PART II.

EL CERRO DEL PICHINANGO.

The Cerro del Pichinango comprised something over sixteen thousand

acres, on which fed twenty thousand sheep, two thousand head of cattle,

and three hundred and fifty horses. The sheep were divided into seven

flocks, not counting a small flock of Southdowns at the Cerro. Each

flock had its own area of camp, over which to feed, and was located at

its own "puesto," where its "puestero," or shepherd, lived and looked

after it. The cattle grazed at will all over the estate, which was quite

open, without fences of any kind, here and there, in large groups, and

often in small points of twenty or thirty animals. There was good

pasturage, and abundant water. The river Rosario, which bordered the

estate on the West, did not run in a straight line, but curved in its

course, while at the South-West corner it took a much larger curve,

forming almost a semi-circle, and here the woods were wider than

hitherto. All this gave the scenery quite a park-like aspect, which was

very attractive. On the Southern side the river Pichinango did the same,

the woods which bordered its banks being even more beautiful, hung with

creepers and flowering plants, the river winding peacefully in between.

Here, too, fish could be caught, and the carpincho, or water-pig, was

able to enjoy himself undisturbed to his heart's content. Moreover, a

considerable stream called the Canyada Grande, passed right through the

centre of the estate, running for the most part clean and pure over a

stony and rocky bed. La Concordia, where Mr. Dampier lived with his

family, was situate at the opposite end of the estancia to the Cerro.

The house stood on elevated ground overlooking the river Rosario, and

its woods on the west, while towards the south it commanded a distant

view of the Swiss Colony, with its red-roofed houses and patches of

arable land between. On the right were the wide and beautiful woods

which bordered the banks of the river Pichinango, where it joined the

Rosario, at which juncture of the two rivers a broad rincon, or corner,

was in itself quite a feature of the landscape. To the left the

grass-covered plain, with here and there a large bed of tall thistles,

rolled away for some four miles to the northern boundary of the

estancia. The house was modern and comfortable: built on three sides of

an open "patio," or court, which you entered through iron gates, and the

drawing room spacious and airy, with its three large windows coming down

to the ground, occupied the whole length of the house at the back. On

the left and in front was the flower garden, divided by a carriage

drive, which led out past a lodge to the open camp. The "peones'," or

servants' quarters lay to the right, forming a square, in the centre of

which was a large "euremada," or shed, with four open sides, used for

tying up horses under and for the "peones" to seek shelter from the sun

during the "siesta."

Further away was the "corral," or yard, in which to shut up horses, and

beyond again were the sheepyards. There was also a considerable area of

cultivated land, where maize, and potatoes, and "alfalfa," a species of

clover, flourished, as did a large quantity of fruit trees, planted all

round an open space, used for the production of vegetables. Winter had

now come, and the weather had become stormy, with cold nights and cold

winds from the South.

I was out in the camp pretty continually, nevertheless, visiting the

various puestos, and turning inwards the cattle, especially on our

northern boundary. When fine enough I had the Indians at work mending up

the walls of the sheepyards, which were made of loose stones piled one

upon another. These had been greatly neglected at the "Cerro" and needed

building up and repairing, as many gaps were to be seen. Three of the

gates, too, required attention. After a week, however, the weather

improved, so a "para rodeo" of the cattle was arranged for the next day

but one, which was a Saturday. We had our horses tied up the night

before, and were all ready for a start just before sunrise, Don

Frederico and his party coming up from La Concordia just about the same

time. The rodeo, or meeting-place for the cattle, was situate in a

direct line between the Cerro and La Concordia, about half a mile

distant from the former. It had the usual big post planted in the

centre, round which the cattle revolved, and the ground all round was

quite bare of herbage, evidently well trodden by numerous animals. We

had help from three of the puesteros, especially from one named

Marmasola, who not only came himself, but brought three boys with him,

all well mounted. Laborde and Martin arrived from their own side,

accompanied by two or three dogs. I was riding "Carnival," who had now

settled down at the "Cerro," having attached himself to the little grey

mare with one eye, to which he had been collared on his first arrival.

"Napoleon" was in great spirits, paying no attention whatever to the

couple of mongrel terriers who followed behind him. He was quite aware

that serious business was on foot. I got over with the Indians to the

north-western corner of the estancia, and we spread ourselves out,

driving the cattle before us. Some of them seemed inclined to break

back. This was easily prevented, and I found it much easier to do this

here, where it was all open camp, than it had been at the Sierras de Mal

Abrigo, when hindered and surrounded by large masses of rock. Don

Frederico came up from his side with a good deal of help; so altogether

we made a very satisfactory "para rodeo." I had no experience of dealing

with cattle in such large numbers, nor was I surprised to find that care

was needed to keep them all together on the "rodeo," when we got them

there. I felt pretty sure, however, that by bringing them up constantly,

and always keeping them up some time when collected, we should soon get

the herd under complete control. Don Frederico brought with him a Mr.

John Jennings, who was living with him at La Concordia. He was a good

Spanish scholar, and an excellent accountant, fond of gardening, and was

much occupied at the time with the cultivated land there, to which I

have before alluded. His figure was decidedly burly; he had a

good-natured face and thin legs. He did not look well on horseback, as

he appeared too heavy above the saddle, nor was he really much of a

rider. Upon this occasion he bestrode a very dark grey, somewhat low in

condition, and not apparently up to his weight. They both came up to the

Cerro for breakfast: some mutton stewed with rice, hot coffee and camp

biscuits; all very acceptable after the morning's gallop. I let go

"Carnival," and had a little bay horse, with a white blaze and two white

stockings caught up, and when they returned I rode with them as far as

La Concordia. Here I stopped for awhile, and then rode over into the

Swiss Colony to arrange some business which had to be attended to; nor

did I get back to the "Cerro" until about an hour before sunset.

Curiously enough, since my first arrival, but little seemed to have

happened in regard to the war. Every now and again a party of Blanco

soldiers would ride up, have some food, and go on their way. They did

not take our horses, for these were as yet plentiful, and probably they

had better ones of their own. The Colorados had not come our way at all,

being mostly concentrated near Monte Video, the capital, while a fairly

large force were also encamped in the province of San Jose. Meanwhile

the Blanco army was said to be in great strength out beyond Paysandu,

waiting for finer weather, and until the horses should pick up after the

somewhat early winter. Spring, when it came, advanced rapidly. The days

soon seemed longer and the weather warmer. We had a good deal of

sheep-working on hand, as the flocks came up from the "puestos" to the

Cerro, to be passed through the sheepyards, when it was our custom to

get through one flock in a day. Don Frederico generally rode up to see

how the work progressed, bringing two or three "peones" from La

Concordia, as this winter there was a certain amount of foot-rot among

the sheep, which needed attention. Fortunately, however, this was never

really bad at the Pichinango, as a great part of the camp lay high, and

therefore dry, covered with a hard kind of grass, which grew profusely

between the longer tussock-grass. The flocks near La Concordia, however,

fed on lower ground, but they were passed through the sheepyards there,

when I went down from the Cerro, taking two of the Indians with me to

assist. And so the days passed on one much like another, until the sun

began to shine longer, and the weather to get warmer when at length we

began to realise that summer was not far off. Some four weeks passed

without anything particular happening, and then came the branding of the

calves, always an event of supreme importance on a large South American

estancia. First there was a general "para rodeo" of the cattle, and then

they had to be shut up in the large stone enclosure, or "manga." Our

native neighbours had to be advised beforehand of the appointed day, so

that they might be present to see if any of their animals were by chance

mixed up with our herd. I also obtained the services of three or four

natives in the neighbourhood, known to be good camp men, _i.e._, skilled

in the management of cattle, and especially so at this particular work.

When the appointed day came round, it proved fine and fortunately there

was but little wind. We all made an early start from both ends of the

estancia, and were well on our way when the sun rose in a blue sky.

