The flat pampas, or plains, which constitute almost ninety per cent. of the Argentine Republic that is suitable for agriculture and pasture, are generally called the Camp. The name is derived from the Spanish word campo, which means country. The Camp is the mainspring of Argentine prosperity. The marble palace of the millionaire, as well as the mud hovel of the immigrant, has to thank this rich soil of the campo for its foundation. It is upon this land that the republic has grown and prospered. Its eccentricities and its products are watched with all the anxiety usually lavished upon a baby by anxious parents; and it is a pretty big infant, for the Camp comprises millions upon millions of fertile acres.

The Camp is a vast plain. It spreads its smooth, unbroken surface for hundreds of miles, with no natural hillock higher than those which the termite ants have erected, and no depression more marked than those which the huge cart-wheels have cut in the loose surface soil. It can best be characterized as an ocean of land, spreading out like an unruffled sea from horizon to horizon. Here and there, in the distance, objects may seem to arise out of this vast expanse like little islands at sea, and the illusion at times seems almost perfect. A nearer approach, however, shows them to be the buildings of an estancia, or a grove of trees. Even the groves did not exist before the hand of man altered the landscape, for the plains of Argentina were unblessed by any forest growth whatsoever—with the single exception of the rare ombu tree, specimens of which might be met with at intervals of several miles. Spots, which at a distance appear as dark lumps, finally shape themselves into humble structures of black mud, which are the homes of colonists. Their sombre and unattractive exterior may be relieved by the flaming red or vivid blue dress of an Italian girl, which makes a welcome bit of colour under the circumstances. The dust clouds in the distance will be found to be floating behind horses’ hoofs, or the wheels of a cumbersome wagon drawn by several yokes of oxen. These clouds move onward across the pampa much as the black smoke trails behind a slow-moving steamer.

These vast stretches of level land may produce a certain sense of irritation upon one newly arrived in Argentina. He may ride for league upon league on his horse, or travel for hour after hour by train, awaiting that change of scenery, which his experience leads him to believe will inevitably occur. He might start in the centre of the republic and travel for scores of leagues east, west, north or south, and find the same unending monotony. But there is, nevertheless, a certain fascination about this very vastness of the Camp which grows upon one; in these leagues upon leagues of rich soil, which here spread themselves in readiness to receive the seed from the hand of the farmer, and to yield forth an abounding harvest in return for the labour bestowed. Upon these plains one may watch the herds of cattle and the flocks of the sheep which are scattered clear to the limit of one’s vision, a distance so great that the largest animals stand out as mere specks against the sky. One may travel through miles of the golden grain ready for the sickles of the reaper, and then will come upon an equal stretch of flax in flower, which gives the fields a bluish tint. Interspersed with the wheat and flax may be seen the green corn and the purple of the alfalfa blossom. These broad patches follow one another in almost endless succession. Although one’s horizon is at all times limited, he knows that, in whatever direction he looks, that which lies beyond is an exact repetition of what is stretched out before his eyes.

Agriculture has spread far and wide in Argentina in the last two decades. Its forces are moving ever westward and southward, driving the “squatter” ever farther and farther afield. It has already crossed the boundaries of what was once known as Patagonia, no man’s land. Wire fences now enclose the lands which once were the scenes of settlers’ battles and boundary disputes. Grains and alfalfa have replaced the coarse natural grass, which was indigenous to these plains. Groves of willow, eucalyptus and poplar have been planted in the older sections of the Camp and make a diversion in the landscape. The picturesque windmill, made in the United States, is a familiar landmark on the horizon almost everywhere, for it is necessary to pump all the water during the greater part of the year.

The Camp has never been divided into homesteads. The most of it is owned by the estancieros, whose holdings are estimated by the square league, almost six thousand acres. A man with only one square league is a small farmer, and there are many estates of five and ten square leagues. Many of these were purchased for a mere pittance twenty years ago, and the rise in value has made the owner a wealthy man, so that he can live in Buenos Aires a part of the year in luxury, or take a trip to Europe each year, as many of them do.

Formerly Argentina was almost entirely a pastoral country. Millions of cattle and sheep wandered over these plains and fed on the rich herbage. The amount of land devoted to stock grazing has been reduced, but the quick-growing alfalfa furnishes more pasture to the acre. At the present time there are thirty million cattle, sixty-seven million sheep, seven million, five hundred thousand horses and mules in the republic, which is a very respectable showing, and places Argentina as one of the most important stock-raising countries in the world. They are very fine stock too. It was the care of the stock that gave rise to the “gaucho,” the cowboy of South America, and it was this character that gave romance and local colour to the Camp.

