THE WILD BULL OF THE PUNA.
Guapo was not much troubled at this. He knew he could take the liberty
of using his friend's roof for the night, even should the latter not
return to grant it. He crawled in. Of course his friend was only
temporarily absent--no doubt looking after his flocks of sheep and
alpacos; and as he was a bachelor, there was no wife at home, but there
were his furniture and utensils. Furniture! No--there was none. There
never is in the hut of a Puna shepherd. Utensils! yes--there was an
earthen "olla," or pot to cook soup in, another to boil or roast maize,
a jar to hold water, a few split gourd-shells for plates, two or three
others for cups--that was all.
This was the catalogue of utensils. Two stones set a little apart formed
the fireplace, in which the shepherd, when he makes a fire to cook with,
makes it out of dry dung. A couple of dirty sheep-skins lay upon the
ground. These were the bed. Nothing more was to be seen. Yes, there was
one thing more, and this gladdened the eyes of Guapo. In a bag that hung
against the wall, and on which he soon laid his hands, he felt
something--a collection of hard round objects, about as big as large
chestnuts. Guapo knew very well what these were. He knew they were
"macas."
What are _macas_? you will ask. Macas, then, are tuberous roots that
grow in the elevated regions of the Puna, where neither ocas, ullucas,
nor potatoes, will thrive. They are cultivated by the inhabitants, and
in many parts constitute almost the only food of these wretched people.
They have an agreeable and rather sweetish flavour, and, when boiled in
milk, taste somewhat like boiled chestnuts. They can be preserved for
more than a year by simply drying them in the sun, and then exposing
them to the cold air, when they become hard and shrivelled. They thrive
best in this high region, for although they will grow in the lower
valleys, they are there very insipid and worthless. The Indians prepare
them for food by boiling them into a soup, or syrup, which is taken with
parched maize-corn.
Guapo knew that he had got his hands upon a bag of dried macas, and
although their owner was absent, he had already come to the
determination to appropriate them for himself and party. His joy at the
discovery had not subsided when another bag drew his attention, and this
was the signal for another delightful surprise. His hand touched the new
bag in a trice. There was a rattling sound within. Peas? No--maize.
"Good!" ejaculated Guapo; "maize and macas! That with what is left of
the charqui--we shall not fast to-night."
Guapo now backed himself out of the hut, and joyfully announced the
discoveries he had made. The travellers dismounted. The horse and mule
were picketed on lassoes on the plain. The llamas were left to go at
will. They would not stray far from their owner.
It was piercing cold in this highland region. Doña Isidora and the
children entered the hut, while Don Pablo and Guapo remained without for
the purpose of collecting fuel. There was not a stick of wood, as no
trees of any sort grew near. Both strayed off upon the plain to gather
the _taquia_, or ordure of the cattle, though no cattle were in sight.
Their tracks, however, were visible all around.
While engaged thus, the old Indian suddenly raised himself from his
stooping position with an exclamation that betokened alarm. What had
startled him? A loud bellowing was heard--it was the bellowing of a
bull. But what was there in that sound to alarm two full-grown men? Ah!
you know not the bulls of the Puna.
Coming around a promontory of rocks a large black bull was in sight. He
was approaching them in full run, his head thrown down, his eyes glaring
fiercely. At every spring he uttered a roar, which was terrific to hear.
A more horrid object it would be difficult to conceive. You may suppose
that an adventure with an enraged bull is one of an ordinary character,
and may occur any day, even in the green meadow pastures of Old England.
So it is, if the animal were only an English bull. But it is a far
different affair with the bulls of the Puna.
Throughout all Spanish America animals of this kind are of a fiercer
nature than elsewhere. It is from them the bulls used in the celebrated
fights are obtained; and, perhaps, the race has been made fiercer by the
treatment they receive on such occasions--for many of those that exhibit
in the arena are afterwards used to breed from. But, in general, the
Spanish-American "vacqueros," or cattle-herds, treat the cattle under
their charge with much cruelty, and this has the effect of rendering
them savage. Even in herds of cattle where there are no bulls, there are
cows so dangerous to approach, that the vacqueros never attempt driving
them unless when well mounted.