Having plenty of horsemen, the cattle came up particularly well to the

rodeo, where we kept them revolving round for quite half an hour, and

then by driving a point of tame cattle in front of them, we managed to

get the entire herd inside the "manga" without much difficulty. They did

not quite like the operation; odd animals would try to break away, but

they were quickly brought back, and they looked to me a very large

number, when once inside the stone enclosure; far larger than I had ever

seen shut up together before. Meanwhile two big fires had been lighted

to heat the brands, and all being ready, two natives entered the "manga"

on horseback with their lassoes, and one by one caught and easily

brought out the calves. And so the work progressed, until quite a large

number of calves had already been marked. Then came the time for

breakfast. A young cow was lassoed and killed, its hide quickly taken

off, and the meat cut up into large joints, and placed before the fires

to roast. Biscuits were handed out, also farinha, a kind of

coarsely-ground flour, grown from a plant in Brazil. The neighbours

appeared, each mounted on his best horse, with such silver on their

reins and headstalls, bits, stirrups, or "recados," as they happened to

possess. They mostly wore a gay-coloured summer "poncho," a

broad-brimmed felt hat, black bombachos, or very loose trousers, tucked

into long boots, often ornamented with heavy silver spurs, so that the

whole scene looked quite picturesque. After breakfast there was a short

pause, and then the work went on, and it was between three and four

o'clock in the afternoon before all the calves were branded. The herd

was now let go, and quickly dispersed, doubtless, very glad to be once

more free--now that their knocking about was at length over. And then as

evening drew on young women made their appearance, riding up on

horseback, dressed in their best clothes, and a couple of musicians

turned up anxious to have a meal and to earn a few coppers. Music was

heard on every side, and it was not long before a dance on quite a large

scale was in progress, and apparently greatly enjoyed. Meanwhile the

moon rose and shed its silver light upon the scene. The evening was fine

and warm, and it was after eight o'clock before the company dispersed. I

watched the scene from the flat roof of the Cerro with much interest and

amusement, for it was all quite new to me. However, before half-past

nine o'clock all was quiet, the Indians in the galpon had already gone

to sleep. I heard old Robinson snoring loudly in his room above the

kitchen, so I locked up the doors and retired to my bedroom with the

feeling that all had gone off well; indeed, to me it seemed to have been

nothing less than quite an exciting and altogether satisfactory day.

Early in November shearing began, which, on an estancia, is the big

business of the year. It took place at the Cerro in the large "galpon,"

and suddenly, as it were, the old place began to assume an air of

importance and activity. Old Robinson, who managed the wooden wool-press

during shearing, and for the time being abandoned the culinary art,

started to get all ready, another cook taking his place. Mr. John

Jennings, usually known as Don Juan, came up to take charge inside the

woolshed, being a man of knowledge and experience, while I superintended

the work outside, such as getting up the sheep so that there were always

sufficient ready waiting to keep the shearers going. The afternoon

before shearing was to begin a gang of fifteen shearers arrived on

horseback. They were rather a rough-looking lot, indifferently mounted.

I had half a dozen of their horses collared, and the others, which were

poor, and in bad condition, were turned out to feed with them. These

shearers were supplemented by other natives in our neighbourhood, and by

those of our own people who knew how to shear, so that quite a good

number were ready to commence the important work. A number of sheep were

brought into the yards, and passed up into the small pens, which ran

along outside the galpon, facing the two wide wooden doors. Two men were

ready, waiting to catch the sheep: tie their legs and lay them on the

floor, ready for the shearers. To each shearer, as he finished his sheep

a little tin token called a "lata" was given, these being counted, and

entered up in a book in his name at the end of the day and week. Most of

the payment in money being made at the end of the time. As the wool was

shorn it was gathered up and carried to two large wooden tables, where

it was roughly classified according to quality. It was then put into

long bags, made of a thin open canvas material, which were pressed in

the wooden wool-press before being packed into the carts, which carried

them away. The shearers had all to be fed with their proper allowance of

rations, a matter requiring care and attention, and sheep had to be

slaughtered each morning, and every now and again a fat cow, as they

managed to consume quite a large amount of meat. Don Juan was very

good-natured and pleasant to do with. He thoroughly understood how the

work should be carried on, and how best to control shearers, and as I

was glad to assist him in my spare time, I was able to gain a good deal

of useful experience which might not otherwise have come my way.

Shearing could only go on during fine weather; after rain the sheep had

to get quite dry again before they could be shorn. When this happened,

as also in the evenings, Don Juan would instruct me in book-keeping, and

in writing Spanish, both of which I was well aware would be of value to

me as time went on. Day succeeded day, and fortunately during the second

half of November we had an exceptionally fine spell of weather, without

it being unduly hot. So the shearing of the sheep made good progress.

Don Frederico Dampier, who rode up from La Concordia nearly every day,

seemed very pleased to see how things were going; indeed, the second

week of December found us finishing up the last of the sheep. One

afternoon Charles Bent came over from the Sierras for a short visit,

which was a great pleasure, as I was able to hear how Royd was getting

on, and how things were going over there, and if many soldiers were

about. He appeared mounted on his best horse, a good-looking light

brown, with a white star on his forehead, and a white stocking on the

off hind leg, also a few white hairs at the root of his tail, apparently

in the pink of condition. He told us that Royd had now removed all his

remaining stock to his friend's estancia near San Jose, where he seemed

to have settled down, and to be quite happy. Nothing now was left at the

Sierras, and the place was to be handed back to its owner very shortly.

Bent said he himself intended to go back to his relatives, up towards

the Rio Negro, so we persuaded him to prolong his visit to the Cerro

before doing so. He lent a hand inside the galpon, gave out latas to

the shearers, and saw to various little matters needing attention, so

both Jennings and I were very glad to have him with us during the last

days of the shearing. When it ended it was a not unusual custom for the

day following to be kept as a general holiday before the company finally

dispersed, and the shearers took their departure. Don Juan, who was

quite _au fait_ at this kind of thing, thereupon arranged that on this

day there should be a grand race, in which Bent proposed to ride his own

horse, and a native, who had a "rosillo," or roan, he fancied very much,

whom the natives generally thought a lot of, offered to ride his horse

against him. The course arranged, was to be from the Canyada Grande,

opposite Laborde's puesto, up to the Cerro, which was about a mile and a

quarter, more or less. Both riders accordingly paid much attention to

their steeds, giving them a daily ration of maize, and morning and

evening exercise. Of course, there was a good deal of betting amongst

the people in the galpon, for the South American Spaniard is a real

gambler at heart, and the race was a much more exciting affair than the

games of cards and dice throwing, etc., which habitually went on among

the shearers during the evening when work was over. Don Juan, too, had

always been fond of a bit of racing, and did not hesitate to back Bent's

horse, which he pronounced the best of the two, supposing always he was

able to stay the course. It was somewhat a stiff one, and longer than

usual, the ground rising considerably during the last part of it. Bent

considered this to be to his advantage, as his horse, accustomed to the

Sierras, went exceedingly well over uneven ground, and he felt quite

confident he should win the race. On the appointed day the weather was

fine, and, as it happened there was no wind. The start was to be at

eleven o'clock, and I was one of those chosen to see it made, and to

send the horses and their riders on their way. Both apparently looked

all right as they jogged quietly down to the starting point. Quite a

crowd had collected to see the finish. Everyone wore their best clothes,

and the old Cerro for the moment looked quite gay. It had seen many

events and happenings in its time. A first-rate start was made, and the

horses got away quite even. Then Bent's horse took a slight lead, but at

the end of half a mile, to our great astonishment, suddenly collapsed,

shivering all over, and breaking out all at once into a thick lather of

white sweat; indeed, for four or five minutes he could scarcely stand,

swaying all the time to and fro on his legs, like a drunken man. I did

not know the least what had happened, but Jennings, who was well up in

these matters, at once stated his opinion that the horse had been got at

early that morning by one of the natives, who must have given him some

poison, probably the leaves of a shrub which grew on the banks of the

river Pichinango, for he said all the symptoms were just those which the

leaves of that plant would produce, and he had known it done more than

once before. These began to pass off during the afternoon, and the horse

to recover; indeed, by next morning he looked as if nothing had been the

matter with him. Of course, however, nothing could be proved: the stakes

had to be paid over, and the bets, which were mostly in favour of the

rosillo, had to be paid also. I myself had bet nothing on either horse,

so I was no loser, for, unlike Jennings, as a matter of fact, I really

had no taste for racing. There was, of course, a good deal of

excitement, and some quarrelling, in the galpon during the evening--more

especially as that day, being a general holiday, there had been a

certain amount of Canya on the go; but Don Juan managed to quiet things

down. Then the night came, and as it always does, overshadowed all

things. The next morning all the shearers, having received payment for

their work, mounted their horses and departed, and the old Cerro once

again resumed its usual aspect of quiet and dignified seclusion. The old

year passed peacefully away, and the new one came in with all its

possibilities and all its hopes and fears. Meanwhile, Mrs. Dampier and

the children had returned to La Concordia, from their visit to Monte

Video, which really had been prolonged longer than they expected.

