own as the Barrio de Bolueta, he
approached a group of soldiers lounging in front of their quarters, and
enquired where the general was lodged. The men looked at him in some
surprise, and asked which general he meant.

"The general-in-chief, Zumalacarregui, to be sure," replied Paco
impatiently.

"Where come you from, amigo?" said one of the soldiers, "not to know
that Zumalacarregui left the lines the day after he was wounded, and is
now getting cured at Cegama?"

Great was Paco's vexation at finding that the person he had come so far
to seek, had been all the while at a village within a day's march of the
Dominican convent. His annoyance was so legibly written upon his
countenance, that one of the soldiers took upon himself to offer a word
of consolation.

"Never mind, comrade," said he, "if you want to see Tio Tomas, you can't
do better than remain here. You won't have long to wait. He has only got
a scratch on the leg, and we expect every day to see him ride into the
lines. He's not the man to be laid up long by such a trifle."

"Is Colonel Villabuena here?" said Paco, somewhat reassured by this last
information.

"What, Black Baltasar, as they call him? Ay, that he is, and be hanged
to him. It's only two days since he ordered me an extra turn of picket
for forgetting to salute him as he passed my beat. Curse him for a
soldier's plague!"

Paco left the soldiers and walked on till he came to a small house,
which the juniper bush suspended above the door proclaimed to be a
tavern. Entering the smoky low-roofed room upon the ground-floor, which
just then chanced to be unoccupied, he sat down by the open window and
called for a quartillo of wine. A measure of the vinegar-flavoured
liquid known by the name of chacolin, and drunk for wine in the province
of Biscay, was brought to him, and after washing the dust out of his
throat, he began to think what was best to do in his present dilemma. He
was desirous to get out of Don Baltasar's neighbourhood, and, moreover,
if he did not rejoin his regiment or report himself to the military
authorities, he was liable to be arrested as a deserter. In that case,
he could hardly hope that the strange story he would have to tell of his
imprisonment at the convent would find credit, and, even if it did,
delay would inevitably ensue. He finally made up his mind to remain
where he was for the night, and to start early next morning for Cegama.
A better and more speedy plan would p