A Mexican or South American cattle-herd is, therefore, always a mounted
man. There is a difference, too, among the bulls in different parts of
these countries. On the Llanos of Venezuela they are not so fierce as
those of the Puna, and they are more and less so in different parts of
Mexico and the Pampas of Buenos Ayres.
The Puna bulls are, perhaps, the fiercest and most dangerous of all.
They are more than half wild. They scarcely ever see a human being, and
they will attack one upon sight. To a mounted man there is little
danger, unless by the stumbling or falling of his horse; but many a poor
Indian, crossing these high plains afoot, has fallen a sacrifice to
these vengeful brutes.
Both Don Pablo and Guapo knew all this, and therefore were aware of
their own danger. Neither had a weapon--not so much as a stick. They had
laid aside their knives and other arms, which had been carried inside
the hut. To reach the hut before the bull reached _them_ would be
impossible; the brute was coming nearly from it--for he had issued from
some shelter in the rocks not far off. They were full two hundred yards
out upon the plain, and to run in the direction of the rocks would have
been to run counter to the bull, and meet him face to face! Their danger
was imminent. What was to be done?
There was not much time left them for consideration. The furious animal
was within thirty paces distance, roaring loudly, shaking his head and
brandishing his long sharp horns. At this moment a happy thought
occurred almost simultaneously to Don Pablo and the Indian. The evening,
as we have already said, was piercing cold, and both, in going out to
collect the fuel, had worn their ponchos.
The trick of the matador with his red cloak suggested itself in this
moment of peril. Both had seen it performed--Don Pablo often--and knew
something of the "way." In a moment both had stripped the ponchos from
their shoulders, and, placing themselves _à la matador_, awaited the
onset of the bull. It was agreed that as soon as the bull was "hooded"
by either, that both should run at all speed to the rocks, where they
could easily climb out of reach of the animal.
Don Pablo happened to be more in the way, and perhaps his more showy
poncho attracted the brute; but whether or not, he was the first to
receive the charge. With the adroitness of a practised matador he flung
his poncho on the horns of the animal, and then both ran in the
direction of the rocks. As they faced towards the hut, however, to the
horror of Don Pablo he saw the Doña Isidora, with Leon and the little
Leona, all outside, and even at some distance from the entrance!
Attracted by the bellowing of the bull and the shouts of the men, they
had rushed out of the hut.
Don Pablo, in wild accents, shouted to them to make for the door; but,
paralysed by terror, they were for some moments unable to move. At
length Doña Isidora, recovering herself, ran for the entrance, pushing
the children before her. But the low doorway was difficult of access;
they were slow in getting under it; and they would have been too late,
as the bull, after shaking off the poncho, had turned and made directly
for the hut.
"O God, preserve her!" cried Don Pablo, as he saw the enraged animal
within a few paces of where his wife had knelt to enter the doorway.
"She is lost! she is lost!"
In fact, the bull was making directly towards her, and it seemed as if
nothing could then have interposed to save her.
At that moment the tramp of a horse in full gallop sounded on their
ears. Don Pablo looked up. A strange horseman was near the spot--an
Indian. Over his head a singular instrument was revolving. There were
three thongs fastened at one end, while at the other end of each was a
ball. These balls were whirling and gyrating in the air. The next moment
both thongs and balls were seen to part from the hands of the rider, and
wrap themselves around the legs of the bull. The latter made an awkward
spring forward, and then fell upon the plain, where he lay kicking and
helpless. The horseman uttered a yell of triumph, sprang from his horse,
and running up to the prostrate animal, thrust the blade of his long
macheté into its throat. The red stream gushed forth, and in a few
seconds the black monster lay motionless upon the plain.
The new-comer quietly unwound the thongs--the _bolas_--from the legs of
the dead bull, and then addressed himself to our travellers.