This was chiefly owing to the war, which made the long journey less safe

than in time of peace, and there was always the danger of having the

horses taken as you travelled through the open country. Don Frederico

had gone into town to return with them, taking two peones with him, and

quite a large tropilla of horses. People generally in disturbed times

travelled by the diligence, which plied to and fro pretty regularly on

the "Camino Real," or Government road--but it was a most uncomfortable

mode of conveyance for a lady with children, so in spite of the risk it

was preferable to travel in one's own carriage, with a good supply of

horses and a reasonable escort. Fortunately, all went well, and they

reached home safely without any trouble or contretemps of any kind.

During the middle of January the weather became very hot, and work had

to be suspended from twelve until two o'clock as a matter of course, and

very often longer, for in those good old days, as they were called, the

custom of keeping the siesta during the summer months held sway over the

length and breadth of the republic. The old Indian, Feliciano, who lived

in a little house built of stone down below the big manga, was a

wonderful old man. He looked after the flock of rams, and was now quite

old; a true Indian of the Pampas, both in appearance and character, and

his son, Juan, who was up with me at the Cerro, must have been himself

well over fifty years of age. Old Feliciano himself was extremely silent

and reserved. I don't think I ever heard him speak more than three or

four consecutive words at any one time. But he was most scrupulous in

the performance of duty in regard to looking after his flock, which was

never neglected under any circumstances whatever. He had been years at

the Cerro, where for a long time it was impossible to get him to live in

any kind of house. He preferred to live in a "tolda," a shelter made of

mare's hides, stretched over a light wooden frame, as did the original

Indians of the Pampa, from whom he sprang, and among whom he was reputed

to have been a leader or chief. As the sun set below the western horizon

he would walk to some little rise of the ground, where he could better

see it, and facing it, fall down on his knees and say a short prayer. He

did not like being observed, but I have myself watched him do this when

he was not aware that I was within sight. He had descendants living

round him to the second and third generation. He was said to have been a

famous horseman in his time, as indeed were all his race, for they

practically passed their whole lives on horseback.

I had been riding a brown horse, with a wall-eye, and some white hairs

in his tail; he was not much to look at, but I found him to be

sure-footed and comfortable, and a good horse among cattle. There was a

little chestnut, too, which was very pleasant to ride. The Indians had

horses of various sorts and colours, which they had been accustomed to

ride themselves. Among these was a little rosillo, or roan, which I

noticed Justiano liked to saddle up frequently, particularly when work

amongst cattle was going on. He was not much to look at, being small,

with rather a hollow back, and he seemed to me poor in condition, and to

be overworked. Moreover, I saw that he had a nasty sore underneath the

recado, one day when he was being unsaddled, so I took pity on him, and

told the Indian not to ride him in future, as I would try to dress the

wound, and if possible get it well. So I washed it myself, night and

morning, applying a solution of tincture of arnica, and it soon began to

mend. The horse, too, improved in condition by a little rest and freedom

from pain. When the wound seemed nearly all right again, I saddled him

up with my English saddle, and took him out for about an hour. I enjoyed

riding him; he was so full of go; but at the same time docile and quiet.

When I saw Don Frederico, he told me his history. One afternoon at the

end of the Flores War, a soldier rode up to La Concordia, and asked for

a fresh horse. "I cannot think what has come to this one," he said. "He

is a real good one, but no sooner did we cross the river Rosario, coming

from the Swiss colony, than he seemed to collapse all at once. He has

come nearly ten leagues (30 miles), without shewing any sign of being

tired." Don Frederico himself came out at the moment, and looked at the

horse. "I can tell you," he said. "The rosillo has our mark, and so soon

as he crossed the river he knew he was on his own camp, where he was

born. He must have been caught as a 'potro,' or colt, and have been

tamed by the soldiers. Except that he carries the mark of this estancia,

we none of us know anything about him. However, go to the kitchen and

get some refreshment, and we will give you another horse, and doubtless

the rosillo will be glad enough to find himself at home again." No

sooner, however, was he let loose, than he gave two or three neighs of

joy and then he trotted off, straight up to the Cerro, and joined the

horses there, so we could only conclude he must have originally been

caught and taken from the Cerro end of the estancia. Such was his

history, and I now saw after him myself, and took him for my own riding.

He was a real good little horse, and I liked him more and more as time

went on. Napoleon liked him, too, and used to lie down beside him when I

had him tied up under the "ombu" tree, which gave so good a protection

from the sun in the courtyard, and then as evening came I let him loose,

so that he might join the other horses, and feed and enjoy himself to

his heart's content.

As it happened, since the New Year, no soldiers had passed the Cerro,

nor had we heard any news of the war, but I was quite prepared to look

upon this as merely an interlude, and we kept a good look out,

especially in the early morning and late evening. So soon as the hot

spell passed, and the weather became cooler, our first business was a

gathering together of the horses. This meant a general sweep up of

everything in the shape of a horse on the estancia: the riding horses at

La Concordia and the Cerro alone excepted, for these were brought up

into the corral each morning, in accordance with the daily routine.

There were two large "manadas," or troops of mares with foals at the

Pichinango, one called the "saino," or brown, and the other the "moro,"

or dark blue roan; these being the colours of the respective stallions

which presided over them. These "manadas" usually fed quite apart, on

different portions of the camp. They each made up a large number, as

they included not only yearling foals, but both colts and fillies of two

and three years old, although the former of these usually cut themselves

off from the main body, forming small points feeding by themselves. To

gather together so many horses and keep them in control a good many

horsemen were needed, so nearly everyone who could ride joined in.

Marmasola, who had a small lot of mares of his own which fed on the

estate, was in great force with his sons and two other native friends.

Laborde and Martin were always ready to help, and the Indians were

delighted at the prospect of a really first-class gallop. I got a man

called Pedro Lima, living in the Swiss Colony, but really himself a

native, and a first-rate camp man, to come and take charge of the

operation of getting all the horses shut up in the big manga; not an

easy matter unless they were skilfully handled; and I asked him to bring

two or three of his native friends well-mounted with him. In accordance

with camp etiquette, I sent round to our native neighbours, inviting

them to come and join us, as we intended branding some foals, so giving

them the opportunity to come and see if any of their animals were by

chance mixed up with our horses. The appointed day proved fine, and we

were all in the saddle before sunrise, old Robinson alone excepted. We

had arranged to join up with Marmasola and the party from La Concordia

and so form a continuous line, driving everything in the shape of a

horse straight in front of us in the direction of the Cerro. It must be

remembered that this was a much more critical job than gathering up the

cattle, as the horses could travel as fast or faster than we could.

Moreover, when dealing with them in large numbers, care and good

management were a real necessity if they were to be shut up inside the

manga at all. I rode "Carnival"; the Indians were mounted as they liked

themselves; "Napoleon," although he was no use, would not be left

behind. Don Frederico and Mr. Jennings and their people joined us at the

place appointed, as did Pedro Lima and his friends, as well as the

puesteros, when plans were laid down and instructions given all round as

to how the work was to be carried out. Don Frederico, who was a

beautiful rider, was mounted on his gay rosillo. He always rode on a

recado, with silver mounting in front and behind; he had silver fittings

to his bridle, and chain reins for a little way, just where they joined

the bit, then made of well-worked and softened hide, with silver rings.

He wore long boots, silver spurs, and carried a light summer poncho

across his saddle in front of him. Altogether, a picturesque figure!--a

true estanciero of the old regime--nor do I think he was ever happier

than when he felt his best horse under him, and work of this particular

kind was the order of the day.

Jennings, on his dark grey, cut a different figure; he did not look the

genuine camp man at all, neither was he in the slightest degree; and it

was easy to see that work of this kind was not congenial to him.

Marmasola and his boys were in great spirits. What he did not know about

horses was not worth knowing, although he himself was not a great rider;

advancing years were beginning to tell their tale. But he had been

through the war of Oribe, generally known as the Big War. He remembered

the traditions of "the past," and as he had now been on the estate for a

great number of years, certain privileges were accorded to him; but at

the same time he would spare no trouble and was always willing to do

anything he could to benefit the estancia and its owner. We all formed

into line on the western boundary, facing towards the Cerro, stretching

out both to right and left, and riding some three hundred yards apart.

