Dudley had heard of it in some obscure way, and had a faint idea of its meaning, but he was not quite sure.
"I fancy it is sometimes a secret society," he said. "Or perhaps it is an oath which certain families take, that they will be revenged on some individual or even on a whole family. They plot and plan for years, if need be, till their revenge is accomplished."
"Just so; the latter is more correct. It is a hateful practice, and is one which might be expected in a country such as Italy, where secret societies abound, where men are condemned before secret tribunals, and assassinated by the poniard of a ruffian who, beyond his interest in this society, has no direct animus against the condemned man. Dudley, my wife's family had fallen under the ban of some secret society the members of which are, to the best of my belief, all of one family. These wretches murdered her father, and would have done the same by the mother had not a kind providence removed her peacefully before their poniards could reach her heart. That did not satisfy them. They slew my dear wife, and would have assassinated me and my little daughter had I not escaped from the country. They drove me out, and I sailed for South America, where there are many Italians, a number of whom, however, have now returned to their native country with Garibaldi. But that does not concern us now. My daughter, a child of your age, is settled in a convent near Naples, where she is secure, and where she has been for the past six years, passing under an assumed name. For myself, one of these days I may be able to return to Italy, where I should like to live, for the warmth suits me, and I feel at home. Also I have an estate in Sicily. There, I have bored you, I fear."
Dudley shook his head emphatically, for, on the contrary, he had been vastly interested. Many a time during the voyage he had wondered what there was about his friend which made him so different from other men. He was sure that he had a history, and now he had learned it.
"It seems terrible that such things should occur," he said aloud. "In England we have nothing like it, for the people would not allow such revenge and such assassinations. You have found security in this country, sir?"
"Would that I had," came the answer. "I thought that by coming here I should escape these miscreants, but that is not the case. It is true that I have been far more secure, for the simple reason that out on the ranchos there are so few men that a stranger is at once noticeable. We want to know at once who the man is, where he comes from, and what he wants. I have faithful gauchos there who would protect me, and who may be relied on to give me instant warning of danger. And yet I know that one Indian raid at least was instigated by my enemies, and I was once attacked in the streets of Montevideo. There is, indeed, no doubt that the ruffians who slew my wife would willingly kill me and my child. However, they have a big, strong man to deal with, and if I catch them in the act of attacking, why——"
The big, strong fingers of his uninjured hand formed themselves into a sturdy fist. The man's stern, sun-tanned face hardened, and there came over his features a look which told better than any words that Mr. Blunt would deal promptly and with the utmost severity with his enemies.
"Yes," he went on, "they shall have little leniency from me, for nothing but the severest measures and a stern example will stop their practices. However, do not let me trouble you any longer. I have told you that many political exiles from Italy have come to South America and have settled near Montevideo, and, knowing that, you can realize that one or more can send news of me to these people in Italy. There are paid spies amongst them, and if I were to take up my quarters for long in one of the towns, such as Montevideo or Buenos Ayres, why, I should be inviting trouble. There are ruffians to be employed in every city. Now, let us take a stroll on deck. The city of Rio looks magnificent when seen from the sea."
They clambered up the companion and strolled arm in arm from bow to stern, their eyes tracing the city by the numerous lights which twinkled from streets and windows. Late that night they turned in, Mr. Blunt to fall asleep at once, in spite of his wounded shoulder, and Dudley to lie awake and think, and dream of the life before him, of camp fires, of a bed beneath the stars, and of a life of freedom and hardship out in the open.
"Just what I should like," he said over and over again to himself. "I shall do my best to become expert with a horse and to keep up my shooting, while I shall try to learn the business of managing a rancho. Perhaps some of these days I might become manager for Mr. Blunt, or even his partner. At any rate I mean to get on and make a living."
He fell into an uneasy slumber at last, and gradually his still active brain turned from the pampas, from what he imagined a rancho to be, to Italy, to the terrible vendetta which had cast such a cloud over his friend's life. Little did he imagine, or even dream, that in days soon to come he, Dudley Compton, would become involved in that vendetta himself, and stand in fear of his life.
Early on the following morning the anchor was roused, the sails hoisted, and the ship set on a course for Montevideo. A week later they came to a rest off the town.
"We get off here and transship to a river boat," said Mr. Blunt. "I have friends ashore, and we will stay with them for a couple of days, while I lay in a stock of stores for the rancho. At the same time we will get you a suitable outfit. In those clothes you are at once conspicuous, while, if dressed in gaucho costume, no one will know you from a native of the place, for you are as brown as any white man could be."
Having shaken hands with the officers and the passengers who still remained aboard, Dudley clutched his guncase in his hand and went over the side into the small boat awaiting them. They were rowed to the quay, and soon were at the house of Mr. Blunt's friends. Two days later they embarked on a small river boat, a mass of stores being placed aboard under Dudley's supervision.
"Check every article carefully," said Mr. Blunt, "for though people are for the most part honest, it is as well to remember that a ruffian is to be found here and there. How do you like your new outfit, lad? You look well in it."
Dudley colored, for he had donned the garments for the first time that morning. He wore a shirt of dark-blue flannel, open at the neck save where the folds of an ample red scarf surrounded the collar. A wide sombrero of black felt covered his head, an ostrich feather standing up from the ribbon. His nether garments consisted of a pair of trousers of light material; and over these he wore a pair of split buckskin leggings, reaching to his waist, fringed with leather tassels on either side, and the whole held in position by a strong leather belt which encircled his waist, and in which a hunting knife was thrust. On his right hip, with the butt protruding from the top of the pocket stitched to the leggings, was his revolver, so placed that it was always ready to his hand, and yet was out of the way on ordinary occasions, and clear of the saddle when riding. A pair of enormous spurs, with big rowels, completed his outfit, but he wisely refrained from wearing them.
"It takes a little time to get accustomed to such big bits of metal on one's heels," laughed Mr. Blunt. "A man looks very foolish if he happens to trip; and besides, a rowel can inflict a nasty wound on one's foot. Once we are off you can put them on, and practise walking with them, and when we reach our port you will feel more at home with them. I will see that you have a quiet horse, and can leave it to you to swing yourself into the saddle as if you had been at it all your life. Your poncho will always be strapped to the back of the saddle."
Some ten days later they arrived at the up-country port at which they were to disembark, Dudley being amazed at the size of the River Paraná. By then he was well accustomed to his new outfit, and was able to walk with ease and certainty in spite of his spurs. They went ashore, checked their goods, and handed them over to a party of gauchos who had come from the rancho to meet their employer.
"They will load them up on pack horses and come through after us," said Mr. Blunt. "Now, Dudley, this horse will suit you, and the stirrup leathers are, I should say, of a suitable length. Remember to keep your toes in, and your spurs clear of the flanks, or he will soon tell you that you are a novice. Pick up your reins, take a grip of his mane with the fingers of the same hand, and then tuck your toe into the stirrup. A little effort will carry you into the saddle, when you will easily get your other stirrup by a little manipulation. On no account place it on your toe with your hand."
The group of gauchos, dusky-faced and well-set-up fellows, who had come to meet Mr. Blunt, stood watching the two as they mounted. Their keen eyes had so far detected nothing about our hero save his youth, and perhaps the newness of his costume. They looked on critically as he went up to his horse, put his fingers beneath the girth to see that it was secure, and then patted the animal. Dudley was not going to be hurried, though he felt all those eyes on him. He picked up his reins, just as he had been taught to do at home, twisted a few locks of the long mane round his finger, and then put his toe in the stirrup. After that it was simple work to mount, and in less time than it takes to tell of it he was astride the saddle, and by good luck his other toe had found its stirrup.
