"What is that you have, Manuel?" cried Francisco, to one of the peons, five days later, as he sat under an ombÚ tree in the garden on his uncle's estancia, playing with some tame tierra birds, that kept the garden clean of worms.

Manuel was one of the house peons and he had a queer looking machine with a long snout under his arm.

"Why, this is an ant destroyer, SeÑorito; would you care to watch me kill ants?"

For answer, Francisco ran eagerly to his side and the two walked toward the peach orchard. Francisco had had five days of rest from his tiresome ride the day of the sale, and he was now ready for any new adventure.

They had arrived at the Tres Arroyas ranch three days before and he had made friends with every one connected with the house and gardens. The heat had been too great to allow of any wider acquaintance, which would have included the gauchos, or cowboys; at least the nearer ones, for the Tres Arroyas ranch was very large, and Francisco never could have known them all. JosÉ had told him that one could ride all day from the centre and not reach its boundaries.

"Why do you use that to kill ants?" he asked of Manuel. "Our servienta at home uses hot water when they get into the patio."

"Ah, yes, SeÑorito, but these country ants come in such armies it would take a geyser of boiling water to kill them. Now, we are here in the orchard; you can see how they destroy things."

Curious rivulets of tawny brown ran here and there as far as the eye could reach.

"Last spring these ants fairly cleaned our peach trees of their tender young leaves, and it was only by continuous labour that we exterminated them. Now, look at them! Thick as ever."

"But how can you kill millions of ants with so small a machine?"

"Well, I can't this afternoon. I brought the machine here to place it and get it ready; then early in the morning I will tap on the iron bars of your window and you must follow me."

It was scarcely more than dawn the next morning when Francisco heard the gentle tapping on the rejas at his window. He had forgotten his engagement with Manuel, and started up in bewilderment. The sight of the peon reminded him and he hurried into his garments and was soon with Manuel in the crisp morning air.

"A little more of the sun above the horizon and we would have been too late for to-day," said the swarthy Spaniard, as he busied himself lighting the machine.

"Ants are early risers, and it's only by getting up before they have made their morning toilets that we can manage to make war on them."

Francisco laughed at the idea of an ant bathing and dressing, and bent over on his knees beside Manuel who was scratching a match to light the dry rubbish in the cylindrical can, in one end of which was a small amount of sulphur. He screwed a lid on the other end, inserted the snout into an ant hole and with a pair of bellows he sent the volumes of sulphurous smoke into the labyrinthine passages of the ant houses.

"Look, look," excitedly cried Francisco, as quantities of smoke were seen issuing from many holes, here and there, within a radius of several hundred yards; showing how intricate and many winding are the underground passages of these industrious pests.

"Yes, there won't be many ants getting out to work this morning. But in a short while they will be just as bad as ever."

They went from one part of the orchard to another until the sun was too high, and they were obliged to stop until another morning. Francisco learned, as they walked toward the house, that these ants are the worst pest, excepting the locust, that the farmer has to combat. They particularly delight in carrying away whole beds of strawberries and they often come in armies that swarm over every obstacle in their path.

As they entered the house, Francisco noticed that his uncle had had cafÉ and was in his riding breeches ready for a morning gallop.

"May I go with you, Uncle Juan?" cried Francisco.

"Hey! That's spirit for you! Rode yourself to fragments a few days ago and ready for another trial to-day. Che," clapping his hands as a peon appeared.

"Saddle Barboza for the SeÑorito, inmediatamente."

Francisco gulped his cafÉ and nibbled at a biscuit, but he was too excited to eat more.

When the horses were brought to the door, his eyes gleamed, for he saw that the smaller horse, that was to be his to ride while he was on the estancia, was resplendent in a new saddle, bridle and bit. The servant brought a set of solid silver spurs and smart leather riding boots which he assisted Francisco to put on, and which he told him his uncle had had sent with the saddle and outfit from the city.