We allowed the cattle to go back between us, but drove all horses of

every kind in front of us. Some of the colts tried hard to break back,

and for the moment succeeded, but were eventually rounded up and brought

back within the line. "Carnival" carried me splendidly: he was really

very fast, and at the same time perfectly sure-footed. He made one feel

quite safe even at full speed, and it was a pleasure to be so well

mounted. Meanwhile, the line kept drawing in, and as the horses in front

of us began to get up towards the manga, Pedro Lima and a couple of

natives, by making a swift detour, got round in front of them so as to

round them up as much as possible, more or less where the rodeo of the

cattle was situate, and so to keep them in some measure under control

until we all came up from behind and were able to form a regular ring

round them. Meanwhile the old Indian, Feliciano, had some half a dozen

tame horses not very far from the open gateway of the manga, and as

these gave a convenient lead to all the others, we got the whole lot

safely inside without much difficulty. This was fortunate, because if

horses in a round-up of this description once succeed in breaking away

in any number together, they are very difficult to get back again, owing

to the speed at which they can travel. Once inside the manga, however,

we were able to look them over at our leisure. There were a good many

foals to be branded, so a fire was got ready. Moreover, breakfast had to

be thought of, and it was not very long before a couple of roasts were

preparing in front of it. We found there were nearly a dozen colts over

four years old which in the ordinary way ought to have been caught up to

be tamed, but owing to the war, it was decided to put this off for a

year, for the reason that a good-looking colt which shewed any signs of

having been handled, was more likely to be taken by soldiers than one

which had been left entirely alone. They were very clever at seeing into

this, even when the animals were feeding in the open camp. We found some

riding horses shut up with the troop which did not belong to the

estancia, but had probably been left behind by soldiers as they passed.

These we caught up and took down to La Concordia, so that they might

meanwhile do such work as they were able. If they could do nothing else

they would be good enough for the puesteros to look after their sheep

on, or for the ordinary routine work of the estancia. It was very

interesting to watch all the horses when gathered together in the manga.

I had never, of course, seen so many collected before, and it was a

pretty sight to watch them and to note their different colours and

characteristics. During the interval for breakfast the two stallions

occupied themselves in having a fight, attacking each other fiercely;

standing on their hind legs and striking at each other with their fore

feet; then they would go round in a circle, each looking out for an

opportunity to strike more effectively. Many of the mares too were busy

picking up their belongings,--as they would often have a foal and a

yearling, and even a two-year-old descendant regularly following after

them.

It was very interesting to watch them all, and to observes their ways

and manners. There was plenty of opportunity to do this, as after the

foals were branded we did not let them go until between three and four

o'clock. When at last they were turned loose, they did not let the grass

grow under their feet, but soon divided themselves off more or less into

their own lots, and with their own companions. Indeed, had they been

looked up early on the following morning they would have probably been

found feeding more or less together in the same groups, and on the same

particular part of the estancia where we had originally found them. The

weather had now become quite hot again, and we had continual sunshine

for nearly a fortnight. There was a stone puesto about half way between

the Cerro and the "Pass of the Pichinango," where an old negro called

Tio Benigno lived, looking after a flock of sheep. He was now dead, and

the flock had been removed, but his so-called widow, black like himself,

was still living on there, with a numerous progeny of various sorts and

sizes, almost destitute of clothes who ran in and out of the abode like

rabbits, when anyone happened to ride up. They seemed to be living on

the rations which had been allowed to the departed parent, which were

still being allowed to them. Don Frederico would have been glad if I

could have got them to leave the puesto altogether, but the question was

where were they to go? I was riding down to La Concordia during the

siesta when I saw a peculiar sight. As I was about to cross the Canyada

Grande, a short way further up the stream, the black lady was sitting

astride an old dun horse, short both of mane and tail in the middle of a

large pool, with a fishing rod in her hand, apparently intent on

fishing. Of clothes she had none. Such garments as she possessed lay in

a heap on the bank by the water. Her black skin fairly shone and

glistened in the sunshine. On her head was an old black silk top hat,

which also reflected the rays of light. It had doubtless been a gift to

her departed husband from one of the young Englishmen who might have

been staying at the Cerro, presumably with no idea, however, that it

would be put to its present use. The lady saw me pass, but did not

appear in the least to mind. She simply gave a broad grin, and leaving

her to pursue her peaceful occupation, I passed on my way. Not very long

afterwards someone who had known her husband asked her to go and keep an

eye on quite a small lot of sheep, and also to act as "lavandera," or

washer-woman, as well. So I persuaded her not to lose the opportunity of

changing her abode, and gladly sent a cart to move such belongings as

she had. Indeed, I was glad to have the puesto empty, for it was in the

direct route along which soldiers would pass coming from the town of

Colla, and going north, and it seemed better that they should have the

road clear in front of them. Rumour in time of revolution was always

busy, and it was said that the Colorados intended for some reason best

known to themselves to fall back before very long from the province of

Colonia, and join up with their main force in the province of San Jose.

Should this prove correct, it seemed probable that a portion of the

Blanco army, which, during all this time had been steadily concentrating

up beyond Paysandu, would seize the opportunity to occupy that province

themselves. That being so, it seemed obvious that open hostilities,

which had now for some time seemed far away from us, would come much

nearer. The fact was it was impossible to foresee what lay before us in

the future, and all we could do was to carry on as well as we could for

the present, and hope for the best.

Up to now we had certainly been very fortunate, for our horses had not

been taken; all had gone on very much as usual; nor had there been any

interference either with our sheep or cattle. There happened to be two

colts among the horses at the Cerro nearly five years old: a bay and a

brown, and I determined to have these tamed. One was the foal of the bay

"madrina" mare, and the other had joined the troop on its own account.

They were both accustomed to come up each day into the corral, and to

see people about, nor had either of them led the wild life of the open

camp. So there was every reason to suppose they would prove docile, and

I did not trouble to look out for a regular "domador," or horse-tamer,

as I thought that Juan, the Indian, would manage, with the help of his

nephews, both of whom were good riders. The rough and ready system of

taming in the old days consisted of lassoing a colt in the yard, tying

him up to a post for the night, and next morning saddling him up with a

"recado," with the "cincha," or broad hide girth, as tight as possible.

A narrow piece of hide nicely softened was then tied twice round the

lower jaw, to which the reins were attached, a couple of pieces of soft

sheepskin were fastened over the framework of the recado, while the four

legs of the animal were tied together by a "maneador," or long thong of

hide, in such a manner that by giving one pull it would all come loose

and fall to the ground. The colt was then untied from the post to which

he had been made fast, and up got the rider, who was going to give him

his first gallop. Two men were ready on horseback, one on either side,

while a third man on foot gave the thong round the horse's legs a sharp

pull, when it fell loose. Usually the colt would make a wild rush

forward, the two horsemen keeping each as close to him as they could on

either side, so as to steer him in a straight line. Old Juan was now

over fifty, nor was he a regular tamer; but he could still sit tight on

a horse which did not buck-jump too hard or too long, and there was

always the chance that he would not buck-jump at all, but just bolt off

across the open camp. With the bay colt even this did not happen, for he

merely lunged forward at a sort of uneven trot, wondering very much at

finding anyone on his back. Then he stopped, unwilling to proceed, which

Justiniano quickly made him do by a free application of his whip.

Eventually he made his first gallop all right and came back apparently

having had quite enough of it. That evening the brown colt was tied up

as had been the bay, and the same procedure was followed in the early

morning. Unfortunately, however, he buck-jumped rather badly, so soon as

he was mounted and let loose, and he gave Old Juan a bit of a shaking,

but he did not do it for long, and the Indian was able to sit tight and

give the colt his first gallop, bringing him back quite sufficiently

subdued for one day at any rate.

The gallops went on each morning, with both the colts for about ten

days, by the end of which time not only was there no more buck-jumping,

but they were beginning to get handy even to the extent of answering the

pressure of the rein on the side of the neck, and of turning in some

measure as required.

Juan was quite proud of his performance, and began to imagine he was a

young man again and a regular horse tamer. Moreover, an extra allowance

of Canya, or white rum, of which he was always fond, and at once took

effect upon him, made him talk most amusingly of all the colts he had

tamed in his early life, and the wonderful things he had done. At the

end of three weeks, both the colts were bitted and could be ridden

either by Margarito or Justiniano, and it was not long before they were

able to take their place among the tame horses.

