They reached the western corral about ten o'clock, and found the branding already under way. Several dozen peon gauchos had assembled and they had driven the horses to be branded into an enclosure.

"See, NiÑo, these are all young animals; they have never had the iron on them."

"Why do you brand them, Uncle Juan? Your estancia is so large surely they could not stray on to a neighbour's ranch; and then the gauchos watch them carefully?"

"Yes, but there are so many thousands that, despite the best of care, our horses stray away occasionally. Before every yearly round-up, we send peons to all the neighbouring ranches to gather in the strayed ones; and if our brand is on them there is never any question as to their owner. I am gradually having the outskirts of the estancia enclosed in barbed wire fencing, but it is so many leagues around that it is no easy matter. But look, see how they catch them!"

They were using the bolas, and although Francisco had often seen them in the shop windows, he had never seen them in use. They are an aboriginal device for lassoing cattle and horses. They consist each of three stone balls covered with leather and all attached to long thongs, two of which are longer than the third. The ends of these thongs are attached together and when the gaucho uses them he raises his hand holding these ends above his head and whirls them around and around to gather momentum, then opening his hand the weapon flies away to coil itself about the feet of the animal that he wishes to lasso. These gauchos are so skilful in the use of the bolas that their aim is unerring, and although it sometimes bruises the captive's legs, it is a most convenient method for catching a fleet-footed horse or cow.

When the gaucho in the enclosure had caught a horse by this means, he immediately pulled it to the ground. A peon sat on its neck while another held it by a rope around its fore-legs, and a third blazed the lines of the Tres Arroyas brand on its hip. The mark was in the shape of a horseshoe, inside of which was a cross; and at least ten of these groups were busy all of the time, burning it on the young animals.

"What do you raise these wild horses for, Uncle Juan?" inquired Francisco, who had not missed one single detail of the performance. "They are not fine horses like Barboza here," and he patted his steed's neck affectionately.

"No, they are not, by any means. These wild horses are raised for their hides mainly, although very little of them goes to waste when they are skinned. Look over yonder, near that cluster of mud huts, where the hides are drying in the air and sun."

Francisco's eyes followed the end of the silver riding whip that his uncle used to point with, and saw tier after tier of poles, from which were stretched horsehides to stakes in the ground below.

Turning to Don Carlos, the mayor domo, who was near-by, the Colonel inquired the worth of the horses being branded.

"Not less than ten or twelve dollars each," answered the superintendent. "These are very good ones. Does the SeÑor care to have his breakfast now?"

For some time, Francisco had been feeling pangs of hunger. His hurried cafÉ had not been sufficient nourishment for the long hot ride, and now his hunger was aroused by odours that came to his nostrils like pleasant messengers; yet, he could not see anything cooking.

"Uncle, shall we eat out here with the gauchos?" he asked, wild-eyed.

"Very near them anyhow, but not exactly with them. Manuel came ahead of us to prepare our almuerzo, which is in process of cooking over yonder behind that clump of willows. Before we eat you shall see the gauchos eat, but I warn you it is not a prepossessing sight.

"Here, Don Carlos, have the men go to their breakfast now, the lad wants to see their table manners."

Don Carlos rode into the corral, spoke a few words and the branding ceased. Each man mounted his own pony, for an Argentine cowboy never walks, be his journey ever so short. With cheers and shouts they galloped toward the mud huts near-by.

Francisco and the Colonel followed at a more dignified pace. They found the men gathered about in groups, squatting on the ground or sitting on ox skulls.

The beef had been quartered and roasted on a spit over a charcoal fire, outside one of the huts. Each man, without ceremony, had "fallen to" and helped himself, by cutting great chunks of the meat from the large piece on the fire.

Holding one end with his teeth and the other with his hand, each man would sever the bite about two inches from his mouth with one of his silver-handled belt knives.

"You see how superfluous are knives, forks and plates," said the Colonel in an undertone to Francisco as they watched this primitive process.

"And now for our own breakfast. I am as hollow as is the wild pumpkin at the end of summer," and he gave a sharp blow to his horse, another to Barboza, and they were off towards their own waiting meal in the shadow of the willows.