"Bueno! He has ridden, but he is a gringo for all that," exclaimed one of the gauchos. "What is this tale of the master's?"
"The lad rescued him from a shark. Leaped into the water, and tore the brute's tail to shreds. He has pluck!"
"He will suit us, comrades," chimed in another. "I have asked the hands aboard, and they say that he has good manners, that he speaks politely to all, and that he is no duffer. There is a tale that he can shoot."
At that they pricked up their ears, for a gringo might ride fairly well, he might have ample pluck, but shoot!—no, that was an art learned only on the pampas.
"I will give my rifle to you, Pietro," growled one of their number, a rough-looking fellow. "Listen, I will give you my rifle if this gringo can hit the pith ball of a bolas placed on a fence thirty paces distant. That is, with the revolver. Anyone could do it with a rifle."
"And I will return the gift," came the answer. "I know nothing for sure, mark you,amigo, but the young señor is a good fellow, and he will try to win for me.Bueno!We will set to work to pack the animals."
Mr. Blunt had been careful to tell a portion of Dudley's tale on landing, knowing that his gallant act would win him more friends amongst the rough gauchos than would the fact that he was a protégé of his.
"He has come with me as a friend and employé," he told the head man of the gauchos, "and saved my life from a shark. You will find the young señor an excellent fellow."
Little did Dudley know what had happened. But he could see out of the tail of his eye as he rode off that the men were not disposed to be unfriendly to him. He felt glad that he had been able to mount his horse with such ease and dexterity, and he promised himself that he would do all he could to become a perfect horseman.
That night they lay down by the camp fire and slept beneath the stars. On the following day, having ridden across miles of sweeping pampas, they came to a strip of forest country, beside which were some buildings.
"Our home for the future," sang out Mr. Blunt. "Welcome to the rancho!"
"We will make the most of our time while the men are absent," said Mr. Blunt, as he and Dudley sat outside the door of the principal building of the rancho on the night of their arrival. "As you see, I have a native servant here, who does the cooking and house duties for me. He is a faithful fellow and has been in my employ for many years; in fact, he has been at this special work ever since an Indian bullet lamed him and made him unable to mount a horse. He will not see you during the day, while the twenty odd men I have at the rancho will not put in an appearance for many days, as they are out branding the cattle."
"So that I shall have some time to look about me and pick up my duties," suddenly exclaimed Dudley, stretching his legs out and rubbing the back of his knees. Two days in the saddle had stiffened his limbs, and the unaccustomed exercise had chafed the skin from his legs. He felt sore and uncomfortable, and many a time on this last day he would have dismounted had he not been determined to master his horse and do exactly what Mr. Blunt did.
"Stiff and sore?" asked his employer with a laugh. "Yes, I have seen that. You managed to get across your horse at the landing stage in a very creditable manner. Not that you deceived the gauchos. They are too knowing for that. They saw, of course, that you had been in a saddle before. But even if they had been children they would have guessed that you had had very little practice. You see, once a horseman always one. Nearly six months later I return to this country and fall into its ways as if I had been away for only a day. My saddle comes as easy to me as a chair does to you, no doubt. My feet find the stirrups at once, and if there were need I could ride without them. Watch the gauchos when they return with our pack animals. They are amongst the finest horsemen. I have known, and there are few of the rough beasts that we capture from the pampas that they cannot ride after some little difficulty has been got over. They scarcely touch the stirrup, but place a hand on the neck of the beast and vault into the saddle. That's what I want you to practise, Dudley. The men will hardly reach here for a week, for they have a large amount of stuff to bring, and will come very slowly. Take your horse at dawn and make a wide circle round the rancho. Don't be afraid of riding off the place, for the land for fifteen miles round here belongs to me, though there is not a fence or a boundary stone to show where the property comes to an end. Get some food from Francia, the cook, take a shotgun with you, and spend the whole day in the saddle. Yes, yes, I know that you are sore," he went on, indulging in another smile at Dudley's expense, as the latter stroked his knees again. "I will give you something which will harden the skin, and to-morrow night you will be quite comfortable. Now, lad, how do you think you will like the life?"
"Immensely!" came the prompt reply. "Of course I am more or less ignorant of it at present, and perhaps I ought to have kept my opinion till I have seen and experienced more. But who could not like this open-air existence. It is so warm out on these plains, so, so——"
"Exhilarating," suggested Mr. Blunt. "Yes, a man feels fit and keen here. The air is a tonic to those who are weaklings when they come to the pampas, and many a delicate man have I seen get strong and healthy after a few months. Look at the sky! That is the sort of ceiling we have at night for the greater part of the year. The stars are brilliant, and that crescent of the moon makes the place almost as light as during the day."
Dudley stretched a little farther out in the bent-wood chair in which he was seated, and stared up at the glittering sky above, admiring the myriad stars, and the gleaming crescent floating in the heavens. The air was beautifully warm and balmy, so much so that a man might sleep out in the open without a covering and still not risk catching a chill. A soft breeze fanned his cheek and brought with it the sweet scent of the trees which grew thickly near the rancho. He could see their tops swaying gently in the moon rays, and as he glanced about him he could distinguish the low roof of the rancho, the building which had been Mr. Blunt's home for many years. It was a long, straggling affair, with timber sides, and a shingle roof, and so many doors that Dudley felt bewildered. Some two hundred yards from it was another building, of smaller proportions, while to the left of that was a fenced enclosure, surrounded by huge posts and beams.
"The corral," explained Mr. Blunt. "That is where we rope in our wild cattle and horses, and where the most fractious of the latter are trained to take a saddle. You will see all that work in good time. I notice that the doors of the house amuse you."
They were seated in their chairs some thirty yards from the building, and beneath a clump of trees at the foot of which was a shallow well, where the house supply was obtained. Dudley had, indeed, noticed the fact to which his employer referred, and waited for an explanation.
"They are put in with a purpose," said Mr. Blunt. "When I offered to bring you here I told you that there were certain drawbacks. Well, Indians and an ever-threatening raid are amongst those drawbacks. Now, supposing the Indians appeared at this moment, you and I should run for the nearest door, which happens to be the one in general use. We should bolt and bar it once we were in, and then our guns would speak from the openings left for that special purpose. But our men are still out on the rancho, and unless they were warned of the coming of the Indians they would be slaughtered one by one, for they are often widely separated. I should warn them. I have an old cannon mounted on the roof, and Francia would fire it. The noise would certainly reach the ears of the gauchos, and would tell them that there was danger. They would collect together, gallop for the rancho, and make a rush."
"While you would throw open the door or doors nearest to them, and fire on the Indians," interrupted Dudley.
"Precisely! There might be a hundred and more of these enemies, for they hunt in large parties, and our sole aim would be to get the whole of our force together. The horses and the cattle we should have to leave, and I have found by a former experience that they act as an excellent counter attraction. The Indians raid us for our horses and cattle, and also to kill us if possible. If they fail to kill us, and see that to capture us they must fight, they will take the easier course and make off with the cattle. To drive them they have to separate a little, and that is the time for us to retaliate. We follow, and on one occasion we succeeded in saving our beasts and in driving the enemy away.
