Early next morning the sun shone bright, and warm, but it did not last

long, for a "pampero," or southerly wind, from the Pampas, blew up soon

after mid-day, and towards evening it became very cold and

stormy-looking. I was able to "repuntar," or turn inwards, the cattle on

the northern boundary of the estancia, and also to visit three of the

puestos, where I found everything all right. The following day a bad

spell of weather set in, with cold winds and constant showers of rain.

However, I kept on the move as well as I could, for it was in stormy

weather that a little supervision was most needed. Vicente was an

obliging young man, and did his best in his new occupation, and he made

me a nice little fire in the gun-room stove, where it was comfortable to

sit after supper, especially after having had a bit of a wetting

outside. Jennings had given me two little bull terrier puppies. They

were an amusing little pair about five months old, small in size, with

all the characteristics of a bulldog, except that they were very quick

and active on their legs. One I called "Bully"; he was the colour of

yellow sand, and the other was a brindle, like its mother, and to him I

gave the name of "Brag." As they grew up they hunted the "legatos," a

very large lizard, who lived among the rocks, behind the house. They

also went with me when I took a gun and went after a brace or two of

partridge, and they joined joyfully in the general uproar and barking

when any stranger rode up, or indeed near the house. This was so much to

the good, as it lessened the chance of our being taken unawares as to

what might be coming, always a distinct advantage in time of war. The

rosillo had now quite recovered and greatly improved in condition, and I

often had him tied up in the courtyard, where I gave him a little maize,

which he had learned to eat with satisfaction. I was now able to ride

him with my recado, as well as my English saddle, and I made up my mind

to take all the care I could of him, for the more I rode him the better

I liked him. After about a week the weather became fine, and I decided

to ride in to the little country town of Colla, which lay some nine

miles south of the river Pichinango, as I wanted to go to the "policia,"

or police station about some business connected with the estancia. I had

intended to put off going until Don Frederico's return, as I rather

wished to see him before doing so. However, as I understood from

Jennings it was more than likely he would not be able to come home so

soon as he expected, I decided to delay no longer, but to start early

the next morning. I did not want to take a good-looking horse, for I

knew the town would be full of soldiers, so I told Justiniano to have

the horses in the corral in good time, and to catch me up rather an

oldish bay, left by soldiers, nothing whatever to look at, but really a

good deal better horse than he appeared, and also to tie up the rosillo

in the courtyard, about eleven o'clock, so that he might be safer if

anyone came. The little town of Colla lay pleasantly situate on the bank

of a small river. It consisted of one main street, with houses unevenly

built, and somewhat scattered on either side. About half way down this

widened a little, forming a small plaza, or square, where a band played

on summer evenings, and people walked round and round, or sat about and

listened to the music, and enjoyed also the pleasure of looking at their

neighbours. There was a Roman Catholic Church, and some rather

sordid-looking barracks, and quarters for soldiers. Half a dozen

pulperias, and general stores, and two or three "fondes," or second-rate

hotels, with here and there a private residence, often enclosed inside a

garden, completed the buildings of any importance, while stretching away

behind these, on either side were the smaller houses and ranchos,

occupied by natives, more or less of the working class. Some of these

had spaces of cultivated ground attached, and at others two or three

cows and a horse or two, and some poultry would be kept, just as

happened to be most convenient. There were plenty of soldiers about in

the streets, as well as in the cafes and fondas. I rode straight up to

the police station, and it was not very long before I was able to

conclude my business. Having done this, I did not go to an hotel, as I

should otherwise have done, to put up my horse and have some breakfast,

on account of the soldiers, but I made my way to the house of a man

called Pedro Dominguez. It was next to a large general store, which he

owned as well, where he carried on an extensive and profitable business,

as a buyer of produce and a seller of merchandise, and had long had

dealings with the Estancia Pichinango. He received me with courtesy. A

man below the middle height, getting on in years, and somewhat bent in

figure, he looked to me as much like a Portuguese as anything else.

"Buen dia, Senor," he said, as I rode up and explained who I was.

"Please come inside, and I can put up your horse in my stable."

Moreover, he invited me to have some breakfast, which was very good of

him, for I began to feel hungry after my ride. His house was

comfortable, and he had a good sized garden attached, very well kept,

and he told me he was a great lover of flowers. While we were enjoying

our meal one of the black, hairless dogs, greatly esteemed by natives,

trotted into the room. It was about the size of a small terrier, with a

perfectly smooth black skin, entirely devoid of hair. It had a pointed

nose and a pair of very bright eyes, and they are said to be very

affectionate. Senor Dominguez told me he had a widowed daughter and a

grandchild who lived with him, but just then they were away on a visit

to friends in Colonia. Of course, we talked about the war. He said he

had never taken any part in politics, but his sympathies were with the

Blancos, and he was very glad to think that for the present Colla at any

rate, had seen the last of the Colorados, who he believed as a

Government were self-seeking and corrupt, and he felt sure if they were

allowed to continue in power, would bring certain ruin on the country.

We had some coffee and a cigar, and it was after two o'clock when I

saddled up the bay, and with many thanks for his kind hospitality,

started on my return journey. The old horse travelled back faster than

he had come, and I reached the Cerro somewhat earlier than I expected.

As the sun declined, it got quite cold, and I was glad to find a fire

lit in the gun-room stove to welcome me. Justiniano had got up the

"tamberos" on to their rodeo, and the southdowns were already shut up in

their yard, as I rode up to the house. "Napoleon" was delighted to see

me, and even "Brag" and "Bully" gave me a sort of welcome in their way.

I let go my horse, and wrote up the log-book, and so ended what had been

quite an agreeable day. I had the usual "para rodeo" on Saturday, which

was quite satisfactory, and I saw reason to think we were now getting

the cattle well in hand. This was important during time of revolution,

when we were likely to have fewer people to look after them. On the next

Tuesday morning, I had just got in from a turn round the puestos, when

the cart arrived to take away the hides and sheepskins. The Indians gave

the cartman some breakfast in the galpon, and we then counted and handed

over the hides and skins, for which the cartman gave me a receipt, while

I handed to him a certificate that we had sold them. He started for home

about one o'clock, taking with him the chestnut horse, which Senor

Gunther had lent me to ride home on. The cartman told me that "Carnival"

was all right, and seemed quite happy in his new quarters. The middle of

the following week Don Frederico returned to La Concordia. I rode down

to see him, and he said he could hardly believe he had been away nearly

a month. The fact was his family did not leave for England in the

steamer he intended, but waited for the next one, and he naturally

wished to see them safe, and as comfortable as might be on board. I told

him about old Robinson, and he said the arrangement we had made would do

quite well for the present, though later on he should want Vicente back

at La Concordia. Meanwhile, however, I could look about and see if I

could find a cook. The winter was now passing, and every now and again

we had two or three days when the sun would be quite warm, with every

sign of approaching spring. We saw but few soldiers, and they were only

passers-by, anxious to reach the end of their journey as soon as might

be, but we had every reason to believe a considerable movement of troops

would take place before very long. Early in August we had begun to see

symptoms of what is known as epidemia, or sickness among the cattle. At

first a single animal would be found in the camp dead, looking in good

condition, and from no apparent cause. Later two or three might be seen,

and in different parts of the estancia. Then you would find here and

there an animal looking young and even fat, standing by itself, away

from the others, not moving or eating, and with obviously something the

matter with it. If taken in time and got to move quickly, and the

horseman could give it a sharp run, it would probably recover. Should

it, however, have gone too far, all one could do was to kill it, and

take off its hide, rather than let it lie down on the ground and die

slowly by inches. The epidemic went on for some little time, and we lost

a good many cattle, and curiously enough it was much more towards the

Cerro end of the estancia than it was at La Concordia. During this time,

I was constantly out in the camp, looking up sick animals, and I took

Juan and Justiniano with me, to take off the hides when necessary.

Towards the end of the month I was out with the latter having a look

round, and we came across a cow evidently very bad, for it could hardly

stand on its legs and, when I tried to move it, it seemed only to totter

from side to side. I jumped off my horse, handing the reins to the

Indian, and caught hold of its tail with both hands to pull it over. I

pulled my hardest, when the hair came suddenly out of the tail, and

before I could recover myself I fell sideway into a bunch of big

thistles which stood near. Unfortunately, I fell right among them, and

felt one of the stiff sharp thorns pierce the flesh on the inside of my

left arm, just below the elbow. I turned up my sleeve and tried to get

it out with my knife but was unable to do so. We killed the poor cow,

and I left Justiniano to commence taking off the hide while I rode back

to the Cerro and sent his uncle Juan to help him. I then had another try

to get out the thorn, but could not manage it. I bathed it with hot

water, and as it was getting a bit painful, applied a hot poultice and

hoped for the best. September came in fine, and towards noon the sun

began to feel quite warm. At the beginning of its second week,

twenty-two soldiers rode up, and said they wanted horses. I saw they

meant business, so I told Justiniano to get all our horses into the

corral. I had the rosillo saddled in the courtyard, so he was all right,

as it was unusual for soldiers to take a horse one had saddled, except

for some special reason, or because they really wished to be as

disagreeable as they could. They were travelling out north, and were

evidently pressed for time. They took six of our horses, including the

"manchado," which had caused the death of the poor young Englishman, and

left us one, an old bay, and he looked a very poor one. However, there

was no alternative, so we had to put up with it, but it gave me a

reminder of what we had to expect. The two colts we had tamed, now

well-behaved horses, they paid no attention to whatever, and for this I

was glad. My arm had become swollen and inflamed, and continued to give

me a good deal of pain, and I was obliged to have it in a sling. It was

rather a nuisance, for it was my bridle hand, but I consoled myself by

thinking had it been my right arm it would have been worse, and as it

was I could get about as usual. One fine morning, about eleven o'clock,

an old negro woman rode up to the Cerro mounted on a rather thin

"gatiado," or drab-coloured horse, with a dark stripe down its back,

from which is derived its name. She had a maiden with her, black, like

herself, mounted on an old grey. Each had a rug thrown over her horse,

made fast with a surcingle, on which she sat, and appeared quite

comfortable. The old lady asked me if they could stay for a while, and

have a rest before proceeding on their journey. "By all means," I

replied, and told Juan, who happened to be about, to give them a couple

of bancos, or stools by the fire in the galpon, and I also asked them if

they would like anything to eat. "Pero con mucho gusto, Senor," "But

with great pleasure, Sir," they replied, "and if you could kindly give

us a little yerba and sugar we should greatly enjoy drinking Mate, for

we both feel very thirsty." Juan soon made up a good fire, and put on

the kettle for hot water, and gave them a piece of meat to roast, and

some "farinha," and the ladies seemed quite happy. Later on, as I was

passing out through the galpon, the old one came up to thank me for the

hospitality we had shewn them. "But pardon, Senor," she said, "may I ask

what is the matter with your arm, for I see you have it bound up. I

myself am a 'curandera,' or healer, and I am on my way to see a man who

is very ill. Please let me have a look at it." This I gladly did, and

she told me it was the thorn still in it which was causing the trouble,

but she hoped it might work its way out. She said I must take care of

it, as my arm looked to her rather as if it had been poisoned. She

further said I was to send one of the Indians down to the wood which

bordered the bank of the river Pichinango, and he was to get the leaves

of a certain shrub which grew there. I was to make these leaves into a

poultice and put it on my arm as hot as I could bear it every night for

about a fortnight. Further, I was to put the water in which the leaves

were boiled into a jug and drink it cold each morning as soon as I

awoke. She interviewed both Juan and Justiniano and made them clearly

understand what was the shrub the leaves of which were to be brought:

what it was like, and how and where it grew. She then explained to

Vicente exactly how to make the poultice, and how much of the leaves to

use at a time. Then came the curious part of the would-be cure. The old

lady insisted that I should begin it on the first evening of the new

moon, and at no other time but then. We were all somewhat impressed, the

Indians very much so, for they looked up the "curandera" with a certain

amount of superstitious awe. However, I determined to try the "remedio,"

and as there happened to be a new moon that evening I sent Justiniano at

once off to the Pichinango to find the leaves. He returned with a good

supply of them. It was a small leaf, a little larger than the ordinary

tea leaf, and it reminded me very much of the leaf of a small tree known

as the "manouka" tree, of New Zealand. So the poultice was duly made;

the water in which the leaves were boiled was put ready to drink the

first thing next morning, and forthwith the prescribed treatment began.

A few days passed, when one morning, between seven and eight o'clock

fifteen soldiers rode up and demanded horses. The tropillas had not long

been turned out of the corral, so our horses were quite close for the

soldiers to see. There was nothing for it but to shut them in and let

them take what they wanted. I did the best I could, but they took four

and left one, an old gatiado, with a stripe down its back, the same

colour as the one the curandera had ridden. The soldiers only stayed

long enough to get horses, and then resumed their journey, travelling

north. The weather was now getting warm, when one afternoon about four

o'clock, an elderly negro rode up to the Cerro, mounted on a very

poor-looking old "bayo," or cream-coloured horse. The Indians, who had

been out in the camp, were sitting by the galpon fire, sucking Mate. I

was in the courtyard unsaddling the rosillo, whom I had been riding,

but not far away. I heard a great barking of dogs, "Napoleon's" voice

being loud among them; "Brag" and "Bully" were also doing their best to

increase the noise. I passed out through the small door, and there was

an old man, surrounded by the barking dogs, sitting quietly on his

horse, calling out "Ave Maria," the customary form of salutation, and

waiting for someone to ask him to dismount. This I did, and he enquired

if here was the Cerro del Pichinango, and if I would allow him to put up

in the galpon for the night. As for his horse, he said it was worth very

little, and if let go he did not think it would move far away. He looked

tired, and weary, as did his steed, and said what most he needed was a

real good sleep. He had a bundle with him, tied up in a roll at the back

of his old "recado," a battered black felt hat and a much-dilapidated

summer poncho, while some old "bombachos" and a pair of alpargatas, or

canvas shoes, completed his attire. I told him to make himself

comfortable, and left him to rest as I was just thinking of saddling up

the bay colt we had tamed, and riding down to Marmasola's puesto. I

found his flock quite near it, ready to be shut in for the night. He

himself was at home, and he told me that a soldier who had passed by not

long before had told him there had been an engagement some distance out

beyond Guaycoru, and that the Blancos had been victorious, and had

driven the Reds off in full flight to the north of the Sierras de Mal

Abrigo, and so on towards the province of San Jose. How far this was

really true, and whether it was an affair of much importance he did not

know. He thought, however we should all do well to be on the alert, and

promised to send me up word should he hear any further news. Everything

seemed quiet as I rode back: the epidemia among the cattle was now dying

out, and there was only an isolated case now and then, and I was

thankful to think we had been able to get through the trouble so easily.

My arm by this time had become less inflamed, and much less painful, so

I thought it better to go on with the treatment for a few days longer

than the "curandera" had suggested. When I saw the negro again next

morning he told me he had slept well, and felt all the better for it. He

told me he had passed through a rough time with General Lopez Jordan up

in Paraguay during the war between that country and Brazil. Having

drifted down into Uruguay, he found himself with hardly any money, and

no friends. Had it not been time of revolution, he did not doubt but

that he could easily have got work. He said his nerves had been

completely shattered, and what he wanted was a feeling of security and a

little rest. He asked me if I would allow him to stay on a bit at the

Cerro, as he liked the look of the place, for you had a good view all

round, and could see anyone who might be coming. He said if I would

permit him to stay he would be glad to do anything he could to make

himself useful. I thereupon asked him if he would act as cook. "Pero con

mucho gusto," "But with great pleasure," he replied. When I next saw Don

Frederico he said I had better arrange with the negro, whose name was

Correo, to do the cooking, and such housework as had to be done. Vicente

could then come back to him, as he needed him rather badly. He also told

me I had better take a little boy about twelve years old, a grandson of

the old Indian, Feliciano, to help to look after the southdowns, and to

look up horses, as otherwise I should find myself short-handed. He was a

funny little person, with a pair of sharp-looking black eyes. His father

was said to have been killed in a quarrel during the war, and although,

of course, a relative of Justiniano, he had every appearance of mixed

blood. Correo seemed very pleased at the prospect of staying on at the

Cerro, and settled down quite comfortably. He kept the rooms clean and

tidy, and could cook anything that was required. For the next ten days

or so we had sheep-working on hand, and I was kept pretty busy; and we

had the regular para rodeo of the cattle on Saturday as usual, which was

now quite easy to manage.

A few days later, I started to ride over to an estancia belonging to a

Mr. Trafford, which lay beyond the town of Colla, well on towards

Colonia. My object was to see some rams we needed for the Fine Flock,

and which Don Frederico had heard were for sale there. I rode a dark

chestnut horse, which had been left tired and almost done up by

soldiers, but had now recovered. I preferred taking him to a horse of

our own mark, as I thought it quite possible I might have to pass

through the Blanco lines. Should this be so and they took the chestnut

they would probably give me another in exchange which would do to bring

me home. I was up early and in the saddle just after sunrise. It was a

nice morning, and the chestnut was in good spirits, and went along

smoothly and easily. When I reached Colla I found the place full of

troops, so did not delay, but rode straight on and beyond, being asked

as I passed the Police Station who I was, and where I was going. No one

interfered with me. I stayed that night and over the next day with Mr.

Trafford, who was very kind and hospitable. He had no one with him when

I arrived, for his daughter, not yet grown up, was away at school in

Buenos Aires. His house was comfortable, well-built, and well-arranged,

with a very wide verandah on one side of it. He saw me ride up, and came

forward to welcome me, a thin, tall man, with a somewhat serious

expression, which made him look older than he really was. He kept up the

English custom of having tea in the afternoon about four o'clock, with

bread and butter, cakes, jam, etc., which to me were quite a luxury.

After partaking of this, I had a look over the rams, which were then in

a large paddock not far from the house. They were a nice lot, well cared

for, and in good condition, and on hearing the price I came to the

conclusion they would be just about what Don Frederico required. So I

arranged provisionally to buy twenty of them, and to pick out the ones

we would have in the morning; this arrangement being subject to Don

Frederico's approval. I further proposed he should write to Mr. Trafford

immediately after my return, and so complete the purchase, and then we

could send over to fetch them, as might seem convenient. The following

day I much enjoyed as we rode over the estancia, and inspected both the

sheep and cattle, for, as a matter of fact, Mr. Trafford had, for that

time, some exceptionally good stock. He took great interest in his

garden, which appeared well-stocked with both flowers and vegetables,

and his numerous fruit trees were evidently a source of great pleasure

to him. Next morning, after coffee, I saddled up the chestnut and

started for home. On my way back I passed close to a place where a

Spaniard, who was really a "basco," was driving a good sized flock of

sheep up towards his house. A nice-looking sheep-dog, which looked well

bred, was helping him very efficiently. I pulled up for a while to give

my horse a rest, and I took a great fancy to the dog, for I liked the

way he went about his work. We were getting a bit short-handed, and I

thought a dog like this one would be useful, so I made his owner a bid

for him, just in case he might care to part with him. Rather to my

surprise, the man said he would not mind selling him, but only because

he contemplated leaving where he was to go and live in a town, where the

dog would be no use to him. The only condition he made was that I would

be kind to him and treat him well. He was black and light tan in colour,

and the true sheep-dog breed, with a nice head and intelligent eyes. The

only fault I could see in him was he had rather too heavy a coat for

work in hot weather. His name was Ramonou. He did not at all like being

taken away from his home by a stranger, and I was obliged to lead him

with a thin thong of hide, fastened to his collar, which I held in my

hand. Fortunately the chestnut was very quiet and tractable, but having

the dog with me naturally delayed my progress, so that it was late when

I reached home. However, there was a moon which shone brightly, so it

did not much matter. "Napoleon," as usual, was glad to see me back.

Nothing had happened during my absence, and Correo soon got me some

supper, and seemed quite contented and happy. Next morning "Ramonou"

seemed none the worse for his journey. I had tied him up for the night

and given him some food, and I now let him loose in the courtyard, just

to stretch his legs. "Napoleon" was not at all quarrelsome, and the two

dogs happily took to each other, and soon became great friends. I had

the bay horse caught up, and started down to La Concordia, as I wished

to lose no time in letting Don Frederico know what I had arranged about

the rams. He was perfectly satisfied, and said he would at once write to

Mr. Trafford. He told me he had heard that old Robinson was lying very

ill over at the stonemason's, from the effect of too much Canya, and he

went so far as to say he was doubtful if he would recover. "You know we

should not like him to die over there," he said; "after being so many

years at the Cerro, we had come to look upon him as almost part of the

place!" "Supposing I send Steff, the Swiss peon, with a light cart to

be at Anjel's puesto, say at eleven o'clock to-morrow morning. You might

then send Juan and Justiniano to meet him there at that time, and they

could all three go on together to the other side of the Pichinango. If

there is plenty of 'paja' in the cart and he is well wrapped up, I do

not see why he should not travel all right." So it was arranged; and I

promised to see that the Indians were at the place appointed at the hour

named. As a matter of fact, they both rather liked old Robinson, and

would be sorry for him being so ill, and I felt sure they would do their

best to bring him back with as little suffering as possible. I then rode

back to the Cerro, round by Anjel's puesto.