Manuel had killed a small kid soon after reaching the corral, and had roasted it on a spit in its skin over a fire of dry thistles and charcoal. He was basting it with salt water, which he had brought in a bottle. In the coals below were sweet potatoes roasting in their jackets. So tempting were the combined odours of lamb and sweet potatoes that Francisco ran to the little stream to wash himself, in order that he might begin to appease his appetite at once.

"I never was so hungry," said he, as he took the tin plate offered him by Manuel. "I think I could eat with my hands like the cowboys! Do they ever eat anything but meat?"

"Seldom. They care but little for vegetables; not enough to take the trouble of raising a few. Meat and galletas, the hard biscuit of the Pampas, often three or four months old, is all they have besides their mÁte, that they must have always.

"Que esperanza! lad, this lamb is good! It takes me back to other days. Many times on our expeditions into the provinces have I eaten thus."

"Tell me, do tell me of one while we eat and rest," coaxed Francisco.

"There were many, lad," said the Colonel, as he passed his plate back to Manuel for another piece of the smoking, savoury lamb. "I've never told you of the expedition of General Roca into Patagonia. I was commanding a regiment at that time, one of the regiments that became famous because of that remarkable undertaking.

"Patagonia is all of the southern-most part of this continent lying between the Rio[20] Negro and the Straits of Magellan, excepting the narrow strip between the Andes and the Pacific Ocean, which belongs to Chile. This country is not the barren, unproductive country now that it was before our expedition carried civilization to its wild wastes and reclaimed those vast prairies from the Indians."

"But, Uncle Juan, what right had Argentina to take the land from the Indians of Patagonia? They had lived there for centuries and it was theirs."

"It is a long story, NiÑo, and I shall give you only the bare outline. You see, Patagonia is a series of vast terraces from the Atlantic Ocean to the foot of the Andes. On these well watered steppes, Patagonian Indians, mainly the Chennas, raised their cattle, allowing them to rove at will. But the winters there are most severe, especially when a pampero blows; so, during the winter months, they drove their immense droves of cattle to the northward into the foothills of the Andes, where it was warmer. During these winter sojourns close to the frontier of our Republic, they lived by murdering and stealing from our settlements, and the development of our lands was being retarded because these pioneers were obliged to flee to the cities and leave their fields of grain and maize, their vineyards and their cattle to the mercy of the marauders.

"Gradually the outposts of our civilization were creeping closer to Buenos Aires, instead of extending and growing as they should. Do you now see why we were justified in fighting them?"

"Yes, but I didn't know they had made any trouble. I supposed they were peaceful."

"Far from it. At last when Don Nicolas Avellaneda became President, he sent General Roca, who was my general, and the Minister of War, into Patagonia to exterminate these Chennas.

"It was not an easy task, for these Indians are a fierce race, giants in size and strength. Do you know how they came by their name, Patagonians?"

"I have never heard, it must have something to do with their feet as 'patagon' means 'large foot.'"

"That's it exactly. Magellan, the discoverer, saw their footprints in the sand and because of their magnitude, he believed them to be giants, and called them that before he had ever seen them.

"Well, General Roca never knew discouragement, and he set about their defeat by digging great trenches, twenty feet deep and twenty feet wide, while the Indians were up in the mountains with their herds of cattle.

"These trenches he covered with boughs, over which earth was scattered, and when all was ready he sent us back to drive the Chennas toward the ditches.

"It was a terrible price to pay for their cruelty, and I shudder now as I recall that awful day; but nearly all civilization is bought with blood, and it certainly ran in torrents then. The Indians, unsuspecting, fell headlong, thousands of them, into the trenches, and the few that were unhurt by the fall or by being crushed in the trenches were made prisoners and distributed among the victorious regiments as servants or soldiers. The women and children were captured and sent to the cities to work.

"Ah! But those ditches! The birds, foxes, and armadillos must have grown fat on the thousands of bodies we left on that plain."

Francisco begged for more, his eyes were ablaze and his cheeks flushed, but the Colonel said:

"No more of fighting, anyhow; but come here by the stream, now that we have finished our meal, and I will tell you of some of the animals I saw in Patagonia."

"Did you ever chase ostriches?" eagerly inquired the boy.