Attached, as they were, to the tropillas, they were as likely to be

taken by soldiers as colts as they would be when tamed, for they would

know well enough that young horses among their surroundings were not at

all likely to be difficult to break in. I had been lately riding a

"manchado," or piebald horse, which had been bred and born town of

Colla. He had not much to commend him, but he was easy and quiet to

ride. A sad story was connected with him. Between two and three years

previously a young Englishman of good position who had come out to have

a look at the country, was staying as a guest at the Cerro. One day he

rode the "manchado" over to the little country town of Colla. He had not

much to recommend him. Returning late at night, he unsaddled the horse

in the small yard, just outside the stable. He then took off the bridle,

and then, not thinking what he was doing, gave the horse a hit with the

reins on his quarters, to drive him out of the yard. The horse kicked

out sharply with both hind feet, one hoof catching him just under the

throat, and the other at the pit of the stomach. He fell senseless to

the ground, and must have remained unconscious for some time. When he

came round, he managed to crawl into the galpon and awake the Indians,

who, as usual, were fast asleep. They gave the alarm, and a messenger

was sent in all haste for a doctor, who was then living on a small place

he had beyond and to the eastward of the Cerro. He kindly came over at

once, and applied such remedies as he could, but to no purpose, for the

poor young man during the morning again became unconscious, and late in

the afternoon passed quietly to his rest. It was indeed a sad business,

and what made it worse was the thought of how easily it might have been

avoided. The "manchado" used to rear a bit at times, but not really

badly, and I never knew him show the least sign of kicking during the

time I had anything to do with him. Later on, I handed him over to

Justiniano, who always gave his heels an uncommonly wide berth, and

eventually he was taken by a party of soldiers, and we saw no more of

him. About a week later I had occasion to ride over one afternoon to the

pulperia on the other side of the pass across the river Rosario,

opposite to Marmasola's puesto. I called in as I passed to enquire if

there was any news, and I saw his wife, who told me her husband was out

with the flock. Reaching the pulperia, I found the owner, a tall

good-natured looking man, at home, and we soon arranged the business

about which I had come. He then told me that towards the end of the

previous week Mamerto Gomez, a captain in the Red army, was coming out

of the town of Colla with a troop of Colorado soldiers, on his way

towards the province of San Jose. A short distance beyond the furthest

houses a poor cripple sat by the side of the road begging. Mamerto

halted as he passed, and turning to one of his soldiers, said, "Mata me

aquel Bicho amigo," "Friend, kill that reptile for me," whereupon the

man got off his horse and cut the poor cripple's throat from ear to ear.

Leaving the dead body by the roadside, Mamerto Gomez and his troop

passed on their way as if nothing had happened. I asked the pulpero if

he had ever seen Mamerto, and what he was like? "Yes, Senor, I have seen

him two or three times," he said, "and not long ago"; and he at once

gave me particulars as to his appearance. Of course, I had no difficulty

in recognizing him as the same Mamerto Gomez I had first seen at the

Pulperia de Guaycoru, when the old negro said to me, "Cuidado, beware!"

and as the man who had been seen entering the Sierras de Mai Abrigo,

whom Royd had always believed to be the real cause of all his trouble

and ill-luck, viz., the sad death of poor Henriquez, and the stealing of

Bent's flock, and the attempt to break in to his puesto at night. I

called at Marmasola's as I rode back, and found him in, and, as usual,

we discussed the war. He, too, had heard that the Reds were leaving

Colonia, and thought it would not be long before the Blancos turned up

there in considerable force, when he thought it likely we might have

parties of soldiers coming our way, as we should then be in the direct

line of route between them and the concentration of their main army out

towards Paysandu; so there was pretty sure to be a certain amount of

coming and going. He also told me a story of two young Englishmen who

came out to Monte Video during the Flores War, with the intention of

making their way up country. They started to ride out from there alone,

without any guide, and very foolishly, before leaving the city, they

drew a considerable sum of money from the bank, which they carried out

with them. They reached San Jose all right, and the following day

proceeded on their way in the direction of the Cerro del Pichinango,

where they intended to pass the night. They stopped at a pulperia, or

store, for some refreshment about eleven o'clock, where there happened

to be about a dozen natives, among whom were four or five of very bad

character. Such was the account given to the police, who afterwards made

enquiries. Whether they let these men know they had money with them

nobody ever knew. They were known to be dressed each in a light tweed

suit, with a large check pattern on it. The two young Englishmen were

never heard of again, but a long time afterwards pieces of the cloth

they were said to have been wearing were found in the wood on the

further side of the river Rosario, not far from the pass which led over

to the Estancia Pichinango. The conclusion come to was that three or

four of the natives got on in front of them and attacked them, probably

just as they were about to enter the pass, which was rather a wide one,

and having shot them, either dragged or carried the bodies into the

wood; of course, taking the money and everything they possessed from

them. Whether or where they buried the bodies, of course, was not known.

So much time having elapsed, it was impossible to make further

enquiries. They had simply vanished--and being war-time, it was supposed

that anything might have happened to them, for at that time in the camp

murders even in broad daylight were by no means uncommon.

Marmasola always assumed a very serious aspect when telling this story,

which usually ended by his sitting down on a "banco," or low wooden

stool, and drawing the size of the check pattern on the garments of the

deceased on the mud floor with the point of his knife, at the same time

saying in a solemn tone, "Los dos pobres finados caramba!" "Alas, for

the two poor dead men!"

I allowed him to finish without interruption, and then I mounted my

horse and rode home to the Cerro, pondering on the many vicissitudes

which it seemed possible might happen to the unwary during life in

war-time in a South American republic. Nothing had happened during my

absence. We got the "tamberos" up to their rodeo, and kept them there

awhile, and when I got back the little flock of southdowns were about

ready to be shut up in their sheepyard for the night. I looked them over

to see that they were all right, and then I went up on to the flat roof

of the house to have a good look round with the glass, and so see if all

was quiet. The sun meanwhile was about to set, and it was not long

before the light began to fade, and one more day had passed and was

gone. When next I saw Don Frederico he discussed the situation, and said

he thought it would be wise to sell a certain number of the "capones,"

or wether sheep, which were now in good condition, and also to get a

tropero, or buyer of cattle of good position to come and purchase as

many "novillos," or bullocks, as we could get him to take, as by so

doing we should not only lessen the stock we had to look after on the

estancia, but it would do away with the risk of losing them. The

"capones" chiefly fed together in one flock near La Concordia, with a

certain number in two of the other flocks, so there need be no delay in

having them parted out so soon as we could arrange with a purchaser. So

he decided to attend to this within the next day or two. Meanwhile, if I

heard of anyone likely to purchase up in my direction, I was to let him

know. He also said he would write to one or two of the troperos, who had

been accustomed to buy novillos from us, informing them that we had a

good number for sale, and asking them whether they would be able to make

up a troop. It was not long before two buyers of sheep applied at La

Concordia. A day was fixed for parting them out, and I went down early

with two of the Indians to help to pass the flock through the

sheepyards. The purchasers happened to be friends, so agreed to part

both together on the same day, and divide the sheep between them

afterwards. Altogether they took between six and seven hundred, and

after they had finished we helped them over the Pass of the Rosario,

facing the Swiss Colony, where they intended to shut them up for the

night, before continuing their journey to the town of Colla, where one

of them resided. During the following week we passed the other two

flocks through the sheepyards at the Cerro, drafting out all the capones

and sending them down to the flock at La Concordia to replace the sheep

there which had been already sold.

Early in the following week, a little before eleven o'clock, a tropero

arrived at the Cerro, and enquired if he could see Don Frederico, as he

wanted to buy some "novillos." I had been out early on horseback, and

had not long returned, and was just about to have some breakfast. I told

him that he was at La Concordia, at the other end of the estancia, and

invited him to come inside and join me, which he seemed pleased to do.

He had a peon with him with a led horse in addition to the ones they

rode, whom I directed to get something to eat in the galpon. The tropero

was grandly dressed in full native costume, a beautiful summer poncho,

bombachos of very fine black merino, tucked inside long boots, the

latter adorned with large silver spurs, and I noticed he was fully

armed. He was an agreeable man, evidently well educated, and he told me

he had two other men and a tropilla of horses in the neighbourhood who

had gone to look at some bullocks at a small native estancia. Breakfast

over, I left him to finish his coffee and smoke, while I went out to

tell Justiniano to catch me up another horse. I then offered to

accompany him as far as La Concordia, so that if Don Frederico happened

to be out, I could have him sent for with as little delay as possible. I

gathered the tropero wished to make up quite a large troop, en route for

Monte Video, and as we had a good many animals to sell, I did my best to

make conversation. Fortunately, when we reached La Concordia, we found

Don Frederico at home. The tropero's credentials were quite satisfactory

to him, as was the price offered. It was therefore agreed that he should

part out and purchase all the novillos on the estancia which he thought

old enough and in sufficiently good condition to take. We on our part

undertook to have all the cattle gathered on the rodeo on Thursday

morning, so that he could part out his bullocks, and to help him to the

best of our power--payment, as usual, to be made on delivery. The

business concluded, the tropero had a glass or two of wine and departed.