When the cart arrived at the Cerro with the poor old man lying full

length in it, I saw at once that he was very ill. We got him out of the

cart and into the kitchen, where we laid him down in front of the fire

and started rubbing his hands and feet, for he really seemed in all but

a comatose condition. After a while he somewhat recovered, and I got him

to swallow two or three spoonfuls of mutton broth made strong and quite

plain. Towards evening he seemed better, and said he wished us to get

him up into his bedroom above the kitchen. He could not speak above a

whisper, but I understood him to say he felt cold, and would rather be

in his own room above the kitchen stove than in one of the larger rooms

on the ground floor. For two or three days he seemed to mend, and then

one afternoon he sank into an unconscious state, and I knew it would not

be long before all was over. He could take nothing whatever, but he

lasted through the night, and passed peacefully away about eleven

o'clock next morning. I sent down at once to tell Don Frederico, and he

sent me word he would have a shell coffin sent up as soon as possible.

During the afternoon we got the remains down from the bedroom and laid

them on a "quatre," or wooden camp bedstead, in the last room but one at

the far end of the house, which had a door in it, opening into the

courtyard, covering the body over with a white sheet. Late in the

evening the wooden shell arrived, and we reverently laid him in it. I

put a couple of screws in half way down, just to hold on the lid for the

time being. The Indians said they would light a candle and watch by the

coffin, and Correo said he would like to take a turn also. It was a fine

clear night, calm and still, with the moon now in its second quarter,

and about nine o'clock I went to bed. I was awakened some three hours

later by a loud knocking at my door. I jumped up, hastily putting on

some clothes, and took up my revolver, which was lying by my bedside.

When I opened my door, leading into the covered archway, there was

Correo, his face an ashy grey colour, gesticulating violently outside,

and begging me to come at once to the room where we had placed the

coffin. He said the Indians who had been on guard were terribly

frightened, because while they were on watch the ghost of the "finado,"

or dead man, had appeared, and was then to be seen passing like a shadow

up and down the room. As I went out into the courtyard "Napoleon" came

and put his cold nose in my hand, and the rosillo who was shut in there

for the night, gave a little neigh. I went to the door, opened it, and

entered the room, followed by the negro, who was almost in tears. Of

course, there was nothing, and I showed him the two screws half way down

in the lid, exactly as we had left them. Meanwhile the Indians had fled

and hid themselves in the galpon; the candle they had left lighted was

flickering down in its socket, and the room was in semi-darkness. I with

difficulty persuaded Correo to go to his bed and have a sleep, for he

was much upset, and trembling all over, but at last I succeeded. I

thereupon locked the door of the room, taking the key with me, and

returned to my bed for the rest of the night, which passed without

further disturbance of any kind. The next morning, but one, Steff drove

up in his cart with the coffin, into which we silently placed the

remains, and he started at once to convey it to the cemetery in the

Swiss Colony. At the same time I rode down to La Concordia to advise Don

Frederico that it was on its way to its last resting place. When I got

there I unsaddled my horse and tied him up under the euremada before

going inside the house. A little later I was sitting in the dining room

talking to Jennings, when Don Frederico came hurriedly in. "Good

gracious!" he said, "there is Steff crossing the rincon towards the Pass

of the Rosario standing up in the cart and trotting ever so fast. Do go

down and stop him, and tell him only to go at a foot pace." A "moro

rosillo" (blue roan horse) was standing ready saddled outside. I jumped

up on him and went down the high bank behind the house somewhat faster

than he liked. He started bucking as he got nearly to the bottom, and

what with being taken unprepared and only having my right hand on the

reins, I narrowly escaped what might have been a nasty fall; but I was

able to stop the cart before it crossed the pass. I returned to the

house, and shortly afterwards Don Frederico started to go to the

cemetery in the Swiss Colony, in order to attend the funeral, while I

rode up to the Cerro, as some sheep-working was going on there I wanted

to see after. Ramonou came and helped, and soon proved himself useful in

getting the sheep through the yards. We were now in the first week of

October, and as work of this kind would be pretty constant throughout

the month it seemed as if he had arrived on the scene just about the

right time. One morning I was busy superintending this work; the weather

was becoming hot, and progress somewhat slow. Before going to breakfast,

I went to my room to wash my hands; my arm had now got much better, the

inflammation and swelling having gone. I had turned up my shirt sleeve,

and was rubbing the soap gently between my hands, when a thistle thorn

half an inch long suddenly popped out of my arm, somewhat in the same

way as a cork flies out of a bottle, and fell into the soapy water. By

its appearance it should have been a larger thorn, so that part must

have broken off when it entered the arm. Anyway, I was only too glad to

be rid of it, for it might easily have caused me more trouble than it

had done, and I felt thankful to the "curandera" for the advice she had

given me. The thorns of the big thistle are very sharp and strong, so

much so that when riding through them I have known a thorn pierce right

through a long leather riding boot.

The spring had so far been a dry one, and we were looking forward to

soon beginning the shearing, partly because the season was an early one,

and also on account of the difficulty of getting shearers. Soldiers were

everywhere more or less on the move, and on an estancia this is always a

hindrance to work of every kind. Saturday came round again with its

"para rodeo" of the cattle, and on Monday morning, between ten and

eleven o'clock, thirty soldiers arrived asking for food and horses. They

were travelling north to join the main army. I had a sheep killed for

them, as they said they were hungry, and gave them some farinha and

yerba, and I ordered our horses to be got up into the corral; it was, in

fact, the only thing to do. They ended by taking thirteen horses, six of

our own mark, including the brown colt we had tamed, and seven which had

been left with us by soldiers, among them the chestnut I had ridden

over to Mr. Trafford's estancia. They left us five, apparently tired

out, and weary, and all in poor condition.

I had the rosillo saddled; indeed, I now had him up very constantly,

letting him out to feed at night. Our own horses were gradually

disappearing, and I saw it would not be long before we ran short of

them. We were now busy getting ready for shearing, and I had to go round

to all the native neighbours and find out how many and when they would

be likely to come. This year, owing to the scarcity of outside people,

it seemed probable that more of our own people would have to shear than

usual. Meanwhile, Don Frederico was doing all he could in the Swiss

Colony, although as a rule the colonists were not great shearers, for at

that particular time their own farms often needed attention. I had the

stone walls of the sheepyards attended to, and saw to the gates, and

also that the doors and belongings of the galpon were all in proper

order. I also had an ample supply of wood brought up from the Monte, the

necessary provisions had to be got ready as well as numerous other

articles, all of which were sure to be wanted at such a busy time. On

November 1st a small gang of nine shearers arrived. They had been

previously engaged, and commenced work on the following day. Meantime,

Jennings duly turned up at the Cerro to take charge inside the galpon,

while I looked after matters outside, and also helped him in my spare

time. It was not long before we found out how useful Ramonou could make

himself. He helped to get the sheep through the yards, and also to hurry

a flock from one of the puestos, which otherwise would have come too

slowly, and so kept the shearers waiting for sheep. The weather favoured

us--for the month proved warm and exceptionally dry, so work got on

faster than it could otherwise have done. Soldiers called up half a

dozen at a time, but no large number came to trouble us, for which we

were very thankful. Pedrito now kept an eye on the southdowns, and also

got up the horses, for both old Juan and Justiniano took a turn at

shearing, although neither of them were very efficient.

Work progressed as the days passed, and time went on, so that by the end

of the first week in December, we made a finish, and the gang of

shearers having received their money, at length took their departure. No

sooner was shearing over than we had to see about marking the calves.

This should have been done earlier, but perhaps owing to the same causes

which had produced the epidemia the cattle this spring had been in

rather poor condition, and the calves generally both younger and weaker

than usual. The third week in December began on a Wednesday, and Don

Frederico fixed that day for the marking. I went round to let our native

neighbours know, and asked them all to come and help. Fortunately, the

morning was fine, and we were all on the move at the Cerro even earlier

than usual. I rode a black horse with a white star and two white hind

feet. Pedrito was quite proud of himself, mounted on a small bay which

had been left tired by soldiers, but had now recovered. He was a good

rider, inherited no doubt from his Indian ancestry, and he never pulled

his horse's mouth about more than was necessary. As it happened,

although we were fewer horsemen than usual, the cattle came up well, and

we left them to go round and round on the rodeo while Don Frederico and

Jennings came up to the Cerro to have some coffee which Correo had ready

for us. I let go the black horse and saddled up the rosillo, and on

returning to the rodeo was pleased to find that several of our native

neighbours had arrived. With the aid of a point of tame cattle to lead

them, we got the herd shut up in the manga, and I felt relieved to

think that my responsibility was now over. Two large fires were lit, and

the brands heated, and then two of our native neighbours rode in among

the cattle to lasso and bring out the calves. And so the work

progressed, until about eleven o'clock a halt was made for breakfast.

Seeing we depended so much upon the help of our native neighbours, Don

Frederico said we had better regale them with what was known as "Carne

con cuiro," or beef roasted in the hide. So a young cow had been killed

and cut up in a much shorter time than the uninitiated would deem

possible, and two big roasts with the hide on them were already cooking

before the fires. This above everything is a delicacy the South American

native dearly loves, and Pedrito's face was a picture when he learnt

what was going to happen. Canya, farinha, salt, and yerba were served

out, and the company were all enjoying their repast when a horseman

appeared approaching, perhaps two hundred and fifty yards away. As he

got nearer I saw he was riding a colt, known as a "redamon," _i.e._,

only about half tamed, with a piece of hide tied round its lower jaw,

instead of a bit, and as he rode on towards us the animal, a beautiful

"rosillo," answering the slightest touch of the rider's hand on the

rein, he was indeed a sight to see. His long black hair well oiled and

curling beneath a worn and battered old felt hat, fell almost down to

his shoulders. Over a shirt anything but clean was a dilapidated old

summer "poncho," with a rag of a white handkerchief tied loosely round

his neck. An old worn coloured "cheripa," over a pair of cotton drawers,

covered his waist and the upper part of his legs, and below were a pair

of potro boots, made of the skin of a wild mare, from which the hair had

been removed; mounted with a pair of large iron spurs, completed his

footgear. As he rode among the crowd, he raised his hat above his head

with a "Buen dia Senores" (Good-day, gentlemen) as he sat on his horse

like a statue waiting to be invited to dismount. Then came a cry from

the assembled company, "Cypriano caramba! Cypriano!" but the tribute was

certainly not to his wealth, nor indeed, to his character, for he was a

well-known horse stealer, as well as a famous "domador," or horse-tamer,

but rather a spontaneous and unpremeditated recognition of his wonderful

horsemanship. This touched the hearts of the "Gauchos" as nothing else

could have done. In spite of his rags and his dirt and his poverty, he

was to them a true aristocrat, rising for the moment head and shoulders

above his fellows; for such, indeed, at that time, was the way and

custom and manner of the "Pampas."

Breakfast being finished, work was resumed. By three o'clock the marking

was over, and the herd of cattle let go, when, owing to the times

through which we were living, the company at once dispersed. The weather

continued hot and dry right into the New Year, when I found the water in

the alhibi, or reservoir in the courtyard was becoming exhausted. As I

have previously stated, all our water came from collecting the rainfall

on the roof, whence it passed through pipes into the "alhibi." Usually

the supply was sufficient, but probably the water had been used in

excess and wasted during the shearing, and as no rain had fallen now for

some weeks, it was easy to account for the shortage I wished to preserve

what there was for the house, and indoor use; so we caught up an old

petiso called Waddle, and Justiniano mounted him and made fast his lasso

to the forked branch of a tree with a barrel fixed on its top, and

started for the Canyada Grande to fetch water. He did not go very fast,

for Waddle had seen much of life, and had an enlarged knee; but he had

done the job before, and he did not mind. I daresay, too, he knew by

experience it was not likely to last very long. So with the daily barrel

brought up each morning, we managed to get along quite comfortably. As

to the stock, they always had plenty of water, with the river Rosario on

one side and the river Pichinango on the other, not to speak of the

Canyada Grande, which was hardly ever dry; nor, indeed, had they to go

any distance to drink. Of course the "seca" had its effect on the

pasture, and the grass everywhere got very dry. Where, however, the camp

was not overstocked, and there was good water, the animals could pass

through time of drought without coming to any harm. One morning Pedrito,

who had been out on an old horse looking after the southdowns, came back

and said he had seen an ostrich nest with several eggs in it, which he

thought were still quite good; so I sent Juan with him to fetch them.

There were seven, and they turned out to be but recently laid. The

female bird will lay her eggs out in the open, choosing a place where

the grass is long and dry, and well exposed to the sun. The yolk is

somewhat rich, both in taste and colour; but when fried in a frying pan

or made into an omelette is excellent eating. One of his other pastimes

was going after partridges also on horseback, holding a long stick in

his hand, at the end of which was fastened a thin running noose. When he

saw a bird lying in the grass, which they were fond of doing during hot

and dry weather, he would ride round and round in a circle, gradually

getting nearer and nearer, until he could drop the noose over the head

of the bird as it lay still, as it often would do for some time. Correo

could cook both the ostrich eggs and partridge very well, and I found

them a pleasant change after a prolonged course of mutton roast and

boiled. During hot weather he often wore a beautiful suit of white

cotton; he had two of these with him, and when he brought in my meal to

the dining room he would occasionally stand behind my chair, in a solemn

manner while I was eating, which certainly looked imposing, for his

black skin shone like ebony, but was at the same time quite unnecessary.

He did not much like talking about his experiences during the war in

Paraguay, which I always realised had given him a pretty severe shock,

for he told me he had passed through villages where not a single man had

been left alive, and where a stranger entering them would find himself

surrounded by only women and children, all of whom were in a state of

semi-starvation, and of abject terror and misery. All the crops and

animals had been destroyed by the troops as they passed, and there was

nothing suitable in the way of food anywhere within reach. I liked the

old man, whom I always found very willing and obliging, and I was glad

to see his health improve, as it certainly did, doubtless owing to the

rest, and quiet, and to freedom for the time being from any care or

anxiety as to where or how he could get a living.

The New Year came in exceptionally hot; day after day brought continual

sunshine from a blue sky, in which scarcely a cloud could be seen.

Towards mid-day the rays of heat poured down so fiercely, they seemed as

if they would scorch the very tussock grass itself. The rocks behind the

house fairly glistened and shimmered in the noon-tide glare, and the

large lizards were very happy, constantly running in and out of their

holes, and indeed had a glorious time. Out in the camp, the ground

itself got warm, and everything dried up. The cattle could be seen here

and there in groups; by this formation they seemed to think they might

escape the burning rays of the sun, and it was in the night and early

morning, as well as late afternoon, that they were able to feed in

comfort. They went gladly enough to the rivers to drink, but they could

not stay long by the woods on account of the number of flies which were

ever ready to pester and torment them, until they hardly knew how to

bear. The sheep, also, could be seen clumping themselves together, each

trying, as it were, to get shade by standing in each other's shadow.

If the pasturage on the estancia was hard and dry, there was yet plenty

of it, and as there was abundant water I had no fear of anything like

starvation for the stock. During the great heat the "siesta" in the

middle of the day had to be longer than usual, and practically all work

was suspended, except during the early morning and late afternoon. The

rooms, however, were very comfortable during hot weather, for being so

high, and opening one into another, there was always plenty of air, even

when the heavily-barred windows were, according to the Spanish custom,

kept shut during the middle of the day in order to keep out the heat. We

had no garden to suffer, and were thankful for the grateful shade of the

"ombu," and also of the figtrees in the courtyard, so that, except for

the want of water, we had little to complain of during the period of the

"seca." Curiously enough, during the great heat we had no thunderstorm,

the atmosphere remaining perfectly clear and dry. This, however, was

quite unusual.

One morning, not long after sunrise, two Blanco officers, and about

eighty soldiers rode up to the Cerro. They said they were en route for

Colonia, and had been travelling the greater part of the night, taking

advantage of a nearly full moon. I invited the two officers into the

house to have some coffee, but before accepting, they said what they

wanted were horses, for many of those they had with them were tired, and

it was important they should get on with as little delay as possible. I

asked if the soldiers wanted food, but all they were allowed to do was

to make a couple of fires and suck some Mate, before proceeding on their

journey. As to the horses, there was nothing for it but to get all our

horses up into the corral--they had not long been let go--and let the

soldiers take what they wanted. There were now but few of our own mark

to choose from; the others being horses previously left with us.

However, they took seventeen and left us twelve tired ones, poor in

condition, and not one of them looking as if he was much account. As it

happened, the bay colt we had tamed was with his mother and the

wall-eyed horse I often rode, and old Waddle some distance further away.

So these did not come up with the others, thus the bay colt once more

escaped attention. I had the rosillo tied up and saddled, and Pedrito

was riding the little "mala kara," so he got off, but a very light bay

horse, called an "andador," or pacer, which Justiniano was fond of

riding, was one of the first chosen by the soldiers. The officers told

me they were going to join a large division of the Blanco army, now in

the province of Colonia, which was thought likely to be moving in our

direction, and it was supposed General Aparicio himself was coming down

shortly just to see how things were going. The officers were quite

civil, but when they were gone, and I had time to think matters over, I

realised that this hardly compensated for the fact that we had now

hardly any horses of our own mark left to us. Such, indeed, was so often

the fortune of those whose business it was in "the old days" to try and

carry on an estancia during time of revolution.

On January the twentieth, we had three or four very short and slight

showers, and on the day following, heavy rain fell and continued without

intermission for twenty-four hours. The "seca" had now broken up, the

"alhibi" was more than half full, and we had no further trouble in

regard to water. Soon after two o'clock on the last afternoon in the

month, a party of soldiers rode up, and one of them, who appeared to be

their leader, told me I was to go with them to where a division of the

Blanco army was encamped, some two and a half leagues to the south-east

of the Cerro. As they seemed to attach importance to the request, I did

not care to quite refuse or indeed argue the point as to whether I

should go or not. Moreover, I thought it would be an experience, and

possibly somewhat of an adventure. As it happened, I had caught up the

rosillo a short time before, intending to take a turn round the camp. I

told them I would be ready in a quarter of an hour, saddled him up,

strapped the belt of my revolver round my waist, slipped a light summer

poncho over my head, and we made a start forthwith. Meanwhile, the

Indians had hid themselves in the galpon, and I bid adieu to Correo, who

looked greatly perturbed when he saw me depart. We travelled rapidly

along, for something over an hour, and then, as I looked ahead, I saw an

interesting scene spread out before me. In a large "rincon," at the back

of which was a stream, lightly bordered by trees, were quite a large

number of soldiers. Horses were either feeding loose or tethered

everywhere. The men were scattered about in every sort of attitude and

position, mostly resting and smoking, and some enjoying a game of cards,

while others were chatting and talking together, and apparently enjoying

themselves. Meanwhile, fires had been lighted in front of which large

joints of meat were already roasting. A little to the right, half a

dozen "Gauchos" were busy giving some colts they had got hold of a

gallop, which, from their appearance, had only been recently caught up.

Behind all these, on slightly rising ground, a group of officers were

gathered. One of these was seated on some rugs and saddle gear, which

had been piled up for the purpose, and he was at the time occupied in

sucking Mate through a silver "bombilla," or tube. He was a remarkable

looking man, somewhat above middle height, with rather broad shoulders,

over which his long hair hung down in a slight curl at the back, swarthy

in complexion, with a very keen-looking pair of black eyes. I realised

at once that I was in the presence of no less a personage than General

Aparicio himself. Meanwhile, he invited me to dismount, and asked me who

I was, and where I had come from, and what had brought me there. When I

told him, he said, "This ought not to have happened! There must have

been some mistake!" Then he continued, "Siente se Senor," "Sit down,

Sir." "Vamos a tomar un matecito," "Let us drink a little Mate." In the

meantime, a soldier was holding my horse, and behind where we were

sitting, two lances were stuck in the ground, from which the white

banner was flying. The General's sharp eyes caught my horse. "That

little rosillo seems made of some good stuff," he said. "You had better

take good care of him." I told him he had the mark of the Estancia

Pichinango, and was about the only one we had left. "Pero que quiere mi

amigo? Es tiempo de guerra." ("But what could you wish, my friend? It is

time of war,") he replied, with a laugh. The General then told me that a

good many matreros (deserters from the army) and bad characters, were

said to be hiding in the woods our way, and that he would send a couple

of soldiers with me when I went back, who could also stay at the Cerro

for a time, in case I should find myself in any trouble. Thereupon I

thanked him, and about half an hour later made my adieux. As I left the

camp the two soldiers rode in front of me, each carrying his lance,

with the white banner flying, while I followed immediately behind. Upon

reaching the Cerro, which we did just after sundown, I got quite a

reception from Correo and the Indians, in which "Napoleon" and

"Ramonou," also "Brag" and "Bully," took part, in fact, they all

appeared quite relieved, and very pleased to see me back again. On the

next morning, I rode down to La Concordia to see Don Frederico. He was

greatly amused when I told him of my little expedition, and at once

asked me if I thought the Blancos were likely to be coming our way. I

told him I thought not, as from what I had gathered their intention was

to make straight for Colonia across country, as it were, without

touching the town of Colla, in which case they would not be likely to

come near the Pichinango. He further said the two soldiers who had come

back with me would be a help rather than a hindrance, for he had been

wondering how we could manage to get the horses all gathered up into the

"manga" this year, and the foals marked, seeing there was hardly any

outside person available. He said that now I had the two soldiers, who

doubtless understood camp work, at disposal, he would arrange a day to

gather up the horses, with as little delay as possible, and let me know.

I could then inform our native neighbours, and possibly succeed in

getting a certain amount of help. I rode back by Marmasola's puesto, and

told him if he knew of anyone likely to be of any use, to be sure and

let me know. That same evening, a little before sundown, a young

Englishman, Mr. Frank Turnor, arrived, with three horses and a peon. He

was "Major Domo" on a large English estancia up the country, and he

asked if we could put him up for the night. This I was delighted to do,

and we had the horses collared and sent out to feed. He was a

fine-looking young man, with broad shoulders, and a tall, upright

figure. We were sitting smoking after dinner, when the conversation

turned upon "matreros," men wanted by the police, hiding in the woods,

whereupon he told me the following story. He said where he was living

they had large woods bordering the river, in which "matreros" would come

and stay for a time, living on the estancia cattle, and then move off

again to other secure places, where the police could not catch them.

They were a desperate lot, and murdered one of the shepherds of the

place because he mended up the fence after they had cut the wires, so as

to pass backwards and forwards, which was a cause of annoyance to them.

He said it was his business, together with two men, to search the woods

every Saturday to see if they were there, as they always left some trace

or other, such as the remains of food or tracks of horses. Both he and

his men always carried rifles, but he was never very keen about finding

the thieves, as they were known to be very dangerous characters. A new

Chief of Police had come, whose ambition was to catch these men. Knowing

the outlaws were in the woods, he thereupon notified him, and the police

officer appeared early one Sunday morning with ten men, all fully armed,

when he at once went with him to show more or less where the matreros

were to be found. On the way they met a half Indian man called the Negro

Largo, who in peace time was allowed three sheep a week to keep him from

stealing, and in time of revolution forty dollars a month to save the

horses; as the Indian then had some thirty men under his command. He

went on to say that as he and the Negro Largo knew the woods, they were

asked to go quietly ahead, so as to try and find the encampment, the

police following.

At last some horses were seen tied out near some little "talditos," or

coverings made of branches, but all was quiet; it was very hot, and the

thieves were sleeping. He and the Negro Largo then returned to the

police, without disturbing the sleepers. Turnor wanted the "comisario"

to charge right up on horseback, but being an infantry officer, he

preferred to do so on foot. So after approaching a little nearer he

ordered his men to dismount and form line, and himself heading them with

drawn sword, charged up to the place where the horses were tied. Owing,

however, to the noise caused by dismounting, etc., the outlaws, hearing

what was going on, made a bolt into the thick wood, so that only the

horses, saddles, etc., were captured. He further mentioned that he and

the Negro Largo were not in the charge, but behind a tree watching.

The police officer was intensely proud of his achievement, and at once

ordered one of the best looking horses to be saddled up for him. When he

mounted, however, the horse reared, and coming over backwards, gave him

a bad fall, much to the general amusement.

Turnor said that this was his only encounter with the "matreros," but

that some time after two of the men with rifles who were revising the

woods as usual came right upon the outlaws over a bank, with their

horses saddled. Instead of trying to escape they at once mounted and

attacked them, firing their pistols, when they on their part being taken

by surprise, made a bolt of it, and being better mounted succeeded in

getting safely away. Eventually all the outlaws were captured and put in

prison.

It was getting late when we turned in, but as Turnor wished to make an

early start on the morrow, I had already told Correo to get some coffee

the first thing. Fortunately, he was always an early riser. The morning

was fine, and the sun had but lately risen, when my visitor and his man

mounted their horses and started on their way, the latter leading the

spare horse, so that either could change to it as they went along.

During the afternoon Margarito arrived with a note to say that we were

to have a "para rodeo" of the cattle on Saturday as usual, and a general

gathering up of the horses on the Wednesday following. I therefore lost

no time in advising our native neighbours, and getting them to come and

help us. To make this doubly sure I rode next morning to pay a visit to

two or three of the principal ones in person. Both the soldiers

accompanied me with their lances, and the Blanco device on their hats

and the white banner flying. When I arrived at the first native house I

saw at once that I was about to make an impression. I thought the dogs

barked if anything louder than usual as we sat on our horses calling out

"Ave Maria," the usual form of salutation. For the moment no one

appeared, but I saw signs of first one and then another woman or child

peeping out through a window and so on. Then the front door was opened,

and the master of the house appeared bare-headed, and with a bow

desiring me to dismount. Whereupon I did so, and went into the house,

the two soldiers meanwhile holding my horse outside. I delivered my

message, and we discussed the war, and I was invited to have some

refreshment, which I declined. When I thought sufficient time had

elapsed I got up to leave, being accompanied outside by apparently the

whole family. I then walked solemnly to my horse, mounted and signed to

the two soldiers to move on, and altogether I flattered myself that I

made a very dignified departure. The same mode of procedure took place

at two other houses, each with the same satisfactory result. The fact

was, we were getting very short of horses in our neighbourhood, and as

hardly any of these people, friendly as they might appear on the

surface, would have at all objected to coming inside our camp and

picking up and carrying off any stray horse which, having been left

there, would otherwise have proved useful to us, I thought it a good

opportunity to let them know that, up at the Cerro I was in a position

of some authority, and therefore not to be trifled with. On the Saturday

the two soldiers went with us to the "para rodeo" of the cattle;

"Napoleon" enjoyed himself greatly, and all went well.

Wednesday morning was fine, and we were all early on the move. I rode

the rosillo, who was in excellent form, while the two soldiers and the

Indians were mounted on horses which had been left by passing soldiers.

As we got the troop up towards the "rodeo" a portion of them tried their

utmost to break back, but the rosillo was quite equal to the occasion;

he was indeed a good little horse, and his speed and energy soon

succeeded in rounding them up and forcing them to rejoin the others, so

that we managed to get them all shut up in the stone "manga" with less

difficulty than I had expected. Our native neighbours duly turned up,

fires were lighted, and we were able to mark quite a fair number of

foals. We also picked out about a dozen stray riding horses from among

the troop, which had probably been left by soldiers as they passed

along. These we divided between the Cerro and La Concordia, attaching

them to the tropillas, in order that so long as they remained to us they

might be made useful, and earn their living for the time being. Don

Frederico was mounted on his rosillo allazan (chestnut roan), otherwise

known as his war-horse; but Jennings no longer rode his usual dark grey,

for it had been taken by soldiers about a month previously, so he was

compelled to bestride a rather ancient-looking bay horse, which was also

in but poor condition, instead.

At the beginning of March the two soldiers were recalled to Colla. When

they bid us adieu they both thanked me for the pleasant time at the

Cerro, and when they departed took with them our good wishes. Towards

the end of the month, Charles Bent turned up quite unexpectedly. His

relatives outside had been unfortunate, and had lost a lot of stock,

both sheep and cattle, during the war, and his idea was to make his way

to Monte Video later on, for he seemed to have a hope that the war would

soon be over. He had lost his race-horse not very long after the

disastrous affair at the Cerro, now getting on for a year and a half

ago, and he rode up on an old "Bayo Negro," or dark cream, with a black

mane and tail, which had been left by soldiers, and seemed to be of very

little account. I was glad to see him again, for I always liked him.

Moreover, he did not look very well; he was never really strong, so I

asked him to stay on a bit at the Cerro, as we had ample room, and I

knew he would be glad to help in any work which had to be done. With the

exception of the rosillo, we were entirely dependent upon what I might

call outside horses, for we had now scarcely one of our own mark left.

The bay colt old Juan had tamed, was still with us, but he had managed

to sprain his shoulder rather badly, so was for the time being of no

use.

We had a room at the Cerro with a strong brick floor, which had at one

time been used for stores, and I had this arranged for the rosillo, so

that in case of necessity he could be shut up there at night. Generally,

when the weather was fine, I could have him tied up in the courtyard,

but when the nights got cold and he was unable to feed there, I knew it

would be difficult to keep him in good condition. As it turned out, I

found that the shelter from wind and rain, together with a small but

regular allowance of maize, greatly contributed to his welfare. When I

next saw Don Frederico I spoke to him about Charles Bent, and he said

he should be very glad for him to stay on at the Cerro for he knew he

would always willingly lend a hand at any work which might be going. He

said he thought he would be much better there than if he were to go into

Monte Video at present, as it was generally believed by those who knew,

that before very long the Blancos intended to try and besiege the city,

and if they should do so would probably succeed. During the next three

weeks we had a good deal of sheep-working on hand, as the flocks from

the puestos were being passed through the sheepyards, both at the Cerro

and at La Concordia. Ramonou was really a great help; he was obedient

and good at his work, and gave satisfaction all round. Bent had left his

sheep dog, "Bob," with his relations. He told me it was some time since

he had heard of Royd, but he believed he had sustained many losses with

his stock at his friend's place near San Jose, and that he either had

sailed or was about to sail for England. At this I was not surprised,

for he never seemed to me well suited to camp life. He was naturally

somewhat despondent, and there was no denying he had been very hard hit

at the Sierras de Mal Abrigo.

Correo seemed now to have recovered his health and spirits, and to enjoy

preparing our simple menu. He was always willing and attentive; indeed,

since his arrival at the Cerro, everything inside the house had gone on

quite comfortably.