"Yes, yes, several times and it is great sport; and once, for three days, I had only ostrich eggs to eat. You see, we were digging those same trenches and could not spare many of the men for hunting. I was ill and could not eat the army rations, so JosÉ brought me ostrich eggs and cooked them as the Indians do—in the red-hot coals."

"And was JosÉ with you on that expedition?" exclaimed Francisco.

"Yes, through all my campaigns he has been my body servant. It was JosÉ who told us how the Indians catch ostriches; he had heard it when a boy among his tribe of Araucanians."

Francisco clapped his hands in anticipation.

"A circle of fire around a great area was built and the huntsmen remained within this circle. The ostriches and guanacos that were thus imprisoned in the circle of fire were easy prey for they fear fire and ran almost into our arms. Why, what's the matter, NiÑo?"

The interest had died out of Francisco's eyes and he sat with his hands clasped over his knees.

"Well, Uncle Juan, I'll tell you. I'm disappointed!"

"Disappointed! How?"

"Uncle Juan, I don't think that's fair play or good sport."

"Que esperanza!" exclaimed his uncle, secretly proud of the boy's loyalty to his conviction, but determined to draw him out on the subject.

"And who are you that you may sit in judgment on generals and captains?"

"Oh! I don't think one's rank has anything to do with one's opinions. Uncle, if a peon thinks a thing is not right he must not do that even though the President, himself, commands him; and I don't think hunting animals in that fashion is fair. The little English boy I play with at school is always saying that we Spaniards are not—well, he calls it 'sporty.' That's their English word for it. He says that the Englishmen are the truest sports on earth and that they would never hunt as we do."

"To a certain extent he is right, Francisco. We don't care for the excitement of the chase merely for the excitement as they do; we are less active in our temperament, and prefer to gain our ends with the least expenditure of energy. I want you, above all things, my lad, to be broad-minded, and able to see your own shortcomings, so think this matter out and if you are convinced that we are not right as a people, in our attitude towards sports, or anything else for that matter, formulate your own opinions and then stick to them.

"It is through such men that all nations grow; and the men that are able to see their national deficiencies are the great men, the reformers, and the leaders.

"But in regard to the ostriches. How would you catch them if you had the opportunity?"

"I should do it as the English lad tells me he saw them do it in Chubut Territory; that's part of Patagonia, isn't it, Uncle?"

The Colonel nodded, smoking industriously.

"Well, he says the real way to catch ostriches is with the bolas. He saw his father chase them there and he says they hunt them in an open plain, not in a circle of fire. They give the birds an equal chance with them for their lives, and if the ostrich can't outrun them, then, when they are within throwing distance, they whirl the bolas around their legs and trip them. He says it is fun to see an ostrich run; it stretches out its long neck and with its awkward long legs kicks up a great cloud of dust behind it. He also told me about seeing guanacos and pumas. Did you ever hunt them, Uncle?"

"Yes, but guanacos are hard to shoot because of their keen sense of smell, they can scent a human being over a mile away; but their flesh is delicious, tasting much like venison.

"Have you ever seen the puma skin in the library of my city house?"

"Yes, I have often seen it and one day I measured it; it was over two metros in length. Are those guanaco skins in the dining-room at the estancia—the tawny yellow ones with white spots and such deep soft fur?"

"Yes, and the ostrich robe that your aunt uses in her carriage is made of the breasts of young ostriches; it is as soft as down and marked brown and white. The Patagonian Indian women often wear them for capes, although they are very expensive.

"You know, the ostriches we have here are not the kind that produce the long plumes worn in ladies' hats; these are called the 'rhea' and are an allied species. Speaking of skins, Francisco, I will tell you of one that will interest you. It is a vicuÑa, and one of the finest I have ever seen. It was presented to your great-grandfather, General Lacevera, by a chief of the Incas, as a vicuÑa robe is worn only by one of royal blood among the Indians. It saw service as your great-grandfather's poncho during his remarkable career, and is now over one hundred years old, yet it is as soft as velvet. Being one of our family heirlooms, it shall be yours, as I have no son."

"That pleases me and I shall be very proud of it."

"As you well may be. Whatever fortunes come to you in life, NiÑo, remember you are a Lacevera."

Sleep was sweet that night, and Francisco's head was scarcely on his pillow when guanacos, vicuÑas and even gauchos were forgotten in dreamless slumber.