moving from the place, the hands stretched out in front, and the girl with her head upon his shoulder, eyes fast closed and looking like a person in a trance.  And as they danced the musicians broke into a harsh, wild song, the dancers’ spurs rattled and jingled on the floor, and through the unglazed and open windows a shrill fierce neigh floated into the room from the wild horses shut in the corral.  “Dulces,” that is, those sweetmeats made from the yolk of eggs, from almonds, and from nuts, and flavoured with cinnamon and caraways brought by the Moors to Spain, and taken by the Spaniards to the Indies, with sticky cakes, and vino seco circulated amongst the female guests.  The men drank gin, ate bread (a delicacy in the far-off “camp”), or sipped their maté, which, in its little gourds and silver tube, gave them the appearance of smoking some strange kind of pipe.

“Que bailen los Ingleses,” and we had to acquit ourselves as best we could, dancing a “pericon,” as we imagined it, waving our handkerchiefs about to the delight of all the lookers-on.  Fashion decreed that, the dance over, the “cavalier” presented his handkerchief to the girl with whom he danced.  I having a bad cold saw with regret my new silk handkerchief pass to the hand of a mulatto girl, and having asked her for her own as a remembrance of her beauty and herself, received a home-made cotton cloth, stiff as a piece of leather, and with meshes like a sack.

Leaving the dance, as Braulio Islas said, as more “conformable” to Gauchos than to serious men we started bargaining.  After much talking we agreed to take the horses for three dollars each, upon condition that in the morning Islas and all his men should help us drive a league or two upon the road.  This settled, and the money duly paid, we went to bed, that is, lay down upon our saddles under the “galpon.”  To early morning the guitars went on, and rising just about day-break we found the revellers saddling their horses to depart in peace.  We learned with pleasure there had been no fight, and then after a maté walked down to the corral.  Knowing it was impossible to drive the horses singly, after much labour we coupled them in twos.  I mounted one of them, and to my surprise, he did not buck, but after three or four plunges went quietly, and we let the others out.  The bars were scarcely down when they all scattered, and made off into the woods.  Luckily all the drivers were at hand, and after three or four hours’ hard galloping we got them back, all except one who never reappeared; and late in the evening reached Don Guillermo’s house and let our horses into a paddock fenced with strong posts of ñandubay or Tala and bound together with pieces of raw hide.

So for a week or two we passed our lives, collecting horses of every shade and hue, wild, tame and bagualon, that is, neither quite wild nor tame, and then, before starting, had to go to “La Justicia” to get a passport with their attributes and marks.

I found the Alcalde, one Quintin Perez, sitting at his door, softening a piece of hide by beating on it with a heavy mallet of ñandubay.  He could not read, but was so far advanced towards culture as to be able to sign his name and rubricate.  His rubric was most elaborate, and he informed me that a signature was good, but that he thought a rubric more authentic.  Though he could not decipher the document I brought for signature, he scrutinized the horses’ marks, all neatly painted in the margin, discussed each one of them, and found out instantly some were from distant “pagos,” and on this account, before the signature or rubric was appended, in addition to the usual fee, I was obliged to “speak a little English to him,” which in the River Plate is used to signify the taking and receiving of that conscience money which causes the affairs of justice to move pleasantly for all concerned.  Meanwhile my partner had gone to town (Durazno) to arrange about the revision of the passport with the chief authorities.  Nothing moved quickly at that time in Uruguay; so after waiting one or two days in town, without a word, he quietly let loose his horse in a by-street at night to save his keep, and casting about where he should leave his saddle, thought that the cloak-room of the railway-station might be safe, because the station-master was an Englishman.  The saddle, having silver stirrups and good saddle-cloths and silver-mounted reins and bit, was worth more than the horse, which, being a stray, he had bought for a couple of dollars, and was not anxious to retain.

After a day or two of talk, and “speaking English,” he wanted his saddle, and going to the station found it gone.  Not being up at that time in the ways of the Republic, he informed the police, waited a day, then two days, and found nothing done.  Luckily, just at that time, I came to town and asked him if he had offered a reward.  Hearing he had not, we went down to see the Commissary of Police, and found him sitting in his office training two cocks to fight.  A rustle and the slamming of a door just marked the hurried exit of a lady, who must have been assisting at the main.  Compliments duly passed, cigarettes lighted and maté circulating, “served” by a negro soldier in a ragged uniform with iron spurs upon his naked feet who stood attention every time he passed the gourd in which the maté is contained to either of us, we plunged into our talk.

“Ten dollars, Comissario.”

“No, señor, fifteen, and a slight gratification to the man who brings the saddle back.”

We settled at thirteen, and then the Commissary winked slowly, and saying, “This is not Europe,” asked for a little something for himself, received it, and calling to the negro, said—

“Tio Gancho, get at once to horse, take with you one or two men, and scour the ‘pago’ till you bring this saddle back.  See that you find it, or I will have your thumbs both broken as your toes are, by San Edovige and by the Mother of our Lord.”

A look at Tio Gancho showed both his big toes had been broken when a slave in Brazil, either to stop him walking, or, as the Commissary thought, to help him to catch the stirrup, for he was a noted rider of a redomon. [20]

Duly next day the saddle was brought (so said the Commissary) into the light of justice, and it then appeared one of the silver stirrups had been lost.  The Commissary was much annoyed, reproached his men, being, as he said he was: “Un hombre muy honrado.”  After thinking the case well out, he returned me two and a half dollars out of the thirteen I had agreed to pay.  Honour no doubt was satisfied upon both sides, and a new silver stirrup cost ten dollars at the least; but as the saddle was well worth sixty, we parted friends.  That is, we should have parted so had not the “Hombre muy honrado” had another card to play.

“How long do you want the thief detained?” he asked.  And we, thinking to be magnanimous and to impress him with our liberal ideas, said loftily—

“A month will do.”

“All right,” he answered, “then I must trouble you for thirty dollars more for the man’s maintenance, and for the gaoler’s fee.”  This was a stopper over all, and I said instantly—

“Being ignorant of your laws, perhaps we have looked at the man’s offence too hardly, a week will do.”  So after paying five dollars down, we invited the Commissary to drink, and left