"Now we'll turn in. To-morrow you take your horse as I have directed, and don't forget; make the most of the week before you."
He rose from his chair, stretched and yawned, and led the way to the house. A solitary candle was spluttering in the one big room of which the place consisted, and it showed two pallets, constructed of wide strips of canvas nailed to long wooden trestles. Mr. Blunt clambered on to one, drew a blanket over him, placed a revolver beneath his pillow, and nodded good night. Dudley followed his actions, blew out the candle, and settled himself to sleep. But for a long while he remained awake, listening to the deep breathing of his friend, and to the long, low whimpering of a biscacha, a species of rodent which infests the pampas in certain parts. Then he, too, fell asleep and continued in blissful unconsciousness till the first faint streak of light stole into the room.
"Time to water and groom the horses," cried Mr. Blunt, leaping from his pallet and touching Dudley. "Come now, how is the stiffness? What a grand morning it is! Why it makes one glad to be alive."
Dudley wakened with a start, threw his blanket from him, and sat up, rubbing his eyes. Then he rose suddenly and leaped to the ground, only to give a groan, and smile somewhat lamely at his friend.
"My word! Stiff!" he exclaimed dismally. "I can hardly move. I thought that a good night's sleep and rest would put matters right. I am worse than I was yesterday."
"And will be till I take you in hand. Strip off those things, my lad, and hop along over to the well. There is a pump there and a tub. Have a thorough good splash, and rub yourself down till your skin is on fire. Then I'll give you a little of my own special embrocation. Come, hustle!"
Mr. Blunt smiled at Dudley as he bustled him into one corner of the room and watched him remove his clothing. Then, tossing him a rough towel, he conducted him to the well for all the world as if he were his jailer. Dudley hobbled across the green space which intervened, gripped the handle of the pump, and set to work with a will. He meant to show his friend that even if he were stiff and sore he had still some energy. But he wondered whether he would, after all Mr. Blunt had said, be fit to ride that day, or move away from the house.
"My hips are so stiff and sore that I cannot bend them, while my knees feel too weak to carry my weight," he said to himself. "And my back, oh!"
"Get into the tub and sit down, my lad. That's right! Makes you gasp a little! The water comes from a spring, you see, and is precious cold. Put your head under the spout and let it pour right over you."
Mr. Blunt waved to the tub, saw Dudley clamber stiffly into it and crouch as low as possible, and then, with rapid movement of one of his muscular arms, for his injured limb was not yet quite recovered, sent a stream of ice-cold water gushing from the spout over Dudley's quivering body. No wonder that he gasped! For a moment he felt as if he could not endure it, and then he began to enjoy the sensation. The cold water wakened him effectively. He pushed his head still farther under the spout, and then gradually let the water pour over his back. A minute later he was splashing himself all over and rubbing vigorously at his limbs.
"Makes you feel better?" demanded Mr. Blunt with a grim smile. "Ah, thought it would! Hop out now and I'll give you a rub down. Then you can take a run round the rancho and afterwards have the embrocation applied. There, out you come! One has only to watch you to see that you are more active already. I'm not at all surprised to find you so stiff and sore, for you must remember that we have ridden fairly hard and fast, while you had not been in a saddle for many a long month."
"And then for only a matter of an hour at a time," answered Dudley, spluttering as the water ran from his face. "That beast I rode yesterday is a beauty, and quiet enough, but he seemed to be fretting, and kept jolting me about."
"He is young and raw in some ways, though sedate enough," came the answer. "You will have him again to-day, and there is nothing to prevent your putting him to the gallop. Practise mounting quickly, and when you get a little more accustomed to the saddle, put him at a jump. Now, how's that?"
It was no gentle hand which applied the towel to Dudley's shoulders, and very soon he was in a furious heat from head to foot. The sudden immersion, and the friction afterwards, had quickened his circulation, and already the greater part of his stiffness was gone. He tied the towel round his waist, and set off at a rapid pace round the rancho. Ten minutes later the embrocation had been applied and he was fully dressed again.
"Now for the horses," said Mr. Blunt. "That is a duty which you must never neglect, for it may happen that your life may depend on your horse. Every gaucho looks after his own animals, and I do the same, watering them at dawn, grooming and then feeding. Your beast gets to know you thoroughly well, till he will almost understand the words you say to him. Here we are. The animals live at this end of the house, so as to be under our guns. There is a trough near the well, and I generally do the grooming there, for it is out in the sun."
Everything was new to Dudley, for the reader must remember that he had lived for the most part in a town. He followed Mr. Blunt to the stable, took the brush which was given him and a wisp of straw, and then went up to his horse. The animal knew him at once and whinnied. Dudley patted its neck, and taking the beast by a lock of its mane led it out to the well, where he let it drink peacefully till it was satisfied.
"Now groom him thoroughly," said Mr. Blunt, "and afterwards give him his feed. And just remember another point. You like to have your breakfast in peace, I have no doubt, and so does a horse. Leave him to enjoy it. It upsets his digestion if he is constantly interfered with while eating, and if you would have him always fit, see that he has his feed-times to himself, and a reasonable space afterwards before you make use of him. There, the grooming's done, and we can take them back."
An hour later Dudley lifted his native saddle on to his head and went to the stable. His horse gave another whinny as he appeared, and moved a step towards him, standing perfectly still as he placed the bit in its mouth and the saddle on its back. Then our hero slung his shotgun over his shoulder, led the horse out, and sprang into the saddle, feeling wonderfully agile and supple now. A minute later he was galloping at full pace away over the pampas, his broad-brimmed hat flapping in the wind, and the trimmings of his leggings trailing out beside him.
"Sits fairly well," exclaimed Mr. Blunt critically, as he watched his departure. "There is a little too much daylight showing between him and the saddle, but that is a fault which he will rectify. That lad means to be a rider. If I make no mistake he has made up his mind to be as good at his work as any of the gauchos."
Dudley had, in fact, firmly determined to do his utmost to please his master and gain the good opinion of the gauchos. After a few minutes' fast galloping he began to feel quite at home in the saddle; he sat lower and less of that daylight of which Mr. Blunt had complained showed as he rushed along. He took a steady pull at his reins, and spoke softly to his horse.
"Steady, boy! Take it easy for a little. I want to practise that mounting and dismounting."
Pulling the animal up short, he slung his gun still higher, so that it should be quite out of the way, and for an hour he practised vaulting into his saddle, till he could reach it without putting foot to stirrup. Then he became more ambitious, walking his horse and endeavoring to gain his seat without stopping him.
"Not so easy as I thought," he said to himself. "But still a thing I must do, for it might happen that I should be chased by some of the Indians, and every second would be of importance. Another thing I must learn. I must manage to mount from the off side as easily as I can from this. Yes, I remember Mr. Blunt telling me that every gaucho could do that."
Two hours later he felt thoroughly tired with his exertions, and, seeing a clump of trees, rode towards it, dismounted, and slackened the girths.
"Time for something to eat," he thought. "I must be five miles from the rancho now, and this afternoon I will trot farther out. If I do twenty miles in all I shall have had a fair day, and shall have gained some idea of the country."