Some three weeks passed and nothing happened except the ordinary routine

of estancia work. During this time either Bent or I had been accustomed

to go up on to the flat (azotea) roof once or twice daily with the

glass, so as to have a good look round. The Cerro stood high, so that

from its roof we could overlook the greater part of the estancia. This

was a distinct advantage in times like the present, for it not only let

us know anything that might be going on among the stock, but also

allowed us time to prepare beforehand for any soldiers who might ride up

to the house with the intention of causing us trouble. One afternoon

Bent and I were up on the "azotea" together, having a look round with

the glass. It was just about two-thirty when suddenly we saw some twenty

soldiers coming our way from the East, at an angle which would make them

pass to the front of the Cerro, about half a mile distant. We could,

moreover, see they were Colorados, for the red banner was clearly flying

from their lances. At the same time a troop of Blancos appeared, coming

up from the Pass of the Pichinango, so that the two parties came into

collision just about the place where Tio Benigno's deserted puesto still

stood. We could see it all perfectly. They galloped furiously one toward

the other two or three times, but seemed always to manage to avoid close

contact. They fired their guns and revolvers, some of the shots at any

rate being hurriedly let off into the air. Then the Reds made a bolt,

and thereupon the Blancos, seeing this, galloped furiously after them,

with their lances. One of the Reds was wounded by a shot, for we saw his

arm hang useless by his side as he rode away. Another got a lance wound

in his back, which was apparently more serious, as he fell from his

horse after the Reds got a little further away, and had to be picked up

by his comrades. So the Blancos remained masters of the situation, and

after the Colorados had disappeared, they passed the Cerro at a gallop,

about a quarter of a mile distant, following a northerly direction, as

if they were making for Guaycoru, and we were all very glad to see both

lots clear out. Some ten days later we were both up on the "azotea,"

about an hour before sundown. After taking a look round, I said to Bent,

"Do you see that point of cattle feeding almost at the same place where

the Blancos and Colorados met? And can you see a dark lump on the

ground, a little way removed, just on the far side of them? If I am not

mistaken that is a matrero, out 'bombiando.' You know what that means,

'looking for and marking down a young heifer, so that he and his

companions can come and kill it at night,' and there will be a moon

to-night up to twelve o'clock, you know!" "I believe you are right,"

replied Bent. "Have a look through the glass. I fancy you will find that

animal standing alone a little further away to be a horse saddled, and

he is probably hobbled as well." Taking the telescope, I soon saw this

to be the case. "I will give that fellow a bit of a fright," I said, at

once going down into the courtyard, where I had the rosillo ready

saddled. It took but a moment to lead him out through the small door,

jump on his back, and gallop off. I had not got more than half way, when

the matrero, who must have seen me coming, ran to his horse, mounted,

and made off towards the woods of the Pichinango as quickly as he could.

The rosillo was going strong, and I should certainly have overtaken him,

when an unfortunate thing happened. The ground was very rough and

uneven, with numerous pieces of pointed rock rising up above it in every

direction. The horse unluckily caught his off fore foot on one of these,

and as he was going fast, it tripped him up, and he came down a regular

cropper, rolling right over. I, of course, came down with him, having my

revolver tightly held in my right hand, fully loaded, the trigger at

half cock. When I fell it somehow got jammed between me and the hard

ground, with the end of the barrel against my chest, slightly bruising

the flesh. Fortunately, it did not explode! It was a Colt's muzzle

loader, and I felt grateful to them for its reliability and their

excellent workmanship. I remounted, and continued the chase, but the

delay gave the man too much of a lead, and I only arrived in time to see

him enter the woods and disappear. Bent seemed quite glad to see me

return without any further mishap, and when I explained to him how I

came to have the tumble, which he had been able to see with the

telescope from the house, he remarked, "That revolver of yours is indeed

worth more than anything it may have cost, old man!" This pleased me,

for as a matter of fact, I had bought it second-hand, when I was at the

Sierras de Mal Abrigo, upon its eminent firm of maker's reputation,

knowing otherwise but little about it. Bent and I then got up the

"tamberos" to their rodeo. They were now well in hand, and went up

easily. As we returned, Justiniano was bringing up the southdowns, to

shut them in for the night; I looked them over, and saw them safely

inside their yard. Correo was always pretty punctual with supper when we

were at home, for he was glad when work was over and he could retire to

rest. Afterwards we had a quiet talk and a smoke, and both went early to

bed.

A week later we were both on the "azotea" about four o'clock in the

afternoon. A Mr. Fenton, who had formerly stayed a good deal at the

Cerro, had left his "moro," or blue-grey horse behind him when he went

away, attached to one of the tropillas. The horse was not there when I

came, having detached himself, and joined up with the "saino manada," or

troop of mares and foals. We had not been looking round long when I

noticed a horse coming at pretty nearly full speed in the direction of

the Cerro, with two soldiers in full pursuit. "I believe it is Fenton's

'moro,'" I said to Bent, "and what is more those two fellows are going

to have him." Just then the "moro" passed, some three hundred yards

distant, in front of the house. One soldier flung his "boleadores," but

as it happened they fell short. The second thereupon immediately

increased his speed, and flung his with such accuracy that they twisted

themselves round the "moro's" hind legs, and soon brought him to a

standstill. The soldiers then slipped a halter over his head, loosed the

"boleadores" from his hind legs, and led him off with them, riding in

the direction of the Pichinango Pass.

The "boleadores," or "bolas," as they are often called, are a very

effective weapon in the hands of a skilled horseman who is well mounted.

They are chiefly used to capture horses and wild mares in the open camp,

and are a very important part of a "Gaucho's" equipment. They are made

of twisted strands of raw horse-hide. There are three thongs united

together at a common centre, each about a yard in length. At the other

end of each thong is a leaden ball, covered with hide. The horseman

holds one ball in his right hand while he swings the two others quickly

round his head. He then lets go the ball he had in his hand, so that the

three go whirling swiftly forward in a circle, and their weight and

impetus causes the thongs to twist themselves round the hind legs of any

horse at which they may be aimed, which, chiefly owing to the speed at

which it is moving, soon finds itself with its hind legs tied up

together, and so falls helpless to the ground.

Much smaller balls fastened together in the same manner, with quite thin

thongs, are used by the natives to capture the wild ostrich.

Indeed, I have always been given to understand that the "boleadores"

were in use among the Indians of the Pampas from quite remote times. A

few days passed, and nothing happened, and then one morning just after

ten o'clock a Blanco officer and between seventy and eighty soldiers

arrived, who asked for food and horses. Accordingly I had two sheep

killed, and gave them what else they required, and told them to make a

couple of fires outside, over which to roast their meat and boil their

kettles. As to horses, I told them we had none left, only a few more or

less useless ones, which had been left by soldiers. As, however, they

said they had four tired ones which could go no further, I sent Pedrito

to bring up what we had into the corral, so that they could suit

themselves, for under the circumstances it was the only thing to do.

Finally, they took five and left their broken-down ones in their place.

So we were not much worse off after all. The rosillo I had saddled, and

regarding him they gave me no trouble whatever, so I really had cause to

be thankful, for I particularly did not wish to lose him. We invited the

officer to come in and have breakfast. He was a good-looking man, not

more than thirty years of age. He told us they had come from the north,

and were going to join their division near Colonia. He said the main

White army was now very strong indeed, and it was their intention before

long to push right through the province of San Jose, where they expected

to easily drive the Colorados before them, and then to besiege Monte

Video, thus stopping all supplies coming in from the interior. Should

they succeed in carrying out their intention, which he fully believed

they would do, we might have reason to hope the war would soon be over.

In due course, the soldiers having refreshed themselves, took their

departure, proceeding at a "trotte-cito," or jog-trot, towards the Pass

of the Pichinango, the officer riding in solitary grandeur behind. One

afternoon in the middle of the week following, Bent and I were up on the

azotea taking a look round. We had not been there long when we saw

something which looked like a man on horseback going slowly, leaning

forward in the saddle, with his arms resting upon the horse's neck. He

seemed to sit more or less helpless, and the horse, which was

three-quarters of a mile distant, appeared to be making his own way,

having come from the East, behind the Cerro, towards the road which led

from it to La Concordia. I sent Justiniano, who had a horse saddled, to

see if anything was amiss, and if so, told him to bring the horse and

rider back with him. This he did, and the latter turned out to be a

Swiss, weak and faint from loss of blood. We got him off his horse, and

carried him into the galpon, where we laid him on a "quatre," or light

wooden bedstead, and I then managed to pour a little Canya and water down

his throat, for, as we lifted him from his horse, he had suddenly

fainted. After a few moments he came round, and told us he was coming in

from outside with a considerable sum of money on him. Suddenly three men

appeared, whom he took to be "matreros," or deserters, for they had no

device on their hats, although all were armed. They compelled him to

hand over all the money, his poncho, spurs, and silver-handled whip,

even to a large gold ring which he wore on the fourth finger of his

right hand. They threatened to cut his throat if he made any resistance,

and as it was he had a deep wound from a stab with a knife, just about

the middle of the forearm, inside and below the elbow of the bridle

hand. This had evidently bled profusely, and was even then bleeding, and

it was clear the poor man had lost a good deal of blood. He thought the

wound must have been made when one of them was taking the ring from his

finger. However, Bent and I managed to improvise a small tourniquet, and

so get pressure to bear, which easily controlled the bleeding. We then

bound up the arm with a cold water bandage, and made the man as

comfortable as we could. Correo made him some "bouillon," and when he

had taken this he soon sank off into a doze. About an hour and a half

later he woke up, feeling better, whereupon we readjusted the bandage

and enquired his name and address, and where his home was situate in the

Swiss Colony. I told him to make himself as comfortable as he could

during the night, and early in the morning I would send a messenger to

advise his friends what had happened, so that they could bring a light

cart to fetch him, for he was too weak to ride. I told Justiniano to tie

up a horse and start as soon after daylight as he could, taking at the

same time a note I wrote to Don Frederico, telling him what had

happened. This Justiniano could leave at La Concordia as he passed,

without really going out of his way. Meanwhile, old Juan said he would

keep an eye on the man during the early part of the night, and advise me

if anything went wrong. Bent and I then turned in, feeling pretty sure

that if the Swiss could get some sleep he would probably be better in

the morning. Fortunately, this turned out to be the case, although the

patient was still very weak. About ten o'clock a friend and a relation

arrived in a light covered cart, with a straw mattress and suitable

coverings. We carried the Swiss, and placed him carefully in the cart,

it was evident he had received altogether a great shock. I gave his

relative a written statement of what we saw; how we had found him; and

what we had done, so that if necessary it could be shewn to the police,

and I said I was prepared and willing to answer any further enquiries.

They soon made a start, and this little excitement was over. May was now

well advanced, and sheep-working among the flocks, which had been pretty

constant, was drawing to its close. One morning, towards the end of the

month, Bent and I rode down early to La Concordia, where the fine flock

was to be passed through the yards. The work made good progress, so that

we were both back again at the Cerro a little before twelve o'clock.

When I saw Correo he told me a Swiss baker had called during our

absence, on his way outside with bread, and that he had bought three

loaves from him. We were glad of this, as being a pleasant change from

the "galleta," or hard camp biscuit. According to our usual custom, we

were both again up on the "azotea" about four o'clock in the afternoon.