As a grain-raising country Argentina has advanced by leaps and bounds. At the present time it is the greatest flax-raising country in the world, and our own linseed oil mills have been obliged to import seed from there during the past two years. It is second only to the United States and Russia in the production of wheat, and in some years has exported more than our own land. At the stations one will sometimes see mountains of wheat bags awaiting shipment to the ports, where hundreds of vessels are ready to carry this grain to the hungering millions of Europe. The threshing outfits move ponderously from one estancia to another, doing the entire work of harvesting on a percentage basis, usually one sack out of every three. Some of them are pulled by oxen or mules, and others are run by traction power. These processions move across the plains in imposing fashion. The huge stacks commence to rise in twos and threes like giant mushrooms, until the landscape is dotted with them. Then strings of wagons, laden to the brim, carry the wheat to the warehouses, which open wide their doors to receive this valuable product of the soil. The stacks must be made very secure, for the winds sweep over these plains with almost incredible velocity.

Italians have flocked to Argentina by the hundreds of thousands. They have become the most important asset of the agriculturist. The colonist is usually allotted a certain number of acres, which he cultivates on a fixed share. Perhaps the landlord reserves as his portion one bag out of every ten of grain. The colonist is given the bare land, and must provide his own dwelling. But that is a simple matter. Rough boards are made into a mould, similar to that prepared for the pouring of cement, into which mud mixed with straw is placed. When this has dried the boards are removed, and the wall of the house is finished. Spaces for doors and windows are then cut out, a roof placed over it, and the house is ready for occupancy. Or this mud may be cut into bricks, which are allowed to dry in the sun and then laid up into walls. A roof of thatch made of coarse grasses is generally used. From an artistic standpoint the result is not a handsome structure, but it is rather striking. The black mud walls are sombre and commonplace, and even the best of them is scarcely more than a hovel. There is reason, however, for this economy in the construction of a house, as the colonist may be obliged to move to another section of the plantation in two or three years, or even to another plantation, when it will be necessary to build another home. The frugal Italian during these years is no doubt sending money back to Italy, or depositing it in a bank in a neighbouring town. Many of them, after a few years, tiring of the mud walls and ceaseless work, go back to their beloved Italy, where the few thousands saved make them veritable capitalists among their friends and neighbours.

The estanciero’s life is a rather lonely one, for his neighbours are few and far between. If he is an Englishman or Scotchman, as many of them are, you will find the British atmosphere all about. There will be tennis courts, cricket grounds, and, perhaps, a golf course where the family and their friends will find recreation. Pheasant hatcheries are sometimes maintained, and these birds and the long-eared rabbits, which are very plentiful, furnish the shooting so popular with the British sportsman. The Camp store, however, is the centre of life on the estancia. It is the post office and the general place of rendezvous. There are heaps of padlocks and nails, stacks of lamps and coils of wire. Beside quaintly carved native saddles will be fierce-looking knives a foot or more in length, which peacefully repose in bright new leather sheaths. Boots that might have graced a cavalier of old jostle against bottles of patent medicine guaranteed to cure every ill to which human flesh is heir. Business is never done in haste. The gaucho measures time by the progress of the sun, and an odd half hour or so never bothers him. There is always a little time for gossip before and after the purchase has been made, and then there must be a drink for friendship’s sake.

Drouths come sometimes, and the locusts, to break in upon the prosperity of both colonist and estanciero. But there is seldom an absolute failure. The locusts are present almost every year, and it is a constantly recurring fight against the scourge of these pests.

The real development of the live stock industry in Argentina began with the discovery that meat could be frozen and shipped any distance. Since that time the growth has been almost phenomenal. It used to be that long-horned, rakish, bony criollos (native stock) wandered over the pampas feeding on the succulent grasses, and dying by the thousands during a season of drouth. Now the sleek short-horned stock have taken their places, and they fatten upon the rich alfalfa pastures which have been sown by the planter. This plant roots so deep that it will remain green in drouths that would cause the native grass to become dry and dead. Fine sheep have superseded the scrubby animals that once stalked the plains; and even the horse has acquired finer legs and shoulders, and developed a more graceful arch to his neck. Indeed, it may be said that the average stock in Argentina will compare favourably with those of any other nation on the globe. The change has been brought about by the importation of the very best breeding stock from Europe, which have formed the nuclei for the present herds.