Following out this plan, he rested himself and the horse for a full hour, and then trotted across the pampas, his beast taking him along at a gentle amble, which is so comfortable for the rider when a great distance has to be covered, and which can be kept up by a good horse for two or three hours at a stretch. About four in the afternoon he turned his face towards the rancho, and when within four miles set his beast at a gallop. The pace increased as horse and rider entered into the excitement of the movement, and very soon they were sweeping over the pampas. Suddenly an object ahead attracted Dudley's attention and he looked anxiously at it, uncertain of its nature at that distance. But in a few seconds the object was distinctly visible, and to his dismay he found himself bearing down upon a long, low corral, which cut directly across his path.
"Steady! Whoa!" he cried, sitting well back and pulling at his reins. But his mount on this occasion was somewhat out of hand. The sharp gallop, and the knowledge that its stable was near at hand, had fired its blood and made it unheedful of the bit. Its neck was stretched to its fullest extent, its teeth were closed firmly on the bit, while its eye seemed to see only the rolling pampas, the brown-green grass swaying in all directions.
"Steady!" shouted Dudley again, pressing his stirrups forward and leaning far back to put all his weight and strength into the pull. Then, realizing that nothing would stop the mad flight of the beast, he gathered his reins well into both hands, gripped firmly with his knees, and steered as well as he was able for what appeared to be the lowest portion of the long corral rails extending across his front. To turn the horse more than a few inches either way was hopeless, for he had already made one mighty attempt to swerve to the right and gallop along parallel with the obstruction.
In a flash they were within twenty feet of the rail, and only then did the animal observe what was before him. Dudley felt it hesitate in its stride, and, taking instant advantage of the fact, he pulled the beast in a little, though to bring it to a halt was impossible. Then his voice rang out again, encouraging the horse.
"Steady, boy!" he cried. "Get yourself together. Up! Over!"
Nobly did the gallant beast respond. Though the rail was at least five feet in height, it gathered its legs together, steadied its stride, and then, rising to the obstruction, flew over it like a bird, alighting with a thud on the far side, a thud which, to an unaccustomed rider like Dudley, almost proved disastrous. He was jerked forward on to the animal's neck, but recovered himself with an effort and once more gripped his reins. But still there was no stopping that mad flight. His mount seemed to gather fresh impetus now that it had overcome the rails, and it tore across the corral. Its eye fixed itself on the far rail, it changed step some fifteen paces from it, and once again, as Dudley sang out to encourage it, the beast rose for the jump. But, alas! on this occasion the rail was higher. Its hoofs fouled the top, and in a second horse and man went headlong. Dudley was far away ahead, having alighted on his back, after having turned a complete somersault, while the horse fell on its side, rolled, and came to a halt with its feet lashing the air.
"ITS HOOFS FOULED THE TOP, AND IN A SECOND HORSE AND MAN WENT HEADLONG""ITS HOOFS FOULED THE TOP,AND IN A SECOND HORSE AND MAN WENT HEADLONG"
To say that Dudley was shaken was to express the matter mildly. The breath was jarred out of his body, and for a minute perhaps he lay on the ground, his head swimming, and his senses somewhat scattered, while he gasped till his face assumed a purple hue. Then his breath came again, and with it his dogged spirit. He sprang to his feet and ran across to the horse, which was now lying on its side, scared and winded by the fall. Dudley took it by the ring of its bit and encouraged it to rise.
"Neither of us hurt, old man," he cried joyfully, as he walked the beast to and fro and noticed that it was not lame. "We were getting along too well together, and you seemed to think that you had a fine rider on your back. But we won't be beaten. We'll wait till you have your wind again, and then we'll have another go."
He patted the beast's neck, and then saw to the girths, which had slipped far back. Leaving the animal to stand alone, he slipped his gun from his shoulder and carefully examined it.
"Not even dented! That's another bit of luck, for it is hard to believe that it could have escaped. And, when one comes to think of it, it is as difficult to see how we both escaped breaking our necks. Lucky for me that I was thrown so far, for if I had struck close to him he might have fallen on me, and then there would have been an end to my prospects. I'll give him ten minutes more, and then we'll tackle the thing again."
He slipped the sling of the gun over one of the posts which held up the rails of the corral, and sauntered up and down, inspecting the rails somewhat grimly. There was a determined look on his sun-tanned face, a look which told that come what might he was going to persevere. The heavy tumble he had experienced had scared him not a little, and had shaken him considerably. Some would have considered it foolhardy for him to attempt the jump again, while others would have excused a second attempt, considering the narrow escape he had had. But Dudley was out there to conquer difficulties. He had a task to learn, and to hesitate now, to cry off because of a tumble, was not the way in which to overcome those difficulties. He hitched his belt in another hole, crammed his hat well down on his head, and walked steadily up to his horse.
"We're going to have another go, old boy," he said, as he patted the neck. "We'll take it steadily this time, for you want little run for the jump. Now, up we go!"
He himself was surprised at the ease with which he reached the saddle. Without touching the stirrup he vaulted into his seat, and after the practice he had had his toes fell of themselves into the stirrups. He gathered up his reins, patted the neck again, and walked his horse up to the rails to let it have a good look. Then he turned about, till they were thirty paces away, and with a touch of knee and rein he swung the beast round. There was no need to tell the gallant animal what was wanted. Dudley felt it bound forward. It took the bit in its teeth, gathered its feet beneath it, and hopped over the rails as if they had been a foot in height only, Dudley sitting well down all the time. A minute later they faced round again, and this time, with a leap which left a foot of light between its heels and the rail, the horse sailed over the obstruction, animal and rider alighting together, and without a jar, on the outside of the corral. Dudley slipped out of his saddle, slung his gun across his shoulders, and vaulted again into the saddle. Not till then did he observe that a horseman had ridden up. It was Mr. Blunt, looking a splendid figure as he sat in his saddle. There was a look of pleasure on his face, and he rode right up to Dudley's side.
"Hurt?" he asked curtly. "No bones broken? Then you are lucky. I saw everything. I could have shouted as you rode at the corral, but I knew that if I did so the beast you rode might have been startled, and perhaps might have changed step at the jump. That would have meant perhaps a worse fall. You were determined to do that jump, lad?"
"Yes, sir, I'd rather have faced twenty falls than have been beaten," answered Dudley earnestly.
"Then you are the sort of help I want," came the swift answer. "A gaucho would think nothing of such a tumble, for the reason that he has ridden since he was a child, and has been thrown so often that he knows how to fall. In nine cases out of ten, if thrown as you were, he would have landed on his feet instead of on his back. And he would have taken his beast over the jump again, promptly and without hesitation. The gaucho is like you, lad, he doesn't like to be beaten. Now let us ride home together, while you tell me what you have been doing and what you think of the rancho."
They turned their faces to the dwelling, now plainly seen in the distance, for owing to the general flatness of the country objects were in view a long distance away. And as they rode Dudley recounted how he had practised mounting and dismounting.
"Good!" said Mr. Blunt. "I saw how you hopped into the saddle just now, and I noticed some improvement. But you must do better. A gaucho could mount his horse while the beast was cantering, and he can lean from his saddle so as to pick a scarf from the ground while going at a gallop. But all in time. Patience will help you to conquer everything. Tomorrow we will go out together, and it would be as well to bring your revolver and ammunition. We will have a little practice."
When a week had passed, Dudley himself was pleased with his progress. He now sat his horse as if he felt thoroughly at home, could steer him with certainty over the roughest country, and was not afraid of the biggest jumps. Then, too, he had mounted another of the beasts in the stable, a rough, ill-tempered animal, and had managed to cling to his seat. In short, he was progressing, and Mr. Blunt, who watched him closely, congratulated himself that he had a young fellow with him who would quickly prove of great value.