Everything seemed quiet, but we had not been there long before our

attention was arrested by what looked like a covered cart slowly

crossing the camp, about a mile and a half away, in the direction of the

Canyada Grande, opposite to Laborde's puesto. Every now and again it

seemed to stop, and the two horses, which we could see were drawing it,

appeared to be grazing. Altogether, it gave us the impression that

either there was no driver in the cart, or that if one was there, he was

either drunk or incapable. I then decided to send Justiniano to see what

was the matter. He had the bay colt his uncle had tamed saddled, whose

shoulder was even yet not quite sound. I told him if he found anything

wrong to make his lasso fast to the horses, and so bring them cart and

all, up to the Cerro. By this time, from Correo's description, we had

identified the cart as belonging to the Swiss baker, who had passed in

the morning. Of course, it was possible that he had somehow got

separated from his cart, which was now moving towards home without him.

Meanwhile, we watched Justiniano reach the cart, get off his horse, and

go round to the back to look in behind. He then came round and made fast

his lasso to the horses' heads, remounted, and made start with the cart

in tow in the direction of the Cerro. All this we could see quite

clearly through the telescope. When he arrived, I went down to meet him,

and Correo and Pedrito and uncle Juan were all in attendance. I saw at

once from Justiniano's countenance, that something serious had happened.

Our consternation may be imagined when he told us that the body of the

baker was lying inside the cart, and that he was quite dead, with his

throat cut from ear to ear. How he had come to his death we were unable

to form any idea. We could only suppose that two or three "matreros" had

come across him in the open camp, far from any dwelling, and that they

had done the dastardly deed from sheer devilry. The poor man apparently

had no revolver or weapon with him in the cart; if he had one it had

been taken away, neither was there any sign of shots having been fired

at him; nor was either of the horses in any way maimed or injured. In

fact the whole thing was a complete mystery. Correo and the Indians

seemed greatly impressed. Naturally, the former could identify the body

and the cart as being that of the man from whom he had bought the three

loaves of bread in the morning, but beyond that there was nothing

whatever to point as to how the tragedy had come about. Inside the cart

was indeed a sickening sight. The loaves that remained, and the floor of

the cart, were covered with blood. I took a note of all the gruesome

details, and then we got the body out of the cart, and laid it on a heap

of sheepskins inside the galpon, and covered it over with a white sheet.

When I first saw it the body was quite cold, and probably the poor man

had already been dead for more than two or three hours, for already the

arms and legs had begun to get slightly stiff. By the time all this was

done, it was getting dusk. The sun had already set, so I postponed

sending down to the Swiss Colony to convey the sad news until early the

following morning.

Soon after sunrise Justiniano started, and I told him to call at La

Concordia on his way back, and tell Don Frederico what had happened.

About ten o'clock two men arrived, who took away the cart and the

remains. I made out a written statement of the whole affair, so far as

we knew about it, and were concerned in it. This I signed and dated, and

got Bent to witness. I then gave it to one of the two men, who turned

out to be a relation of the "finado," or deceased. In the afternoon I

rode down to Marmasola's puesto. He had just returned from Solarez's

pulperia on the other side of the pass. He told me he had heard that a

large division of the Colorado army, with infantry and artillery, was

coming up to turn the Blancos out of the province of Colonia, and that

there was pretty sure to be a battle very shortly. Hearing this, I rode

on to La Concordia to acquaint Don Frederico, who said it was just about

what he expected, and we had better be on the alert, and keep a sharp

look-out. I then went back to the Cerro, and we got the "tamberos" up on

to their "rodeo," and I saw the southdowns safely shut in, and by the

time I had unsaddled and put the "rosillo" into the stable, it was

already sundown. Next morning we were all early on the move. We

carefully shut all the doors and entrances to the galpon, and so far as

we could made all fast. We looked to our firearms, and had our long

ladder which reached to the roof of the house, carefully concealed in

the galpon, so that no one could get up there from outside; in fact, we

prepared everything to make as good a defence as we could in the event

of our being attacked.

Next morning, after all our preparations, everything appeared quiet, but

about three o'clock in the afternoon we heard the constant firing of big

guns out towards Colla, although, by their sound, we were able to tell

they must have been a good long distance away. The firing continued

intermittently until sundown. We spent the afternoon on the roof, which

we could reach with the small ladder inside the house. Nothing happened

during the night, but half an hour after sunrise the first signs of the

battle which had taken place began to show themselves. First a small

party of Blanco soldiers were seen crossing the estancia at a gallop

from the Pass of the Pichinango, shaping their course straight for the

Sierras de Mal Abrigo. These were followed by others and by single

soldiers, galloping for all they were worth. Then, later on, came the

main body of the Blancos in full flight. Stretching in a long uneven,

but continuous line, they passed about two hundred yards in front of the

Cerro, the wounded in carts without springs, drawn by horses, and what

looked in some cases like half-tamed mares, were continually passing, to

which any amount of whip was forthcoming to make them move. Early in the

day none of the soldiers came up to the Cerro, but about three o'clock a

light cart, with a canvas covering, drove up to the house, with three

horses attached to it. A negro, who sat in front with a whip, which he

evidently had made good use of, was driving. In attendance were two

soldiers, with their lances, and fully armed. They told us that a

wounded colonel lay inside, who was in great pain, so much so that he

could with difficulty bear the jolting of the vehicle, which had no

springs. They asked if we could do anything to help him in his plight. I

proposed that we should get him out of the cart and lay him on a

"quatre" in the covered way which led from the galpon into the court,

where he would get plenty of air, and we could then see if anything

could be done for him. This we did, and then Bent and I attended to him.

He had a severe lance wound in the right side, just above the hip bone.

It was only very roughly bound up with some dirty calico, and he had

evidently lost a good deal of blood. We first gave him a little Canya and

water, and I told Correo to bring him a cup of bouillon, made of mutton,

with rice in it, which he happened to have cooking on the kitchen stove.

We undid the bandage, sponging the wound with warm water, so as to get

it clean so far as we could. I then put on three pads made of linen

soaked in cold water, fresh from the "alhibi," covered them with a piece

of oil-silk I happened to have, and over these a broad linen bandage, to

do which I remember I tore up the last remaining dress shirt I

possessed. Above all this, we firmly fastened a broad strip of blanket,

so that it would not easily move. Meanwhile, Correo and the Indians

roughly fixed up three small bags filled with the dead leaf of the maize

plant, and some old wool we had in the galpon; one for him to lie upon,

with the other two on either side, in order, so far as possible, to

deaden the jolting of the cart. By this time he seemed to have somewhat

recovered, and although we could not persuade him to eat anything solid

he took some more "bouillon," with a little biscuit broken into it. He

seemed a very nice man, about forty years of age, and he told us his

name was Antonio Martinez, and gave me an address which would always

find him. He was very grateful for the little we had been able to do for

him, and told me if at any time he could be of any service to us I was

to be sure to let him know. We then carried him carefully to the cart,

where we made him as comfortable as might be. The soldiers and the negro

had meanwhile got something to eat, and sucked some Mate in the galpon,

so they were quite refreshed, and we watched them make a start, with the

sincere hope that the wounded colonel might safely reach his journey's

end. The passing of the soldiers went on during the day; it did not

finish until about half an hour before sunset. Bent and I watched it to

the end from the "azotea," and it was indeed a wonderful sight. The

excitement and the desire to get on was intense, and it was quite clear

the Blancos had been defeated, and were now making a pretty good run of

it, and that the whole division, of which we had from time to time seen

portions, and heard so much, was hastening to join their main army, lest

the victorious Colorados should again come up with them. We also

remained watchful and alert, and continued to have everything made fast

for the next two or three days, so that should they happen to come our

way they would not catch us unprepared. The dogs, however, did not at

all approve of it, because they could not run in and out of the galpon

at will, but "Napoleon" and "Ramonou" managed to take exercise in the

courtyard, and "Brag" and "Bully" did very much the same. However, a

week went by and we heard nothing of the Colorados after the battle; all

we knew was that none of them seemed to come our way, and for this we

were thankful. One afternoon, a few days later, about half an hour

before sunset, a captain in the Blanco army rode up to the Cerro,

attended by a soldier, carrying his lance and wearing the white device

on his hat. They had a led horse with them in addition to the two they

rode, and all three were in first-rate condition. The captain asked me

if we could put them up for the night. So soon as they had unsaddled, I

had one of the tropillas brought up, and we collared their horses for

them. Correo soon made up a bed, and it was not long before Bent and I

and the captain sat down to supper, the soldier, meanwhile, making

himself quite happy with the Indians in the galpon. After it was over we

sat and smoked and talked in the gun-room, where Correo had lit a small

fire in the stove, so that we were warm and comfortable. Our guest told

us his name was Eduardo Suares; he was very polite, and appeared to be

well educated; and he looked certainly not more than thirty years of

age. He told us the battle of Colonia would have no influence whatever

upon the movements of the main Blanco army, which he expected would now

very shortly be moving forward, and that it would not be long before

Monte Video would be besieged. He did not think for a moment that the

Colorados would be able to make any firm stand outside the capital. All

this being so, he considered that early in July the revolution might

probably be at an end, and the Colorados would be compelled to resign

office. Captain Suarez also said he had passed a great part of his life

in the province of Entre Rios, where his relations had an estancia, but

that he himself was a native of the republic of Uruguay. He gave us the

following interesting account of the great Urguiza, Governour and despot

of the province of Entre Rios, who was one of the strongest, ablest and

most savage lieutenants of the famous Dictator Rosas. He ruled his

province with the dagger and the bullet; himself shut up in a strong

castle in the midst of the "Pampa." Eventually he succeeded to supreme

power after the fall of Rosas, and his first important administrative

act was to assemble all the provincial governours and to ratify the

Fundamental Agreement of January, 1831, as the basis of the Constitution

of the Argentine Confederation. He further told us that he himself was

present at the death of Urguiza, when he was assassinated in 1870. He

said that when Urguiza's body lay dead an Indian chief who was present

exclaimed "Impossibile! El General Urguiza nunca muere!" "Impossible!