He said he had plenty of horses with him for his men. I then rode back

at once to the Cerro, and sent off one of the Indians to advise our

native neighbours and the other round to Laborde, Martin and Marmasola,

to inform them at their puestos of what we had arranged, so that they

might give help as usual. We tied up horses on Wednesday evening, and

made all ready for an early start. I rode "Carnival," the Indians, too,

were fairly well mounted. We met the party from La Concordia, Don

Frederico riding his rosillo, with two big dogs following him, and

Jennings mounted on his dark grey; he seldom rode anything else. The

tropero and his men did not take part in gathering the cattle, but

joined us at the rodeo, near the Cerro, mounted on their best horses,

while the others they had with them were meanwhile feeding not far off,

with a boy in attendance, to look after them. The cattle came up well,

and just as we got to the rodeo, Pedro Lima arrived with a couple of

natives, and also three or four of our neighbours beyond the Cerro

turned up, so we had plenty of help to keep the cattle well under

control. Don Frederico and the tropero came up to the house for some

coffee and a biscuit, but we were soon back again, when the work of

parting out the bullocks at once began. A point of tame cattle had

meanwhile been brought up to a suitable position a short distance from

the herd. These were guarded by Juan, the Indian, with his two nephews

to help him. The tropero was mounted on an "oscuro," or black brown

horse, and his two men rode one a grey and the other a bay.

He began by riding in among the cattle with one of his men, singling out

a suitable bullock, and then the two together, one on either side, ran

it out into the point of tame cattle, where it had to remain whether it

liked to or not. Then a second bullock was run out, and so on, one after

another, until quite a good number were parted. One of the tropero's men

now went to help the Indians to guard them, as every now and again one

would try to escape, intent on rejoining the main herd, and occasionally

a bullock would break loose and make for the open camp, determined to

fight hard for liberty. But it was not to be! for the men were

well-mounted and knew their business, and the horses knew theirs. They

were, of course, faster than the bullocks, and when an animal was

desperate, and really refractory the lasso came into play, and he was

brought back his energy spent, and having been well bullied about he

generally thought it better to keep quiet for the time being. A really

good horse for work of this kind must be safe and quick on his legs, and

have plenty of courage. Indeed, the best thing the rider can do, if well

mounted, is to sit tight and leave as much as he can to his horse, who

seemed to know all that was expected of him, and was seldom found to

fail.

It was now eleven o'clock, seventy-five bullocks had been parted; each

one being counted as it went by two people. So a fire was lighted, and a

large "asado," or roast of mutton, put on, a little coffee and sugar,

some biscuits, farinha and yerba, for the men's Mate were brought down

from the Cerro, and it was not long before breakfast was ready. When up

at the house I let "Carnival" go, and saddled up the rosillo, who was

now in first-rate condition. Work was resumed with as little delay as

possible, and when the tropero announced it was time to stop one hundred

and sixty bullocks had been parted. The tropero seemed well satisfied,

and so were we. Our next business was to give him every assistance to

get the animals outside the boundary of the estancia, where they would

be easier to manage than they were on their own camp. Meanwhile we kept

the tame animals with the novillos which had been parted, to give them a

lead and so render them easier to drive, and we made a start towards the

pass of the Rosario, beyond Marmasola's puesto. There being many of us,

we had no difficulty in getting them across the pass, and when they had

gone a short distance on strange ground we parted out the tame cattle,

and I returned with them to the Cerro. Don Frederico and Jennings, also

the tropero, rode to La Concordia, to receive payment and give the usual

certificate, shewing the mark and number of the animals sold, this

document being required for the police. The sun was now declining fast

towards the horizon, and we had made a fairly long day. Supper, when it

came, was welcome, and the pipe which followed it; and having duly

recorded particulars in the log-book, I was not sorry to lock up and get

early to bed. Autumn was now past, and it would not be long before

winter, with its rain and storm, cold nights and early mornings, would

be really upon us. I had three cart-loads of wood brought up from the

"monte," where we had some men working. Some of the flocks had to be

passed through the sheepyards, and what with attending to one thing and

another, I always found the day pretty fully occupied. Ten days later a

party of Blanco soldiers rode up and asked if they could have some food,

and also fresh horses. They were on their way to the town of Colla,

having passed not far from Guaycoru, as they travelled from outside.

With them was Colonel Mallada, who had sent back Francisco's pony at Las

Sierras de Mal Abrigo. He had a great reputation among the natives as a

fighter. When I went out I found him sitting on his horse, surrounded by

some twenty soldiers. I invited him to get off and come in and have some

breakfast while the soldiers lit a fire at a little distance, and made

themselves a roast outside, for, as it happened, we had a whole sheep

hanging in the galpon, ready skinned and dressed. I was amused to see

the attitude of the Indians when the Colonel passed through into the

courtyard. They stood up together on one side, as it were, at attention,

with a very solemn expression of countenance, and they evidently looked

upon him as a man to be feared rather than loved. He was quite civil

during our meal, and told me that a large division of the Blancos were

coming down to occupy the province of Colonia, while the main army was

now largely concentrated outside, waiting for a favourable opportunity

to march in to the province of San Jose, and so on towards the capital

itself. He seemed to enjoy a cigarette with his coffee after our meal,

and a glass of Canya also met with approval. Meanwhile, I had told

Justiniano to get all the horses up into the corral. I had "Carnival"