By then Pietro and the gauchos who had been left to bring up the stores arrived; and the test which one of the number had proposed was remembered.
"I repeat, Pietro," said the ill-favored individual who had scowled at our hero, "I say that this gringo, who clambered into his saddle as if into a bed, will not be able to hit the pith ball of a bolas at thirty paces. A revolver is the weapon, and if he fails, you give me your rifle. If he flukes the shot, then I make you a present of mine, and lucky you will be, for it is a grand weapon."
"Buenos, the gun is mine," came the laughing answer, an answer which caused the gaucho to grind his teeth. "Giono, I am a judge of people, and I back this gringo. He is not so green as you think, and he will hit the ball. I will add something more."
"Then you will lose. No, Pietro, I am an honest man and will not rob you. Let him win the rifle for you. Pah! Not green, do you say? That is his manner. These English stamp about as if the world were theirs and they the best on it."
He went off to his quarters in an evil mood, casting a scowling glance at Dudley as he passed him.
There was a calm air of self-possession about Dudley Compton as he stood in front of the rancho building on the following morning, his native saddle at his feet and his gun across his shoulder. For he had every reason to be pleased with the way in which his fortunes were progressing. He had worked hard, till every bone in his body ached, and till his knees were chafed and raw. He had persevered until even the exacting Mr. Blunt was favorably impressed with his riding.
"Few would consider him to be a gringo now," reflected his employer, as he watched his young friend out of the tail of his eye. "He is well set up, carries his new clothes as if he had been born in them, and can get about as if spurs had grown on his heels as a natural appendage. He ought to do well. The gauchos view him with favor, except that fellow Giono. I don't like the man, and never have. There is something mysterious about him. However, there he is, and Dudley must go through the trial they have arranged for him, for trial there will be as sure as I stand here. A gringo must always be tested."
A few minutes later a dozen of the gauchos employed on the estancia came round the corner of the building, and strode up to our hero. They were a rough but a good-looking and pleasant lot of men. All were dressed in the same sort of costume as Dudley wore. They carried revolvers at their hips, and hunting knives in their belts, and some of them had a coil of rope, with the bolas attached, slung over the shoulder. As they looked at the young Englishman, all save one were bound to confess that he was a fine-looking fellow.
"He will be one of us, surely," said Pietro, their leader, beneath his breath. "He may be a gringo, but he is not soft; that I will swear. Now, Giono, you can take a better look at the señor. Does the arrangement still hold?"
Giono, who was taller than his companions, was a raw-boned, dusky individual, with deep-set eyes and a protruding lower jaw, which gave him the appearance of being vindictive. He was a surly, silent fellow, and was known by his comrades to be somewhat short-tempered. This was an evil reputation to have amongst gauchos, a class of men who were exceedingly polite to one another whenever possible, though at other times they had violent and bitter quarrels. Dudley did not know them yet, but those who worked with them could tell how these fine horsemen of the pampas, with their strain of Spanish blood, could be as tender as women to one another, and then would draw their knives and engage in conflicts which too often resulted in the death of more than one of the combatants. In short, they cultivated a native politeness for the simple reason that ungainliness and a surly manner led to trouble, and a man, however pugnacious, could not be forever fighting, or hope always to be victorious.
"Pietro is thinking tenderly of his gun," was Giono's harsh rejoinder as he scowled at Dudley. "He wishes to make excuses for this English pup. Good! I am willing to accept a fine of some sort. Give me a hunting knife, Pietro, and we will cry quits. But is it not a pity? This señor stands as if he owned the ground on which his heels rest, and lets all the world see his revolver. If he carries one, surely he can shoot, or else why have the weapon?"
"Bueno! You will have the match," was the answer, given very suavely, for Pietro knew the man with whom he had to deal, and he had no wish to experience his rough temper. "Good, Giono, we will speak to the señor. As to the rifle, it is yours if you can win it. I have no fears of our gringo. Señor," he said, coming up to Dudley, "Señor, we have had a little discussion amongst ourselves, and I, who think I know a man when I see him, have boasted that you can shoot. We hear that you have courage, for you have saved our master. Now we wish to see whether you can use your revolver. Giono here declares that you are a novice. He is even risking his rifle, to show that he considers himself a better judge than I am."
"To show that he is sure of his statement," growled the gaucho, striding up to the two, and towering over Dudley as if he would impress him with his superior proportions. "I said that a gringo was always a gringo; that because he could scramble on to a saddle he was not therefore a horseman, nor without fear of horses. As to the revolver, why, there are men, and boys too, to be found who carry them to gain a fine appearance. You understand? A boy feels grand when decked up in the clothes of a gaucho."
The man's words were uttered in a loud, coarse voice and there was not the slightest doubt as to his unfriendly intentions. He was a taciturn, surly fellow, governed by caprice, and apt to take sudden and strong dislikes which often were simply the outcome of childish jealousy. From his youngest days he had always made a point of falling foul of men who were obviously his betters, or who were more favored than he. Even Mr. Blunt was an eyesore to him, for was he not a wealthy man? But his dislike there was cloaked to some extent, for a gaucho must live, and an employer found the wages. Here, however, there was a difference. Why should he, Giono, the biggest and the most feared of the gauchos, knuckle down to this young Englishman, with his smooth, beardless face, who had come undoubtedly with the object of helping Mr. Blunt and becoming a second master? No, there was nothing to fear in this case, and if he could terrorize and upset the dignity of this gringo, why, all the better.
"You understand? The butt of a big revolver, and the bigger it is the better, is a fine thing to have sticking from one's pocket. Fine clothes make fine birds, they say, and so they do up to a point. That's the point we've come to. Fine togs such as you have don't help a gringo to shoot, no more than do big spurs help him to ride."
Dudley felt like replying to these boastful words, but he restrained himself, and turning to Pietro said: "It is good of you to support me, and I fear that you have been rather rash. But let me remind you that, though you have told me what you two are to give to each other, you have not yet let me know what you expect of me."
"When you hear you will be sure of his rashness," burst in Giono. "The task is this, I say that you will not hit the pith ball of a bolas placed on a fence thirty paces away. Here is a bolas, and here the pith ball."
He turned to one of his companions and dragged the coil of rope from his shoulders with rough lack of ceremony. Dudley had seen the implement before, and did not need to look. This bolas is one of the most useful possessions of the gauchos and of the Indians, for it is to them what the lasso in more northern parts is to the cowboy. But it differs somewhat in construction, for, whereas the lasso consists of a long coil of rope with a slip noose at the end, the bolas has no noose. One end has three tails of rope attached to it, and at the ends of two of these is secured a heavy stone or a piece of lead or iron. To the third is attached a lighter ball made of pith.
"See," cried Giono, "that is the mark, a mark which I could hit with my left hand, or when standing on my head. I say that you will not hit it under the most favorable circumstances."
Force of habit caused him to hang the coil over his left palm, while he gripped the pith ball with his right hand and swung the leaden balls about his head till they whizzed through the air. For this was the way in which the gauchos wielded what was an instrument of great value, and at times a dangerous weapon to their enemies. They would gallop at headlong pace across the pampas, swing the bolas, and launch it at a horse or cow they desired to capture, and with such unerring aim that the balls would fly straight for the legs of the animal, and in a moment the rope or the plaited thongs to which they were made fast would be hopelessly twined round the limbs.
"Perhaps the English señor will tell us that he is able to cast the bolas," sang out Giono, mistaking Dudley's silence for weakness, and imagining that, now that he knew the task expected of him, he was anxious to withdraw. "Perhaps he would prefer to have another wager laid on the throwing of the bolas."
There was a sneer in the man's voice, and an insolent, browbeating manner about him which made Pietro's eyes blaze, for he had taken a fancy to Dudley, while the latter had some difficulty in restraining his own warm temper.
"Thank you," he answered with composure, his common sense telling him that it was this man's aim and object to rouse him, and therefore his own to keep unusually cool. "I would rather shoot, for I confess that I have never used the bolas. I think I may be able to use this big revolver which has attracted your notice. And now the task. I have to hit the pith ball, and so have you. There will be no difficulty for you, for you tell us that you could strike it even if standing on your head. Afterwards we will try a shot at the pith ball as it flies in the air. Our friend Pietro shall take the bolas over there and cast it at the trunk of the tree nearest the well. You and I will take post twenty paces from the well, and fire as the ball passes."
It was a daring thing to suggest, and the very mention of it made the gauchos breathe deeply and mutter their astonishment. As for Giono, he looked at Dudley as if he thought he were mad. The task was a most difficult one, and, moreover, required a great deal of practice, and this he had not had. Again, a man ought to be in the pink of health and wonderfully steady to have even a chance of success; and in his case a visit to the river port and a few days idleness had not helped to smooth his nerves. He was a gambler, and the saloons had seen not a little of this surly gaucho. However, the challenge was issued by a gringo, and if he, Giono, failed, so surely would this English boy. He could afford to be amused. He roared with laughter, and tossed his hat into the air, while his eyes closely inspected Dudley's gun.
"Now," interrupted Dudley, "let us carry out the tests. As Pietro is interested in this matter, I suggest that one of his friends acts as umpire for him, while one may care to do the same for me. That fence round the corral ought to suit very well for our mark."
He had been carefully watching the faces of the men up till now, but once the arrangements were made he turned from Giono, looked at the corral, and, noticing the height of the rails, decided that it would do. Then he led the way in that direction, and in a few minutes the whole party were in position, one of the gauchos having detached a pith ball meanwhile and placed it on the rail, while a comrade carefully paced the distance from it. It was time for the contest to begin, and Dudley nodded to his opponent very coolly.
A few minutes before he had been feeling somewhat ruffled and annoyed by the obvious hostility of Giono; but now he had regained his composure and felt steadied. More than that, he was confident, for he knew what the gauchos were ignorant of. He had had abundant practice with a revolver on the voyage out, and had won unstinted praise from Mr. Blunt; for the lad had a quick eye and a happy knack with his hand. He was not quick at drawing his weapon; that was a thing requiring practice, and he had had but very little since he had donned his leggings and had worn the revolver in his hip pocket. But he could hit a small object with unerring accuracy, and he believed that he could strike the ball of the bolas as it flew in the air. At any rate he had done so more than once in the past week when away on the pampas.
"Perhaps you would care for the first shot," he said politely. "Just to encourage a gringo."
"I will shoot first for that reason," came the answer. "You shall shoot at the flying target before I make the attempt, and—and——"
"Yes, I am listening."
"Perhaps the señor would care to have it that three shots are allowed in each case. It will give him a better chance. I am satisfied."
The man's attitude was mending. He had even addressed Dudley as señor. He was not so confident as before. He was weakening, and a grin passed amongst the gauchos.
"If one shot suits you, it suits me also. If you desire three, let there be three."
Dudley gave the gaucho no opening, and with a growl of disgust, and a laugh which did not deceive the lookers-on, Giono decided that three shots should be allowed at the flying target.
"Well and good. Then shoot," exclaimed Pietro, his eyes flashing, with excitement.
"Come, Giono, there is the mark, and you shoot first," said the man who had measured the distance. "Here is the line. Take your post."
They watched eagerly and almost breathlessly as the gaucho toed the line scratched in the earth with the rowel of a spur. For there was something out of the ordinary in this contest. Gringos had been tried before many a time, and failed almost without exception. But there was something different here, something which the gauchos could not fathom. They knew little or nothing of this gringo, but his self-assurance impressed them. It had already made Giono feel a little uncertain, though he tried to think that there was no danger.
"Bah," he said, as he went to the line, "it is another of these cocksure pups from Europe, only this one has a bigger head than the rest! There is more swelling in it. The friendship of our employer has puffed him out. We shall see."
He drew his revolver, lifted it, and fired, smashing the pith ball into a number of pieces.
"Good! I could do that when a child," he boasted. "Shall I fire the other shot for the señor?"
"Thanks, no! If you will kindly stand fast where you are I will shoot from here. It is a little farther, and perhaps more difficult."
Another mark had been hastily placed in position, and, seeing that all was clear, Dudley, who happened to be some ten paces behind and to the left of Giono, drew his weapon, and in a flash the ball was splintered, a feat which brought a shout of delight from the gauchos, while Giono paled under his dusky mud-colored skin, and swore beneath his breath.
"One to us, señor!" sang out Pietro. "The gun which Giono promised is mine, or yours, if you wish to have it. Now for the other part. Give me a bolas, and I will take up my station. Better still, let me have six of the coils, then I can cast them without waiting. Let all the rest stand behind the firers. Come, comrades, time is getting along."
He took six of the bolas and went off with a swagger which he had not possessed five minutes before. And a gallant fellow he looked as he strode away, for an open kindly face was not Pietro's only possession. He was some forty years of age, short and lithe, but for all that powerfully built. It was said of him that where all were experts with the bolas, and where all could ride from infancy and as if part of the horse, this Pietro could excel them all. He knew the life of the pampas, and he knew his fellow men. This foreman of the hands employed on the rancho was a good friend to Mr. Blunt, the partisan of the weaklings, and a man who loved fair play. He went to his station with the thongs of the bolas trailing out behind him, and with the fringes of his leggings fluttering in the breeze. Dudley and the others sauntered over towards the well, the men looking askance at Giono, while Dudley kept a cautious eye upon him.
"An ugly-looking beggar," he said to himself, "and boasts too much to like being beaten. I'll wager he's considering whether he shall not shoot me instead of the ball. Very well, my fine gentleman, I'll take rather more than good care to keep you in full view and well in front. Fellows have been shot in the back before now, and accidents will happen."
He watched the man as he fingered his revolver, and slipped his own into his pocket; but he was careful to keep the group of gauchos between him and Giono.
"He is angry," one of them whispered cautiously. "Giono is never beaten, or rather no man ever lives who defeats him. Better to let him win, señor. He is a bad enemy. He has killed many men."
"But he won't hurt me if I can help it," answered Dudley doggedly. "We'll see about this killing. But thanks, my friend, for your warning."
By now Pietro was in position, and could be seen with the bundle of bolas at his feet and one swishing in the air over his head. He was an expert thrower, and knew that he could cast the long plaited thong with such skill as to make certain of striking the tree beside the well. The leaden balls swinging in the air would fly direct, while the lighter one would drag behind. To attempt to strike it with a single bullet seemed madness, and yet it was not an impossible feat to a man with a quick eye and ready hand and one who knew his weapon. The man who had knack and steadiness might succeed, for the cast was a long one, and by the time the bolas reached a point opposite the group it would have lost a considerable amount of its momentum. Then it would pass by a little more than twenty feet away, making a correct aim less difficult than at first seemed possible. Still, when all was said in favor of the task, it was difficult enough, and raised doubts in the minds of both competitors. However, a faint heart would serve but badly, and Dudley entered upon this part of the contest with the same coolness and calm self-possession which had already roused the ire and jealousy of his opponent.