The General Urguiza never dies!" It was during Urguiza's governorship of

Entre Rios that it was said you could hang up a pair of silver stirrups

upon a tree in the Monte, on the bank of the river, where there was much

traffic, and go and find them there in a month's time. But this state of

things was certainly not the case in the Republic of Uruguay during La

Guerra de Aparicio, from the year 1870 to the year 1872. We both enjoyed

listening to our guest's descriptive and animated conversation, and

having bid each other "Buena noche" (good-night), retired to rest, as

the captain wished to start early next morning. The horses were up in

the corral by sunrise, when the soldier caught up and saddled his own

and the captain's horse, and after partaking of coffee the latter bid us

"Adios" with many thanks for the very slight hospitality I had been able

to afford them. Exactly three weeks from the day when the wounded

colonel Antonio Martinez drove up to the Cerro, a negro rode up about

twelve o'clock. I happened to be just returning from a ride round the

camp in the opposite direction. He appeared to be well mounted on a

good-looking "bayo," or cream horse, with a black mane and tail, and he

was leading a "saino," or brown, with a white star on his forehead. He

saluted me, and asked if I was in charge of the Cerro. I said "Yes,"

whereupon he handed me a letter from Colonel Martinez, saying that after

leaving us he had suffered very much less on his journey, that he had

reached a hospital, and was now almost convalescent, for his wound had

gone on well. It was a nice letter, couched in very friendly terms,

thanking me for what we had done, which was really very little, and

begging that I would accept the "saino" horse as a slight memento of

what had happened. I told the negro to unsaddle and tie up the two

horses and go into the galpon to get some breakfast, which he seemed

very pleased to do. I then just had a look over the "saino." He was at

first sight rather a long low-looking horse, with good shoulders and

long sweeping quarters, and it was this length of body which made him

appear, until you got close up to him, a smaller horse in height than he

really was. He gave me the impression of being between six and seven

years old. Bent had ridden down to the Swiss Colony, hoping to find some

letters he was expecting, so I had to await his return before giving me

his opinion regarding him. I wrote a letter to Colonel Martinez,

thanking him for the horse, and for his kind thought about us, and gave

it to the negro, who promised to deliver it, and after he was

sufficiently refreshed he mounted his "bayo," to whom we had given a

feed of maize, and departed. I then had the "tropilla" brought in, and

collared the "saino" to the bay mare. Her colt, which old Juan had

tamed, still suffered at times from his shoulder; hard ground seemed to

affect him the most, for after rain he could then be ridden. A little

before sundown Bent returned quite cheerful, having received his

letters. There were several people at Quincke's pulperia, and the place

seemed full of conversation and news. It was said that the advance on

Monte Video by the Blanco army had already begun, and that the Colorados

were now retiring before them. Those who had taken part in the battle of

Colonia had already returned to the province of San Jose by a route

which led them nearer to the estuary of La Plata, and I could not help

fearing lest in their passing they might have gone to Monsieur Emile

Gunther's, and so have taken "Carnival." However, I comforted myself by

the certainty that if I had kept him on at the Cerro I must have lost

him. When the horses came up in the morning, I saddled the "saino" and

rode him down to La Concordia. Bent was not much impressed by his

appearance, but when I saw Don Frederico, he said he thought him a good

honest horse, likely to prove a good servant, and that I had better do

all I could to look after him. We had now reached the second week in

June, and winter had already come. However, we had plenty of grass, and

both sheep and cattle had done very well since the New Year began. About

eleven o'clock Marmasola sent me up a message by one of his boys to say

that a battle on a somewhat large scale had taken place inside the

province of San Jose; that the Blancos had been victorious, and that the

Colorados were now completely disorganised, and fleeing before them.

Further, it was supposed the main Blanco army would now move forward and

besiege Monte Video. This was indeed great news, and we now felt we

should soon see the end of the revolution, and peace would be declared

at last. Two days later, about four o'clock, a Blanco officer rode up to

the Cerro, carrying dispatches. He said his horse was tired, for he had

travelled fast and far, and he begged me to lend him a really good

horse, which would carry him along for five leagues (15 miles), without

loss of time, at the end of which he felt certain of obtaining fresh

horses and all he wanted. What was I to do? He said the dispatches were

urgent, and he had been directed to make all possible haste. I thought

it over a couple of minutes, and then told him I would lend him my

rosillo, provided he would faithfully promise to let him go at the end

of the five leagues, and this he promised to do. The moon was nearly at

the full, and would be shining during the greater part of the night,

which looked as if it would be fine and clear. The rosillo was in

excellent form; he had not been ridden for nearly a week, and I knew he

would carry him swiftly and well, and that if all went right, when let

loose he would do his best to make his own way back to the Cerro with

the moon. While he was being got ready, the officer, who looked as if

his word could be relied on, told me that the news Marmasola had sent to

me was correct, and that it was more than probable that the siege of the

capital had already commenced. It was with a sore heart that I said,

"Hasta la vista," "until we see each other again," to the rosillo, and

saw the officer mount him and ride away. For it was the first and only

time that a soldier had put a leg across him during the revolution. So

I wished the officer "un buen viaje" (a good journey); the rosillo

tossed up his head and set off at a gallop; he had the heart of a lion,

and very soon both were out of sight.

The first news I heard next morning was from Pedrito. He said he was

bringing up the tropillas not long after sunrise, when he heard a neigh

behind him, and looking back there was the rosillo, coming at a trot to

join his troop, just as if nothing had happened. He looked none the

worse for his journey, and a drink of water from the "alhibi" and a feed

of maize pleased him greatly. "Napoleon," too, showed pleasure at his

safe return, for they were great friends, and had passed many a night

together when the rosillo was tied up in the court, and even when in his

stable the dog would lie as close to it as he could. June passed away

and nothing happened, except that the news of Monte Video being closely

besieged by the Blancos was fully confirmed; and then early in July

peace was declared. The revolution was over, and what had been known as

"La Guerra de Aparicio" was at length a thing of the past. Thereupon the

Blancos took over the government, and assumed power, and the whole

country quickly settled down, as was the custom of a South American

republic under similar circumstances.

Charles Bent at once began to prepare to go into Monte Video, and left

by the diligence from Quincke's pulperia the middle of the following

week. His life in Uruguay had not been a very successful one, nor was he

really fond of camp life; indeed, he was already looking forward with

pleasure to the many conveniences and comparative comfort of life in a

town. During the latter half of the month I too was turning over in my

mind whether I would not take a journey out towards the Rio Negro,

where I knew a man who had a large estancia. I had rather a fancy to go

up country, for not only should I be able to see all that was to be

seen, but also obtain a little more experience of estancia life,

probably under somewhat different conditions and surroundings. However,

while I was thinking it all over, I received a letter from Mr. James

Jardine, who was living at his estancia La Esperanza, situate some six

leagues from the town of San Jose in the direction of the river Plate,

inviting me to come and stay with him there for a time. He said he had

heard from a mutual friend in Monte Video that it was not unlikely I

might be leaving the Cerro now the war was over, so he wrote at once

lest I should be making any different plans. I rode down to La Concordia

and showed the letter to Don Frederico, who advised me to take advantage

of the opportunity offered. He said, however, that he was arranging to

go away himself very shortly for about three weeks, and he hoped I

should be able to stay on at the Cerro during his absence, and so look

after things until his return. Accordingly, I dispatched a letter to Mr.

Jardine, thanking him for what he so kindly said in his letter, and

informing him how matters stood, and saying that I hoped to arrive at La

Esperanza during the last week in August. I found myself fully occupied

during Don Frederico's absence, and I kept the weekly "para rodeo" of

the cattle going on regularly. On one of these occasions, I was riding

the "saino," we were rather short-handed, and a big point of cattle made

an attempt to break back. I had to put the "saino," therefore, into a

full gallop, and was rather surprised to find that he seemed to me to

have, when stretching himself out, quite a superior turn of speed. With

a little care and rest he had considerably improved, both in looks and

condition. One beautiful day, with a frosty air and a blue sky, I rode

him down to Monsieur Emile Gunther's, to ask after "Carnival." I found

him at home, and he kindly invited me to join them at breakfast.

Although it was the end of winter, the Swiss Colony looked attractive as

I rode through it, and this was doubtless due to the fact that the

numerous and large clumps of "eucalypti" never lost their summer

foliage. Monsieur Emile told me "Carnival" had kept well and safe from

soldiers. Moreover, when from time to time he had been good enough to

use him, as I had especially asked him to do, he had always found him a

very pleasant horse to ride. I sincerely thanked him for his kindness,

and, when I left, saddled up "Carnival," leading the "saino," who led

very well, and I arrived home with my two horses feeling that I had

greatly enjoyed my ride, and I am sure that "Napoleon" was glad to see

his friend again. One afternoon during Don Frederico's absence I had

been round the puestos, returning but a few minutes before sundown. The

southdowns were shut up inside their sheepyard, and in it was a man in

the act of catching hold of one of them. He was brandishing a large

knife, and loudly gesticulating, and he looked to me as if he had been

drinking too much Canya. It seems he had ridden up shortly before and

asked the Indians to give him some mutton to eat, as he said he had been

riding in the woods of the Pichinango, and that he was hungry, and

wanted food. This they offered to do, but when he saw the southdowns in

their yard he said he would have one of them, and when they remonstrated

and told him I should be very angry, merely remarked "that he did not

care for any Englishmen, whether he liked it or not. It did not matter

the least to him." As it happened, I just rode up at the critical

moment, when I at once jumped off my horse, went into the yard, and told

the man to come out of it, and leave the sheep alone. He made a step or

two forward, towards me, knife in hand, but I whipped out my Colts

revolver, and covered him with the barrel, warning him that if he came a

step forward I should fire. This calmed him down, and he put back his

knife into its sheath and began to walk out of the yard. I told him to

mount his horse at once, and clear out, and that if I found him again

interfering with any of the stock upon the estancia, it would be the

worse for him. So he rode away, looking very much subdued. I could only

suppose him to be one of the matreros who were still said to be hovering

about the woods in our neighbourhood.

It had been Correo's intention to go into Monte Video so soon as peace

was declared, but he told me he felt altogether so much better for his

stay at the Cerro, he should like to remain on until I left. On August

25th, Don Frederico returned, and I went down to see him the following

morning. He very kindly said he wished me to keep the rosillo, seeing I

had taken such care of him in memory of my stay at the Cerro. I proposed

that "Ramonou" should go down to La Concordia, where I knew he would be

useful, as there were plenty of sheep dogs where I was going. "Bully"

and "Brag" were to go there with him. Jennings had been away for some

time, but I thought perhaps he might like to have them back. Don

Frederico also said I had better take Justiniano with me, as he could

lead the "saino" with my light baggage. My box and portmanteau meanwhile

could be sent over to Quincke's pulperia to await the next diligence

passing on to San Jose, where it could be left at the Hotel Oriental,

until I could send for them. I arranged to start three days later, and

when I got back began putting my things together, and getting everything

ready for a move. The morning proved fine, and Justiniano and I were all

ready saddled up soon after sunrise.

I rode "Carnival" and led the rosillo, while Justiniano bestrode a

grey, not by any means a bad horse, which had been left by soldiers. He

led the "saino," also saddled, and carrying my light baggage.

Uncle Juan, and Correo, and Pedrito were all present to see us off, and

thus I bid adieu to the Cerro del Pichinango, not without regret, as I

thought of the day I had first arrived there, now more than two years

ago, and of all that had happened since.