a minute.  It is a true saying that the fox is very cunning, but he who catches him is more cunning still.”

“Forward, then, and let us ride faster, for this road, besides being a long one, is not at all a pleasant one,” said Rey.

As they passed The Pleasaunce, they saw, a little in from the road, the guards who a few minutes before had executed the strange sentence with which the reader has been made acquainted.  The country boy was inconsolable because they rode on and he was not allowed to get a nearer view of the palpitating bodies of the robbers, which could be distinguished forming a horrible group in the distance.  But they had not proceeded twenty paces when they heard the sound of a horse galloping after them at so rapid a pace that he gained upon them every moment.  Our traveller turned round and saw a man, or rather a Centaur, for the most perfect harmony imaginable existed between horse and rider.  The latter was of a robust and plethoric constitution, with large fiery eyes, rugged features, and a black mustache.  He was of middle age and had a general air of rudeness and aggressiveness, with indications of strength in his whole person.  He was mounted on a superb horse with a muscular chest, like the horses of the Parthenon, caparisoned in the picturesque fashion of the country, and carrying on the crupper a great leather bag on the cover of which was to be seen, in large letters, the word Mail.

“Hello!  Good-day, Senor Caballuco,” said Licurgo, saluting the horseman when the latter had come up with them.  “How is it that we got so far ahead of you?  But you will arrive before us, if you set your mind to it.”

“I will rest a little,” answered Senor Caballuco, adapting his horse’s pace to that of our travellers’ beasts, and attentively observing the most distinguished of the three, “since there is such good company.”

“This gentleman,” said Licurgo, smiling, “is the nephew of Dona Perfecta.”

“Ah!  At your service, senor.”

The two men saluted each other, it being noticeable that Caballuco performed his civilities with an expression of haughtiness and superiority that revealed, at the very least, a consciousness of great importance, and of a high standing in the district.  When the arrogant horseman rode aside to stop and talk for a moment with two Civil Guards who passed them on the road, the traveller asked his guide: