“Will you send a message by the direct route to Ronda, asking for our passports, and informing our friends of our safety?” said Alvar.
No, informing their friends was the last thing wished for. In the morning they would see.
“Do not resist, Jack,” said Alvar; “it is quite useless; we must come.”
“Don’t you hear he is talking English to me?” said Jack, as a last appeal, and, of course, a vain one.
“I am sure they haven’t got a magistrate’s warrant,” said Jack, as his alpenstock was taken away from him, and, closely guarded, he was made to precede Alvar down the hill, in a state of offended dignity and incredulous indignation. He was very angry, but not at all frightened; it was incredible that any Spanish officials should hurt him. Indeed, as he cooled down a little, the adventure might have been a good joke, but for the certainty that Cherry would be imagining them at the bottom of a precipice.
After walking for some way along a different road from the one they had come by, they stopped at a little wayside tavern, where they were given to understand that they were to pass the night.
“But it’s impossible; they can’t keep us here,” cried Jack. “Isn’t there a parish priest, or a magistrate, or a policeman, or some one to appeal to?”
“No one who could help us,” answered Alvar. “I do not think there is anything to be afraid of for ourselves; we can easily prove that we are English when we get to some town; it is of Cherry that I think—he will be so frightened.”
“You don’t think they’ll go and take him up?”
“Oh, no; I hope they will send to Ronda for our passports in the morning. But, Jack, do not fly in a passion. We must be very civil, and say we are quite willing to be detained in the service of the government.”