tied up under the ombu tree in the courtyard. The Colonel himself was

well-mounted on a good-looking grey, apparently quite fresh. The

soldiers caught five of our horses, and left us three tired ones, so we

did not get off so badly after all, and I was very glad to think that

the rosillo, whose back I had cured, was not among them. They all rode

off, apparently satisfied, towards the Pass of the Pichinango, and we

were all glad to see them depart. But it made me think, and realise what

now might at any time happen, and I determined to have the rosillo

caught up and tied in the courtyard oftener than I had done, and to keep

a sharp look-out over "Carnival." At two of the puestos the shepherds

were each somewhat of a character in their way. They were both of them

"bascos," _i.e._, either natives of or having originated from one of the

Bay of Biscay provinces in Spain. One of them, whose name was Gaitan,

looked after what was known as the "Fine Flock," because it contained

the highest strain of Negretti blood. From it were selected the male

lambs, which were to be the future rams for the other flocks. He was now

no longer in middle age, bent in figure, and slow in his movements. He

lived quite alone, doing his own cooking and washing, and he wore

remarkably old clothes. He had been for many years on the estancia,

getting the usual pay of a puestero, viz., fifteen dollars and

thirty-six cents per month (just over L3), together with his allowance

of meat and rations, viz., farinha, yerba and salt, which he received

monthly. His only luxury was a little tobacco, and he was said to be

somewhat of a miser, and to be quite rich. He was usually seen

bestriding an old and rather poor horse, but he was a very good

shepherd, and except when cooking or eating his meals, or towards

evening, when his sheep were drawing home, I never knew him to be long

absent from his flock. He was extremely reserved and silent, and I

always found it difficult to carry on a conversation with him. His

puesto was situate to the north of La Concordia, rather towards the

centre of the estancia, and really not very far distant from the

former. The other shepherd was called Anjel; he was a much younger man,

although he looked older than he really was. He, too, was reserved and

silent, and I often wondered if it was the solitary life he led which

tended towards this, and whether he would have appeared a somewhat

different man if he had been cast among other surroundings. He had

neither wife nor child, and like Gaitan, was but a poor rider, and I

never saw him on a decent-looking horse. But he had usually a dog with

him, and I often saw a cat or two when I visited his puesto, situate

close to the river Pichinango, some little distance below the pass. Here

the grass was good and plentiful, and his flock, which was rather a

large one, did very well. He was a most careful and conscientious

shepherd, and a skilled worker in wasca, or raw hide, of which he

manufactured reins and headstalls, and whips and hobbles; indeed,

everything of the kind a well-equipped horseman would require. Just

about this time I did not happen to be very busy, so was able to shoot a

few partridge, more correctly described as "quail," which were now in

good condition, and made a pleasant variation in diet. There was a

little single barrel gun available, which I found very nice to shoot

with. I also managed to shoot some of the common deer of the Pampas

(Cervus Gampestris) with my rifle, the flesh of which is not very

appetising, but the skins were easy to dry and soften, and were not only

useful as a covering for my "recado," or native saddle, but also served

well as rugs for the floor of the sitting-room. The natives mostly chase

the deer on horseback with dogs. There is a very curious peculiarity

attaching to the young of this species of deer when not more than three

or four days old, when the perfection of its instincts at that tender

age seems very wonderful in a ruminant. When the doe with fawn is

approached by a horseman, even when accompanied by dogs, she stands

perfectly motionless, gazing fixedly at the enemy, with her fawn at her

side. Then suddenly, as if at a preconcerted signal, the fawn rushes

away from her at its utmost speed and, going to a distance of perhaps

six hundred yards, conceals itself in a hollow on the ground, or among

the long grass; lying down very close, with head stretched out

horizontally, and will thus remain until sought by the dam. When very

young it will allow itself to be taken, making no further effort to

escape. After the fawn has run away the doe still maintains her

statuesque attitude, as if to await the onset. Then, but only when the

dogs are close upon her, she too rushes away; but invariably in a

direction as nearly opposite to the fawn as possible. At first she runs

slowly, with a limping gait, and frequently pausing as if to entice her

enemy on, just like a partridge, duck, or plover when driven from its

young. But as the dogs begin to press her more closely her speed

increases, becoming greater the further she succeeds in leading them

from the starting point. Truly a marvellous combination of both instinct

and sagacity, and also of maternal love.

Winter was now come, and we had a spell of cold and stormy weather, with

a fair amount of rain. I was out in the camp and round the puestos

pretty constantly, to see that the flocks were all right, and that there

had been no trouble from soldiers. One afternoon I called at La

Concordia to see Don Frederico, as I thought it advisable to have three

of the flocks passed through the sheepyards, to part out sheep which did

not belong to them, and have their feet attended to. This was necessary

from time to time, as during bad and stormy weather a certain amount of

mixing was apt to occur, however careful the puestero might be. It was

obviously more difficult to prevent where the land over which one of

the flocks was accustomed to feed lay in the same direction on the

estancia, and not very far distant from the land occupied by another.

Don Frederico told me he was making arrangements to send Mrs. Dampier

and the children on a visit to England, and that he was already in

communication with the shipping company about taking their passage. His

idea was that they should go into Monte Video about a week before the

steamer left, and that he would drive them himself in his own carriage

with horses and a couple of servants, while their luggage could be sent

in a cart to San Jose, and on from there by diligence to Monte Video.

The visit to England had been thought of some little time, but, as,

owing to the war, things seemed to be getting more and more unsettled,

he thought it better not to delay longer than was necessary. He spoke to

me about two or three matters needing attention, and said that Jennings

would remain at La Concordia during his absence, and would help me in

any way should anything of consequence happen, or an unforeseen

difficulty arise. When I got back, I found old Robinson in a very

unsatisfactory state; he had evidently got hold of some Canya, but how I

could not imagine, as I always kept it securely locked up. He talked a

lot of nonsense about being tired of life at the Cerro, and of his

determination, although he knew he was an old man, to go off somewhere

or other, he did not care where, with a view to bettering himself. I

concluded this phase would be a passing one, and by next morning he

would be himself again. However, when it came, he was both dull and

disagreeable, and although he had always been subject to occasional fits

of the kind, I felt that his present state of mental irritation and

unrest really proceeded from something more than his having drunk a

little more than was good for him. I enquired of the Indians if anyone

had been to see him. Margarito had seen no one, but Justiniano said he

had been looking up the "tamberos," and as he was riding back he saw

someone in the distance come out of the door of the kitchen, mount a

horse, and ride off towards the Pichinango; and he thought by the way he

rode he looked like a "gringo," the native term for a foreigner.

However, next day Robinson seemed better, and the little household

disturbance for the moment at any rate passed over. At the end of the

week seven Blanco soldiers rode up and asked for food and horses. They

had evidently come a good distance, and were en route for Colonia. They

had four tired horses, which they left with us, taking the two horses

previously left by soldiers, and two of ours as well. However, they were

quite civil, and one of them told me we might expect to have a good many

more coming our way before long. "Carnival" and the rosillo happened

both to be tied up in the courtyard, nor did they trouble the least

about them. Old Juan, the Indian, mostly kept himself out of sight when

soldiers arrived. I suppose he had a sort of idea they might take him

off, as they probably would have done had he been younger. I noticed he

was always very talkative, and apparently in extra good spirits when

they had gone. After about a week the bad weather cleared up, and it set

in fine and dry. I went down to La Concordia the afternoon before Don

Frederico and the family were to leave for Monte Video. Everything was

now ready; the luggage had been sent on two days previously, and they

were to make an early start the following morning, which happened to be

a Wednesday. It turned out a lovely day for the time of the year,

continual sunshine, with a cool breeze, perfect for travelling. On

Saturday I had our usual para rodeo of the cattle, and they came up

well. Early on Monday morning I started on "Carnival" to ride down to

the far end of the Swiss Colony, whence the land stretched away to the

Estuary de la Plata, which divided the republic of Uruguay from that of

Argentina. I called at La Concordia on my way, and had a talk with

Jennings about the business I had on hand. My object was to see a man,

Emile Gunther by name, who was a buyer of hides and sheepskins. We had a

large number of these at the Cerro, and I was anxious to be rid of them,

as they were apt to get damp and out of condition during the winter. I

crossed the Pass of the Rosario below La Concordia, into the Colony,

following the track which led out of it, gradually rising to higher

ground. Every here and there "chacras," or farms, each surrounded by

more or less cultivated land. Many of the houses were built of bricks,

plastered and whitewashed outside, one storey only, with bright red

tiles on the roof, and they usually had a wide open verandah, very

convenient to sit in, and also to eat one's meals during warm weather.

Each house seemed to have its garden, where vegetables did well, for the

soil was good and easy to work, and it was rare to find one without a

few flowers, while clumps of "eucalypti," the blue gum of Australia,

planted either round or near the homesteads, were almost universal. The

stables and outbuildings were mostly mud-huts, with roofs of "paja," a

reed which was quite common, and very suitable for the purpose. All this

was that part of the Colony which could be seen in the distance from La

Concordia, where the original Colonists had first settled themselves

down and made their homes. As I rode on, I came to a much wider track,

with wire fencing stretched on wooden posts on either side, running at

right angles to the one I had hitherto followed. Turning to the left, I

rode along this in a south-westerly direction, and as I proceeded the

farms got fewer, and further apart, while the land intervening was

thickly covered by a shrub, with a small leaf, the knobby roots of

which, when dried, made excellent firewood. Here cattle and horses could

be seen feeding, for the soil was rich and fertile, and where the shrub,

or "chirca," as it was called, was not too thick, good grasses grew in

between. I had no difficulty in finding Senor Gunther's farm, which was

quite an important one, for, in addition to land under cultivation,

where wheat and maize were grown, there were two large "portreros," or

paddocks, fenced in with wire, affording ample pasturage to a

considerable number of stock. Trees of various kinds had been planted,

including fruit trees, and were growing well. There was a little

"monte," or wood of "eucalypti," and some were also planted on either

side of the drive leading up to the house, forming quite a respectable

avenue. The house was an "azotea," one storey high, with a flat roof,

the rooms spacious and comfortable, overlooking on their further side a

garden, with fruit trees and flowers. As I rode up, I was welcomed by

the owner's wife and daughter, who told me he had only gone down the

farm for half an hour, and would soon return. Meanwhile, they invited me

to come in and sit down, shewing me where to tie up my horse. Senor

Gunther, when he came, was a fine-looking man, above middle height, well

set up, apparently about fifty. He looked shrewd and intelligent, with a

pair of keen blue eyes and light hair, already beginning to turn a

little grey. "Buen dia Senor" (Good morning, Sir) he exclaimed genially,

as he came up to shake hands. "I have heard of you." "I, too, am equally

pleased," I replied in Spanish. "What a nice situation you have, and how

well the trees must have grown!" "Yes, indeed they have," he said,

"considering the time we have been here." He said he had a number of

milk cows, and had already made a fair amount of Swiss cheese, which

sold well, and he had reason to think it would prove profitable, and

hoped to increase it. He told me to unsaddle and turn out my horse into

a small paddock close by, and invited me to stay and have some

breakfast, which would be ready in half an hour. "After this," he said,

"if you have sufficient time to spare, I would like to show you round

the farm." Our meal was enjoyable, and he pressed me to drink some

excellent muscatel wine of a rich golden colour, which he had himself

purchased, and brought out from Monte Video. Coffee and cigarettes

followed, and he had evidently become able to surround himself with an

amount of comfort by no means easily attainable on some of the estancias

outside. Of course, we discussed the war, and I then spoke to him as to

the business about which I had come. Finally, it was arranged that he

should purchase all the hides and sheepskins at the Cerro at the price I

asked for them, and he was to send a cart and fetch them away in about a

week. He told me they were fortunately situate in regard to soldiers,

being out of their track, and that scarcely any seemed to come their

way, nor did he think they were likely to unless anything unforeseen

occurred. After a turn round the garden, he went and had a look at

"Carnival," whom he seemed to admire. I told him I had brought him from

the Sierras de Mal Abrigo, where he was bred and born, and that I was

greatly afraid lest the soldiers should take him at the Cerro, as we

heard so many were coming our way it seemed hardly possible he could

escape. He then said if I cared to leave "Carnival" with him I was

welcome to do so, and he would do his best to look after him, at any

rate until the worst of the trouble we were looking forward to should

pass over. I gladly accepted this offer, with very grateful thanks. My

host suggested I should saddle him up now, when taking our turn round to

farm, and then just have a look at the Piedmontese Colony, which was

not far distant. He further proposed that on our return I could leave

"Carnival," now he was here with him, and he would lend me a horse to

ride home on, which could be brought back when he sent a cart for the

hides, etc. I gladly agreed to this arrangement, and we made a start

forthwith. A peon was ploughing on the arable land, using a somewhat

heavy plough, drawn by a yoke of oxen. It was a slow business, but had

the advantage of turning up the soil fairly deep. The milk cows and a

small flock of sheep were feeding together in one large paddock, while

some nice-looking young stock and the horses were feeding in the other;

besides these was a small flock of fifteen goats, the milk of which I

concluded was used in the manufacture of cheese. Near the house was the

usual corral to shut up animals, and attached to the outbuildings which

were roomy and convenient was a well-arranged dairy.

We were not long in reaching the Piedmontese Colony, which at that time

consisted only of one pulperia, or general store, and half a dozen

houses, more or less near it. From there the land which stretched away

towards the river Plate was mostly covered with "chirca," and evidently

at that time but sparsely occupied. You could just see the smoke rising

from the chimneys of perhaps a dozen mud ranchos, a considerable

distance apart, evidently in possession of people only recently settled

there, who as yet had not had time to do much in the way of agriculture.

However, I was glad to have a chance of seeing the country, and I

wondered as we rode back what kind of future might possibly lie before

it. Returning to the house we had some coffee and little cakes served

with it. Meanwhile, a chestnut was ready tied up, on which I was to ride

home; not very attractive-looking, but good enough for the purpose.

Indeed, in time of war I had learned that a good-looking horse was a

certain care and an uncertain pleasure. So I bid good-bye to Senor Emile

and his family, with many thanks for their kindness and hospitality, and

the request that should he at any time find himself in the neighbourhood

of the Cerro, he would not fail to call and see me. The chestnut

travelled along quite comfortably, if not very fast, and the sun was

nearly down when I reached home. The first thing Justiniano told me was

that Robinson had departed. Two men from the stonemason's, who lived on

the other side of the Pichinango, had come for him with a led horse,

about the middle of the morning, and old Robinson had put together a few

clothes and belongings and had accompanied them. The craving for drink

had probably been his motive, for the stonemason himself was given that

way, and at his house Canya was generally more or less on the go. Old

Robinson had always kept up a sort of friendship with these people, much

against my wish, for I prophesied they would one day be the ruin of him.

However, the fact I had to face was that I was now without a cook, but

Juan got me some coffee, and supper ready on the fire in the galpon,

which I myself carried into the dining room, and then I smoked a pipe

and thought over my pleasant day. Later I locked all up and went early

to bed. Next morning, when I went out, "Napoleon" greeted me joyfully. I

had left him at home the day before. The Indians got me some hot coffee

at their fire, and after seeing to some things that were necessary, I

saddled up the "mala-kara," or bay, with white blaze and stockings, and

started off to La Concordia to consult with Jennings as to what I had

better do in regard to Robinson's departure. I found him already busy in

the garden pruning the fruit trees, and told him what I had arranged

with Senor Gunther, and how I was now left without a cook. He said he

thought the best thing was to leave Robinson where he was; it was no

good attempting to fetch him back, as he would by this time probably be

drunk and incapable, or, to say the least of it, very difficult to

manage. He proposed to send me a nice-looking young Swiss, called

Vicente, who was looking after the "capones," up to the Cerro, to take

Robinson's place, and also keep an eye on the southdowns, and I could

send Margarito down to La Concordia in his stead. Vicente was handy, and

obliging, getting on for nineteen, nor would he at all object to doing a

little cooking and housework if required. Jennings asked me to stay and

have breakfast, which I did, and said he had received a letter from Don

Frederico, written from Santa Lucia, saying all had gone well, and that

so far they had travelled comfortably. We saw Vicente before I left; he

had just come in from his flock. He said he would be pleased to go up to

the Cerro, and would do his best to make things comfortable, and

promised to be there a little before sundown. I then bid adieu to

Jennings, and rode round by Anjel's puesto. He was out with his flock,

and I came across him without having to go so far as his house. He was

silent and serious as usual, but gave it as his opinion that Robinson

"would come to no good with those people over there," and promised,

should he hear of anything further happening, he would manage to let me

know. When I got home, we got the "tamberos" up on to their rodeo. No

one had arrived during my absence, and I sent Margarito down to La

Concordia as arranged.

Early in the following week, one morning just after ten o'clock, Colonel

Medina rode up to the Cerro, accompanied by seventy Blanco soldiers. I

had met him before, and Don Frederico knew him well, for he lived not so

very far from the Pichinango, and we had always looked upon him more or

less as a neighbour. I at once invited him to dismount and come inside

and have breakfast, assuring him it would not be long before it was

ready. As for the soldiers, I said they had better make a fire down

below the house, towards the big "manga," and if one was not enough,

they could make two. Meanwhile, I would have a couple of sheep killed,

so that they could make themselves a roast, as they wanted, and I would

send them down a supply of farinha, salt and yerba, in order that they

might do what a native always dearly loves, viz., have a rest and suck

Mate.

The colonel was a man of middle height, his hair beginning to turn a

little grey. I daresay he would be getting on towards fifty. He was

well-educated, and had to a certain extent travelled, having held a

minor office in the Blanco Government previous to the Flores war, when

the Reds came into power. Probably, too, he looked forward before very

long to taking office again, when the present revolution should be over,

and the success of his own party assured. He told me he was on his way

to Colonia, where a division of the Blanco army would probably be

concentrated, to hold the province before very long, but that the main

advance contemplated, whenever the proper time should come, was to lay

siege to the city of Monte Video itself, and he believed it would be

quite powerful enough to accomplish this when a really suitable

opportunity should arise. This was certainly good news so far as it

went, but at the same time he warned me that the war was as yet far from

being over, for the Colorados were still fairly strong on the inside

camps, especially in the direction of the capital, where they were able

to command the assistance of both infantry and artillery and also, if

necessary, that of mercenary troops as well. I was greatly interested;

indeed, I felt quite sorry when breakfast was over, and the colonel said

it was time to make a move. Neither he nor his soldiers asked for

horses, having a troop of spare ones in first-rate condition, which they

were driving along with them. We parted with mutual compliments, and

with the usual "Hasta la vista amigo!" (Friend, until we meet again!),

and he further told me that if he could do anything for me during the

changes and chances of war-time, I was to be sure to let him know,

which, to say the least of it, was very civil of him. The soldiers

quickly marshalled up near the door leading out of the courtyard,

through which he passed, and I accompanied him. He then mounted a grey

horse, which was being held ready for him, and gave the word of command

to go forward, and we all watched them jogging along towards the Pass of

the Pichinango, when that little excitement was over. It came on to rain

early in the afternoon, and we got the sheepskins turned over, and put

together again, ready for the purchaser when he should think well to

send for them.