"My turn first, I think," he said easily. "Giono, will you have Pietro cast as a trial, so that we may judge this distance, or will you have me shoot at the first cast?"
"The latter. I had no trial before, let us have the same treatment now. Hit the mark if you can, I will stand here and give you three shots. When you have failed, I will show you how the thing is done."
Dudley nodded his thanks. "Now, Pietro," he shouted, "cast!"
He stood watching the gaucho closely as he swung the bolas over his head, and slowly drawing his revolver, put it at full cock. It was the weapon which the passengers aboard the ship on the outward voyage had presented to him, and for the moment he nursed the barrel on his left forearm. It was a handy little weapon, throwing a moderately heavy bullet and using a very moderate charge, so that the "kick" was not very pronounced. Thanks to the amount of practice which he had had, Dudley had learnt to counteract what jar there was, and there was not the slightest doubt that he had become a first-rate shot.
"Ready, señor?" shouted Pietro.
Dudley nodded as he watched the bolas. The leaden balls made a dark and continuous circle about the head of the gaucho, while the hum even could be heard. Then of a sudden the circle disappeared, and the leaden balls, with their long serpent of hide, came shooting out towards the well. The sun, standing moderately high in the heavens behind, shone on the white pith ball, making it a splendid mark. In two seconds it had covered half the distance between the thrower and the tree, but still Dudley nursed the barrel of his weapon, while the gauchos kept their eyes fixed on the pith ball. Another second and the pith flew opposite Dudley, its pace already retarded. Giono, who watched him like a cat, saw the young Englishman lift his weapon like a flash, and, without pausing to look along the sights, pull the trigger firmly. He gave a howl of delight, a howl which set the echoes ringing and brought Mr. Blunt to the door of the house. For it seemed that the shot had missed. They heard its scream as it buzzed through the air, and they still saw the pith ball. But all but Giono had noted a curious fact. A chip of white had started from the ball, and for an instant only the course of the ball had been deflected; then it flew on as before for some few yards, when it burst asunder and dropped in small pieces to the ground, leaving its own particular thong to go on without it.
It was Dudley's turn to shout, his and those who supported him, and it might be truly said that all the gauchos present, save Giono alone, were in his favor. He swept his hat from his head, pocketed his weapon, and turned to his opponent, while the air rang with the shouts of the gauchos.
"Your shot, señor," he said. "Three are allowed. I have made mine, and have struck the object. Attempt the same yourself."
He was beaten. Giono knew well that the young Englishman had the better of the argument, and at the thought his sallow face went red with anger. He strode to the front, shouted to Pietro to make ready, and swept his weapon from his pocket, where he had placed it while Dudley fired. Then some idea seemed to strike him. He turned upon the group with a snarl, a snarl which quieted their shouts, and strode back towards Dudley with a lowering look on his face.
"You say one shot is enough for you," he growled. "It would be, if you were honest. But we all know that Pietro is your firm friend. What is easier than for him to have broken the ball? He crushed it with his hand, and it was that which caused the pith to break asunder. It is an arrangement between you. You are attempting to rob me!"
The man was impossible. He was one of those pugnacious individuals who must always quarrel. In addition, unknown to Dudley, he was one of the browbeating kind, accustomed to have his own way whatever happened. He was defeated hopelessly, he told himself, and there was only one course to pursue. He must accuse his opponent of cheating and turn his weapon on him, a common enough occurrence in those wild and lawless parts.
"Yes, it was arranged," he shouted. "You and Pietro agreed to cheat."
The man's finger played with his trigger, he scowled round at the gauchos, hesitated a moment, and then deliberately lifted his weapon; but he never got it to Dudley's head.
"You will please to lower your arm," suddenly commanded a stern voice, and, swinging round, Dudley found Mr. Blunt some five paces away, his revolver covering the gaucho. "Drop it, man; drop it instantly, if you don't desire to have a hole through your head. Good! You are a scoundrel, and I have known it for some time. Why I have allowed you to stay I cannot imagine. You are a ruffian, I repeat, and if I shot you down all would thank me. Go, take your horse and ride. If you are found within the bounds of the rancho when the sun sets I will hang you without hesitation. And listen! Let this little affair teach you a lesson. A lad is sometimes smarter than a ruffian."
Giono was thoroughly beaten on his own ground, and cringed as Mr. Blunt still directed his revolver at him. The gaucho was by no means wanting in courage, for he had inherited that as a gift natural to all these wild men of the pampas. But he could not face that muzzle, nor the smiles and nudges of his comrades. He dropped his own weapon with an oath, scowled at Dudley, and turned from the group. They saw him swing away towards the back of the house, and presently he appeared again mounted on a beautiful animal, which he reined back with iron fingers till he was out of range of the pistol. Then he gave his temper full license.
"Listen, you, my late employer," he roared, shaking a quivering fist at Mr. Blunt. "Listen, you, I say. You shall regret your action. I will make you call the day an evil one when you brought that English cub with you, and I give you warning. Giono does not knuckle down to men such as you are. I will shoot you and the pup you have engaged when the first chance comes."
He shook his fist again, scowling at Mr. Blunt and Dudley, then he dug the huge rowels of his cruel spurs into the flanks of his beast, swung him round with a powerful wrench of the arm, and went off at a mad gallop, the heels of the poor animal kicking dust and earth far up behind it.
"I expected every word," said Mr. Blunt quietly. "I could have told beforehand what that gentleman was about to say. Threats do no damage, Dudley, but with a ruffian such as he is they put one on one's guard. My men, you will break into threes, take your arms, and follow that late comrade of yours till you have seen him off the rancho. After to-day the man who first catches sight of him on the place has my authority to shoot him instantly."
He waved his hand to the men and watched as they ran to the stable, and very soon they were streaming away in threes, each little party separating and galloping in the wake of Giono.
"He will not rest till he has put miles between himself and our friends," said Mr. Blunt when they were gone. "We shall see no more of him, I hope; but don't forget his warning, my lad. This is a rough country, we are out of reach of police and soldiers, and a ruffian has to be put down by those who are disposed to live a decent life. If you ever see him, do as I have commanded the men. Don't hesitate, for if you do you will have no second chance. He will see well to that.
"Now we will make a round of the rancho. It is some time since I saw the cattle, and it is always well for an owner to inspect the work of his men. Get Francia to put up some food for us, bring your gun and your rifle, and don't forget a blanket and a poncho."
They went to the house to make their preparations, and within a little while the two were cantering away, a saddle bag well filled with food slung to each saddle, a canvas sack overflowing with water to balance it on the far side, and behind the cantle a mound composed of a thick blanket and the inevitable poncho. Dudley had by now ridden all over the rancho, and had obtained some insight into the work the gauchos performed. He had also received the impression that Mr. Blunt must be a prosperous farmer or grazier, for none of the land was tilled, and numerous herds of cattle pointed to his wealth.
