him well knowing that we should not be out of sight before the man would be released, and the five dollars be applied strictly towards the up-keep of “justice” in the Partido of the Yi.  Months afterwards I heard the culprit worked two days cutting down weeds with a machete in the public square; then, tired of it, being “un hombre de á caballo,” had volunteered to join the army, was received into the ranks, and in a few weeks’ time rose to be sergeant, for he could sign his name.

All being ready, and some men (one a young Frenchman born in the place) being found with difficulty, the usual revolution having drained off the able-bodied men, we made all ready for the start.  We bid good-bye to Don Guillermo, and to Don Tomas, giving them as an addition to their library (which consisted of some lives of saints and an odd volume of “el culto al Falo,” which was in much request), our only book the “Feathered Arrow,” either by Aimard or by Gerstaeker, and mounting early in the morning after some trouble with the wilder of our beasts, we took the road.

For the first few leagues Don Guillermo rode with us, and then, after a smoke, bade us goodbye and rode away; his tall, lithe figure dressed in loose black merino trousers tucked into his boots, hat tied beneath his chin, and Pampa poncho, fading out of sight, and by degrees the motion of his right arm touching his horse up, Gaucho fashion, at every step, grew slower, then stood still, and lastly vanished with the swaying figure of the rider, out of sight.  Upon what Pampa he now gallops is to me unknown, or whether, where he is, horses accompany him; but I would fain believe it, for a heaven on foot would not be heaven to him; but I still see him as he disappeared that day swaying to every motion of his horse as they had been one flesh.  “Adios, Don Guillermo,” or perhaps “hasta luego,” you and your brother Don Tomas, your hospitable shanty, and your three large cats, “Yanish” and “Yanquetruz,” with one whose name I cannot now recall, are with me often as I think on times gone by; and still to-day (if it yet stands), upon the darkest night I could take horse outside Durazno, cross the Yi, not by the “balsa,” but at the ford below, and ride without a word to any one straight to your house.

Days followed one another, and nights still caught us upon horseback, driving or rounding up our horses, and nothing interested us but that “el Pangare” was lame; “el Gargantillo” looked a little thin, or that “el Zaino de la hacinda” was missing in the morning from the troop.  Rivers we passed, the Paso de los Toros, where the horses grouped together on a little beach of stones refused to face the stream.  Then sending out a yoke of oxen to swim first, we pressed on them, and made them plunge, and kept dead silence, whilst a naked man upon the other bank called to them and whistled in a minor key; for horses swimming, so the Gauchos say, see nothing, and head straight for a voice if it calls soothingly.  And whilst they swam, men in canoes lay down the stream to stop them drifting, and others swimming by their side splashed water in their faces if they tried to turn.  The sun beat on the waste calling out the scent of flowers; kingfishers fluttered on the water’s edge, herons stood motionless, great vultures circled overhead, and all went well till, at the middle of the stream, a favourite grey roan mare put up her head and snorted, beat the water with her feet, and then sank slowly, standing quite upright as she disappeared.

Mountains and plains we passed, and rivers fringed with thick, hard thorny woods; we sweltered in the sun, sat shivering on our horses during the watches of the night, slept fitfully by turns at the camp fire, ate “charqui” and drank maté, and by degrees passing the Paso de los Novillos, San Fructuoso, and the foot-hills of Haedo and the Cuchilla de Peralta with its twin pulperias, we emerged on to the plain, which, broken here and there by rivers, slopes toward the southern frontier of Brazil.  But as we had been short-handed from the first, our “caballada” had got into bad ways.  A nothing startled them, and the malign example of the group of wildlings brought from Braulio Islas, led them astray, and once or twice they separated and gave us hours of work to bring them back.  Now as a “caballada” which has once bolted is in the future easily disposed to run, we gave strict orders no one was to get off, though for a moment, without hobbling his horse.

Camped one cold morning on a river, not far from Brazil, and huddled round a fire, cooking some sausages, flavoured with Chile pepper, over a fire of leaves, one of our men who had been on horseback watching all the night, drew near the fire, and getting off, fastened his reins to a heavy-handled whip, and squatted on them, as he tried to warm his hands.  My horse, unsaddled, was fastened by a lasso to a heavy stone, and luckily my partner and the rest all had their horses well secured, for a “coati” dived with a splash after a fish into the river.  In a moment the horses all took fright, and separating, dashed to the open country with heads and tails erect, snorting and kicking, and left us looking in despair, whilst the horse with the whip fastened to the reins joined them, and mine, tied to the stone, plunged furiously, but gave me time to catch him, and mounting barebacked, for full five hours we rode, and about nightfall brought the “caballada” back to the camp, and driving them into an elbow of the river, lighted great fires across the mouth of it, and went to sleep, taking it conscientiously in turns to curse the man who let his horse escape.

Five leagues or so upon the road the frontier lay, and here the Brazilian Government had guards, but we being business men smuggled our horses over in the night, led by a noted smuggler, who took us by devious paths, through a thick wood, to a ford known to him, only just practicable, and this we passed swimming and wading, and struggling through the mud.  The river wound about through beds of reeds, trees known as “sarandis” grew thickly on the banks, and as we passed “carpinchos” [26] snorted; great fish leaped into the air and fell with a resounding crash into the stream, and in the trees was heard the scream of vultures, as frightened by our passage they rose and weltered heavily through the thick wood.  By morning we were safe into Brazil, passing a league or more through a thick cane-brake, where we left several of our best horses, as to pursue them when they straggled was impossible without running the risk of losing all the rest.  The crossing of the river had brought us to another world.  As at Carlisle and Gretna in the old days, or as at Tuy and Valenza even to-day, the river had set a barrier between the peoples as it had been ten miles instead of a few hundred yards in width.  Certainly, on the Banda Oriental, especially in the department of Tacuarembò, many Brazilians had emigrated and settled there, but living amongst the Gaucho population, in a measure they had been forced to conform to the customs of the land.  That is, they practised hospitality after the Gaucho fashion, taking no money from the wayfaring man for a piece of beef; they lent a horse, usually the worst they had, if one came to their house with one’s horse tired; their women showed themselves

occasionally; and