The Durham, Hereford and polled Angus are the chief grades of cattle that one will find. In one section of the country one breed will predominate, and a few leagues away another will prevail almost exclusively. Cattle are always sold at so much a head, and never by weight. “Do you never weigh them?” I asked of an estanciero. “Oh, yes, we weigh a few so that we have an idea of the general average.” In the transaction, however, between him and the buyer, weight is never mentioned. The buyer will look over the bunch for sale and offer a stated figure, which may or may not be accepted. They are then delivered to him at a given point, and shipped to the stockyards in Buenos Aires, or to one of the many slaughterhouses in the republic. The number of stock to be kept is a serious problem for the proprietor. More than one estanciero has been ruined by overstocking his estancia, and then, either locusts or the drouth coming, he was left without feed for his animals.

The cattle dip is a very necessary adjunct to every stock farm. The idea was adopted from Australia, where the cattle raisers had similar experience with the tick fever. It consists of a wide yard which gradually narrows into a lane wide enough for only one animal. When the animal is driven forward it faces a lengthy tank which it is necessary to ford. This tank is filled with a medicated solution and, as the animal swims through it, men with poles push them entirely under. The animal does not enjoy swimming through this nauseous, badly-tasting mixture, but he has no option, so, shutting his mouth tightly, he flounders through in the best way possible. It is rather a sorry looking creature, however, that emerges on the other side. Another form of dipping cattle is a cage into which an animal is driven, and this is submerged in a tank filled with this medicated solution. Either method accomplishes the desired result, which is to give the cattle a thorough saturation that will kill the tick.

Second in importance comes sheep. Although they abound all over the republic they are found in greatest numbers in the southern provinces. The development of these animals has been studied a great deal lately and scientific methods have been introduced. The finest of rams have been imported in order to improve the breed and the former coarse wool is now being replaced by a much finer quality. The Argentine merinos will now rank with those from any part of the world. One will find Leicesters, Oxfords, Black-faced Downs and all the other fine breeds. A number of New Zealand ranchers have come to Argentina in recent years, and they have been especially successful in sheep raising. The breeds have been bettered, and foot-rot as well as other diseases combated with so that the results have been very beneficial to the industry.

Sheep farming in Argentina is an old industry. The number of sheep has grown until there are now at least ten for each man, woman and child in the republic. How many sheep the pampas can support is hardly known, but it would be several times the present number. Where there is plenty of rain an acre will support three or four head, and at other places it would be safer to keep three or four acres for each sheep. In the Buenos Aires province the best ranchers place about six hundred sheep to each square mile. The sheep farming is all conducted on a big scale, and there are few small flocks. The most of the flocks range from ten thousand to seventy-five thousand, with some possibly several times the latter number. The sheep are watched on the open pampas by shepherds on horseback, each having the care of a fixed number. It is the shepherd’s duty to see that the flocks do not mingle, and to keep them free from disease. For this work they receive a stated sum monthly, which would not be considered large in the United States.

Formerly the sheep were raised for the wool, pelts and tallow only. Even then they were profitable. The carcasses were even used for fuel. Now, with the development of the frozen meat industry, this meat feeds the mutton-eaters of England. Hundreds and thousands of tons of frozen mutton are shipped down the La Plata every month. It is frozen so stiff that it will keep for months and be as palatable as freshly slaughtered meat. The slaughtering establishments are mostly located along the ParanÁ River, between Buenos Aires and Rosario. Acres upon acres are covered with sheep pens, slaughtering houses and freezing establishments. The frozen carcass is sewed up in fine white muslin cloths, and then laid away to await the next steamer, whose hold will be filled with these ghostly bundles. The wool is sent to the great wool market in Buenos Aires. Each man’s wool is placed in a pile by itself, all unwashed, and so brings a low price because of the weight of the grease in it, for wool will lose almost half its weight in washing. The Argentine farmer prefers to sell it at the lower rate and allow the European or American buyers to clean it.

The lambing and shearing seasons are the two busiest and most anxious seasons for the sheep raiser. A good lambing season will almost double the flock, so prolific do they become. Sheep shearing used to be done almost entirely by hand, but nearly all the big ranches now have sheep-shearing machines driven by steam or gasoline power. Still, whether done by hand in the old way or by machines in the modern way, sheep shearing is arduous work. The shearers often go about in bands from ranch to ranch. The quickness and skill of some of the shearers borders almost on the marvellous. One hundred sheep daily is a fair average for good shearers, but some exceptionally expert operators can double that score. A great deal of care has to be exercised to clip the wool as close as possible, and still leave the animal uninjured. A shearer who could not practise his business without badly cutting the sheep would soon be discharged as incompetent. The poor animals have to put up with a few scratches and cuts, but it is seldom that one is severely injured. The amount of wool and mutton sent out from these sheep ranches is almost incredible. An especially fine quality of wool is produced on the great ranches of Patagonia, one of which is larger than the state of Rhode Island.

A HERD OF HALF-WILD HORSES