On the fourth day, about two hours’ sail from the confluence of the Tua with the Meta River, we stopped at a large cattle-ranch called Santa Barbara. The owner invited us to a dinner—the inevitable dishes of the llano: meat roasted over a bonfire, plaintains and coffee.

The ranch consisted, we were told, of about 10,000 head of cattle, and was typical of the ranches to be found on the llanos of Colombia and Venezuela.

Here, in the person of what might be called the sub-manager, whose name was Secundino, we came face to face with a real tiger-hunter.

After dinner I asked Secundino how men fleeted the time away in that lonely region beyond the din of civilized life. His statements corroborated what I had heard before, that there is no ownership of land in the llanos; the herds graze freely over the plains, the animals being practically wild, and kept together by the presence amongst them of a few tame cattle which, being accustomed to the presence of man, will remain in the neighbourhood of the houses or caneyes. Another great attraction to the cattle is the salt which is strewn upon large slabs of stone or flat boards. By these two devices, thousands of animals are kept within a comparatively short distance of the ranch.

To enable each ranch-owner to brand the cattle belonging to him, rodeos or round-ups are held two or three times during the year. These rodeos are gatherings of the herds. The men ride out in all directions from the ranch, and drive the cattle towards the corrales. In this task they are greatly helped by the presence of the tame animals, which are easily led or driven as required, and are always followed by the others.

Once in the corrales, the branding begins. A red-hot iron is used, shaped either to form one or two letters or some special sign which constitutes the trade or hall mark, so to speak, of the respective ranch. The animals are forced to pass through a long, narrow enclosure between two fences, and are branded as they go by; but with animals that give a great deal of trouble a different method is followed. This consists in starting the bull, heifer, or cow, as the case may be, on the run. A man on horseback follows, and when both the horse and the bull have attained sufficient impetus, the man seizes the bull by the tail, and with a sudden twist turns it over on its side, jumping at once from his horse to pass the tail under the bull’s leg; this compresses certain muscles, prevents all motion, and leaves the fallen animal helpless. The branding is then done without any difficulty, either on the fore or the hind quarters.

Secundino told us that this way of throwing the cattle down was not confined to the branding season, but that it formed a frequent sport amongst herdsmen in the plains, as it required great skill to accomplish it. Another sport in which he and his friends indulged, and which he described with great zest, was riding wild bulls. The process consists first in throwing the bull to the ground, whereupon a thick rope is tied as a girdle, only that it is placed quite close to the withers and right under the forelegs of the animal. All this time the bull has been held on the ground, bellowing and panting for sheer rage; as soon as the rope is ready, the intending rider stands by the side of the animal with his two hands stuck between the rope and the skin, on either side of the spine, and the moment the bull is let loose and stands on its feet the man leaps on its back. Then follows a wonderful struggle: the beast, unaccustomed to any burden, rears and plunges, springs backwards and forwards with great violence; the man, always spurred, increases the fury of the animal by pricking its sides. His two arms, like bars of iron, stand rigid, and man and bullock seem as though made of one piece. At last the bull is exhausted, and sullenly acknowledges the superior force of the rider; but it takes rare courage and strength to accomplish this feat.

After describing these and other pastimes, Secundino quietly added:

‘Whenever my work leaves me time, I kill tigers.’

He said this unpretentiously, yet with a certain air of self-consciousness that must have brought the shadow of a doubting smile to my lips. Secundino saw this, and, without appearing to take notice of it, invited us outside the house, and showed us, at a certain distance from it, lying on the ground, ten tigers’ skulls, some of which bore traces of having been recently cleansed from skin and flesh.

‘You see,’ he added, ‘that I have some proofs of my tiger-killing!’

He told us that the tigers were the worst enemies of the cattle-farmer.

‘Other animals,’ he said, ‘will take just what they want, but the tiger is fierce, cruel, and kills for the sake of killing. If he should happen to get into an enclosure containing twenty or thirty young calves, he will kill them all, and take one away with him. We are at open and constant warfare with the tigers,’ he added, ‘and there is no truce between us.’

The llaneros usually kill tigers by spearing them. Referring to this, Secundino said that doubtless it was more dangerous than shooting the beast down at long range with a Winchester or a Remington rifle; ‘but,’ he went on to say, ‘powder and lead are expensive, cartridges are difficult to obtain, and when once exhausted your weapon is no better than a broomstick. The spear, however, is always ready, and never fails you. When I go out tiger-hunting I take my dogs, who follow the scent and guide me. I carry with me, besides the spears, a muzzle-loader, in case of emergency. The moment the dogs see the tiger they give cry; the beast seeks higher ground, and the fight with the dogs begins at once. The tiger is afraid even of a cur. The dogs that we have here are well trained, and though at times they are killed by the tiger, that seldom happens. I follow my dogs, keeping the animal well in sight, with my spear ready, and at the right moment dash forward and plunge it into his breast. If the blow is a good one, that ends it. Now and then it is necessary to fire the rifle into him; but this is a great pity, owing to the waste of lead and gunpowder.’

I am trying to repeat here word by word Secundino’s quiet statement. It sounds fanciful and exaggerated, but all those who have travelled over the plains of either Venezuela or Colombia will have heard that such is the commonest mode of tiger-killing amongst the llaneros. The tiger of these latitudes, however, is not the same as the tiger of India and other parts of Asia. It is smaller, but not less ferocious; it is spotted, and not striped. The spear used is very long, made of very hard wood, and has a most murderous appearance.

Secundino, after telling me of his short way with tigers, asked me to handle the weapon, and generously gave me some instructions as to the exact poise to be adopted for striking a blow, explaining to me how dangerous it might be were I to forget the rules which he could recommend from experience. To begin with, I could hardly lift the spear, and, then, there was practically no chance of my ever going to seek a tiger in his lair. Secundino, however, was profoundly in earnest, and, rather than disabuse him or hurt his feelings, I solemnly promised him that I would never kill tigers otherwise than in strict conformity with his advice, and that at the first opportunity I would practise throwing the spear and poising my body, so as to make sure.

Towards evening, as we were about leaving, when I was already seated in the canoe, whilst Leal was still ashore, I overheard these words passing between him and Secundino:

‘How far are you going, Friend Leal?’