"There are some fifteen thousand beasts," was the answer to his enquiry on that point, "and for six weeks now the gauchos have been busy branding the calves. Of course we make no attempt to keep stray animals from making out of the rancho, for that would be a hopeless task. Certain men are always stationed on the borders, and if they see a herd on the point of leaving they turn them back. The single ones, and occasionally a score or more of beasts, wander at night, when they have been disturbed by some unusual noise, and they, of course, are lost. Perhaps they stray back again, or others come from the neighboring rancho. In any case such a loss is nothing. There is always a small exchange of beasts going on at the borders."
"But supposing branded animals stray?" asked Dudley. "What happens to them?"
"That depends on the neighbors who find them," was the answer. "Due west of us there is merely open pampas, with no living owner, and there I keep a very particular watch, for Indians hold the country. Elsewhere branded beasts which wander are driven back when it is convenient, while my gauchos do the same with neighbors' animals. In the end we are all satisfied, and of course the knowledge that beasts will stray makes us extra careful about the branding. I am making for the far western corner of the rancho, where there is a big herd surrounded by gauchos, and where branding is now going on as fast as possible. You will see something to open your eyes."
The sight which Dudley saw when late that evening they arrived on the western border of the rancho was indeed a novel and most interesting one. There were some fifty gauchos in all, widely separated, and broken up into twos. Of these groups of two, one man was always mounted, while at the hour at which they arrived the gaucho off duty for the time had strayed from his comrade to those nearest at hand, and had now squatted over a fire of thistle tops, smoking and eating.
"That is how the herd is watched," explained Mr. Blunt. "The men must have rest, for night and day the watch must be kept. So two of them take turn and turn about, and when one is off duty getting a rest and food, or a sleep, his horse is enjoying the same privileges. We will rest here, and I will show you how to bivouac for the night. Hop off your mount, and strip saddle and bridle from it. That's the way. Now take the rope attached to the halter, and hobble its fore legs as I have already shown you how to do."
Dudley slid from his saddle in a manner which showed that he was used to the work, and in a very few seconds had stripped the beast of all its gear save the head stall, the rope attached to which was used for hobbling. Then he gave the horse a vigorous smack on the flank, and sent it away to graze and rest till morning.
"Now put your saddle up on the cantle. So! That's the way. It will not fall over easily, and you will see that the pads which protect the horse's back from chafing are well exposed, and have every chance to dry, for in this climate they are nearly always moist after a ride. Now your poncho goes into the hollow between the pads and flaps, your head finds it a wonderfully comfortable pillow, while the blanket over all makes things snug and warm for the night."
To show him how it was done, Mr. Blunt placed his own saddle in position, and threw himself down on the ground, drawing his blanket about him, and placing his head on the poncho between the flaps of the saddle.
"Your saddle keeps the wind away on a breezy night," he explained, "and is close at hand in case you happen to want it. If it rains, as is not often the case, you hang the blanket over the cantle, and there you are, under a tent which will keep you fairly dry. Now, Dudley, skip along and gather some thistle tops. There is little wood in these parts, and so one has to find a substitute. Look at the men. I rather fancy Pietro and his comrades have been talking."
That, in fact, was the case, and as the two were seen cantering up towards the herd of cattle and their guards, quite a number of the men made their way forward to meet them. They nodded to their master, and looked on critically as our herb slipped from his saddle.
"As if he'd done it before," said one, a big fellow with long black hair and a melancholy way about him. "Fresh and young, comrades, and new to the pampas. You can see he does not mind being told how things are done. What was the story Pietro was telling?"
A comrade repeated it, and at once the gaucho strode up to the young Englishman as he was gathering thistle tops. When Dudley glanced up, there was the gaucho, still with the same melancholy air, his head hanging forward, and one huge brown palm stretched in front. He shook it, and, interpreting the signal, Dudley stepped up, gripped the strong fingers, and shook them with vigor.
"We're friends, I see," he said quietly, for he seemed to feel at once that the big gaucho wished to be pleasant. "It's kind of you to come."
"I'm foreman out here, and I thought I'd like to show you that all are not like Giono. Señor, you are welcome! All my comrades are glad to see you. I bear a message from them. They ask you to repeat the shot you made this morning."
"I'll try," was the ready answer. "When it is light enough to-morrow, I'll do my best to please you."
They nodded to one another, and our hero returned to his employer with a bundle of thistle tops under his arm. In a few seconds the flames were shooting up, and in a little while the two were seated by them, each with a ramrod in his hand, and a fine steak of deer flesh on the far end. It was all so new to Dudley, and he found this open-air life most fascinating. He could see now why Mr. Blunt loved it, why he declared that he was free out on the pampas, and why a man could be a man when living such a life.
"Even the food we cook out here is sweeter to me," exclaimed Mr. Blunt, as they chatted after their meal. "I would not change the dinner we prepare for the daintiest repast to be had in London or in Paris. As to the sleeping accommodation, well, you yourself will appreciate the difference when once we get back to the house. Here one breathes pure air, the invigorating breath of the pampas. A house stifles me at first. I feel as if the ceiling were falling on to me."
Half an hour later they turned in, and Dudley found that his unaccustomed bed was more than comfortable. On Mr. Blunt's advice he kicked a hollow in the ground to accommodate his hips, and on stretching himself out, and pulling the blanket over him, he found that he had a couch at which the most fastidious could not have grumbled. On either side of his head were the flaps of his saddle, but up above there was nothing to shut him in, and for a while he stared up at the brilliant stars, while he listened to the strange sounds of the pampas. Now and again there was a low call from one watching gaucho to another, and then perhaps the deep lowing of cattle. Sometimes the earth trembled for a few seconds with the stamping of a hundred feet, and then all was silent, save for the chirrup of the crickets. He fell into a deep sleep, and only stirred when the sun shone in his eyes in the early morning. Mr. Blunt was already afoot, tending to the kettle steaming over the fire, while at various points, around the enormous herd of beasts, groups of gauchos, still swathed in their blankets, squatted over the fires and discussed their breakfasts. As for the cattle, they seemed to be in a restless mood, and kept their guards galloping to and fro, cracking their long whips and shouting. Indeed, less than ten minutes later, as Dudley and his friend were eating their meal, the noise from the herd became deafening. Every animal seemed to be bellowing, there was much movement in the far corner of the group, and then of a sudden the animals broke away. Men shouted, whips snapped like pistols, and in a trice, as if the word had been passed through the heaving ranks, some two thousand bullocks, heifers, and calves were charging down upon the two who crouched over the fire. The sight brought Mr. Blunt and Dudley to their feet promptly.
"They have broken away!" exclaimed the former quickly. "They do sometimes, and give a great deal of trouble, besides being a positive danger. Stay where you are, my lad. The horses are too far for us to reach them, and it is useless to run."
They stood watching the herd anxiously, hoping that the gauchos, all of whom had rushed to their horses, would be able to check the beasts. The men threw themselves on the flank of the herd with vigor, and sent their stinging lashes trailing over the beasts, while they shouted and shrieked so as to frighten them and get them to move in the opposite direction. But they might almost as well have hoped to move a mountain. The mass of beasts had taken a sudden and unaccountable fright, and bore down upon Dudley and Mr. Blunt with all their force and speed.
"Get your gun and load quickly," said Mr. Blunt. "And get the flap of your revolver pocket open. Those beasts must be stopped, or they will gallop over us and trample us to death. Don't attempt to run, Dudley. You would certainly be caught. Our only chance is to back up the efforts of the gauchos, and stand firm. Let the brutes have a couple of charges full in their faces when they get into range. That will give you time to load again and repeat the dose."