The stirrups were of silver, beautifully chased, and the head stall, ornaments for the brow band which covers most of the horse's face, and the pretel bangles that jingled across the horse's breast, were all of the same valuable metal. It was indeed the outfit of a gentleman, and on Barboza, the sleek bay horse, with the neat, light hoof of the prairie steed, it seemed an equipment fit for a prince. His uncle appeared at the mounting block and Francisco kissed him again and again as he thanked him for the lovely gifts.

"Hey! Hey! We can't waste time thus, my boy. I am going over to the west of the estancia to inspect some horse branding that is to take place to-day. The mayor domo[16] will follow me later."

They cantered off across the corral and were soon on the open plains. On and on, over the pastures, some of them red, like battle grounds with the scarlet margarita or verbena; when again they would reach a huge patch of white ones that looked at a distance like snow.

"What was that, Uncle?" exclaimed Francisco, startled, as a large bird with yellow breast and gray wings screeched across their path, emitting a harsh cry of several syllables.

"That is the bicho-feo."[17]

"Why do they call it ugly bug? It is a bird."

"Because its cry is not unlike those words. Listen again and you will hear how plainly he says it. It is a bird of prey and lives on smaller birds. That bird just fluttering up out of the grass at your left is a scissors bird."

"Oh, I know why. See how its two long tail feathers clip the air like scissors as it flies."

They passed numbers of small gray owls; and once Francisco spied a flock of flamingoes across the water of a small lake. Occasionally they passed a shepherd's hut; but now they were getting on beyond the sheep grazing pastures and great herds of cattle came in sight.

Francisco leaped in his saddle with joy. "Oh! Uncle, are we coming to the cowboys?"

His boyish enthusiasm had pictured them on their native heath so often, and now he was really to see them! He had watched them when they came to the city on holidays and walked along the Paseo de Julio, where the pawn shops, with their tempting offers of silver sheathed knives, gaily striped ponchos, and silver mounted rebenques[18] draw them as honey draws bees; but to see them on the plains,—that was what he wanted!

He did not have to call on his reserve of patience; indeed, soon after his eager question they passed a group of them, crouched on the ground around a fire of dry thistles, over which hung a can, suspended by wire from a tripod, and which held the water for their morning mÁte. They arose to their feet as the Colonel galloped past and greeted him with vivas.

"Do they often use those murderous looking knives on each other, Uncle?" asked Francisco; the sight of their weapons having subdued his zeal somewhat. They were rougher looking men in their working clothes than when they came to the city dressed for a lark.

"Seldom, NiÑo; unless they are intoxicated. They are not very civilized and they have no education whatever. They fairly live on their horses' backs and cannot be persuaded to do any work that must be done outside their saddles."

They were, indeed, fierce in appearance. Their knee-high boots were made of rawhide; they wore no trousers, but a striped blanket held around the waist with a belt, then brought between the legs and fastened again to the belt in front, formed the covering of the lower part of the body. This is called the chirapa and when walking it gives the wearer a bulky appearance, not unlike a Turk.

As these were peon gauchos, or low-class cowboys, they were not so picturesque as the gentleman gaucho, who is entirely different in appearance and character.

The mayor domo rode up to them within the first hour, and his costume was that of the caballero class or gentleman gaucho.

He also wore the chirapa, but it was over long white cotton trousers, the edges of which were embroidered and finished with hand-made lace. Instead of the rawhide belt of the peon gaucho, his was a strip of hogskin doubled, the inside forming a pocket, which was stitched into compartments, these being made secure with clasps made of silver coins; from all of this hung a festoon of coins encircling the entire waist. The large clasp in the front was of solid silver, carved to represent the crest of Argentina. Several knives were thrust through his elaborate belt, and his riding whip was of closely braided rawhide, with a heavy silver handle.

Francisco eyed him curiously, but with evident admiration. This was more to his liking, and he rode between this gentleman of the Pampas and his soldier uncle with great pride. Almost, he was persuaded to be a gaucho, but a side glance at his idolized uncle brought quick repentance to his heart.

How could he be so disloyal to his family traditions! A soldado,[19] of course, that was his destiny.