CHAPTER VI.
THE WILD BULL OF THE PUNA.
Guapo was not much troubled at this. He knew he could take the libertyof using his friend's roof for the night, even should the latter notreturn to grant it. He crawled in. Of course his friend was onlytemporarily absent--no doubt looking after his flocks of sheep andalpacos; and as he was a bachelor, there was no wife at home, but therewere his furniture and utensils. Furniture! No--there was none. Therenever is in the hut of a Puna shepherd. Utensils! yes--there was anearthen "olla," or pot to cook soup in, another to boil or roast maize,a jar to hold water, a few split gourd-shells for plates, two or threeothers for cups--that was all.
This was the catalogue of utensils. Two stones set a little apart formedthe fireplace, in which the shepherd, when he makes a fire to cook with,makes it out of dry dung. A couple of dirty sheep-skins lay upon theground. These were the bed. Nothing more was to be seen. Yes, there wasone thing more, and this gladdened the eyes of Guapo. In a bag that hungagainst the wall, and on which he soon laid his hands, he feltsomething--a collection of hard round objects, about as big as largechestnuts. Guapo knew very well what these were. He knew they were"macas."
What are _macas_? you will ask. Macas, then, are tuberous roots thatgrow in the elevated regions of the Puna, where neither ocas, ullucas,nor potatoes, will thrive. They are cultivated by the inhabitants, andin many parts constitute almost the only food of these wretched people.They have an agreeable and rather sweetish flavour, and, when boiled inmilk, taste somewhat like boiled chestnuts. They can be preserved formore than a year by simply drying them in the sun, and then exposingthem to the cold air, when they become hard and shrivelled. They thrivebest in this high region, for although they will grow in the lowervalleys, they are there very insipid and worthless. The Indians preparethem for food by boiling them into a soup, or syrup, which is taken withparched maize-corn.
Guapo knew that he had got his hands upon a bag of dried macas, andalthough their owner was absent, he had already come to thedetermination to appropriate them for himself and party. His joy at thediscovery had not subsided when another bag drew his attention, and thiswas the signal for another delightful surprise. His hand touched the newbag in a trice. There was a rattling sound within. Peas? No--maize.
"Good!" ejaculated Guapo; "maize and macas! That with what is left ofthe charqui--we shall not fast to-night."
Guapo now backed himself out of the hut, and joyfully announced thediscoveries he had made. The travellers dismounted. The horse and mulewere picketed on lassoes on the plain. The llamas were left to go atwill. They would not stray far from their owner.
It was piercing cold in this highland region. Dona Isidora and thechildren entered the hut, while Don Pablo and Guapo remained without forthe purpose of collecting fuel. There was not a stick of wood, as notrees of any sort grew near. Both strayed off upon the plain to gatherthe _taquia_, or ordure of the cattle, though no cattle were in sight.Their tracks, however, were visible all around.
While engaged thus, the old Indian suddenly raised himself from hisstooping position with an exclamation that betokened alarm. What hadstartled him? A loud bellowing was heard--it was the bellowing of abull. But what was there in that sound to alarm two full-grown men? Ah!you know not the bulls of the Puna.
Coming around a promontory of rocks a large black bull was in sight. Hewas approaching them in full run, his head thrown down, his eyes glaringfiercely. At every spring he uttered a roar, which was terrific to hear.A more horrid object it would be difficult to conceive. You may supposethat an adventure with an enraged bull is one of an ordinary character,and may occur any day, even in the green meadow pastures of Old England.So it is, if the animal were only an English bull. But it is a fardifferent affair with the bulls of the Puna.
Throughout all Spanish America animals of this kind are of a fiercernature than elsewhere. It is from them the bulls used in the celebratedfights are obtained; and, perhaps, the race has been made fiercer by thetreatment they receive on such occasions--for many of those that exhibitin the arena are afterwards used to breed from. But, in general, theSpanish-American "vacqueros," or cattle-herds, treat the cattle undertheir charge with much cruelty, and this has the effect of renderingthem savage. Even in herds of cattle where there are no bulls, there arecows so dangerous to approach, that the vacqueros never attempt drivingthem unless when well mounted.
A Mexican or South American cattle-herd is, therefore, always a mountedman. There is a difference, too, among the bulls in different parts ofthese countries. On the Llanos of Venezuela they are not so fierce asthose of the Puna, and they are more and less so in different parts ofMexico and the Pampas of Buenos Ayres.
The Puna bulls are, perhaps, the fiercest and most dangerous of all.They are more than half wild. They scarcely ever see a human being, andthey will attack one upon sight. To a mounted man there is littledanger, unless by the stumbling or falling of his horse; but many a poorIndian, crossing these high plains afoot, has fallen a sacrifice tothese vengeful brutes.
Both Don Pablo and Guapo knew all this, and therefore were aware oftheir own danger. Neither had a weapon--not so much as a stick. They hadlaid aside their knives and other arms, which had been carried insidethe hut. To reach the hut before the bull reached _them_ would beimpossible; the brute was coming nearly from it--for he had issued fromsome shelter in the rocks not far off. They were full two hundred yardsout upon the plain, and to run in the direction of the rocks would havebeen to run counter to the bull, and meet him face to face! Their dangerwas imminent. What was to be done?
There was not much time left them for consideration. The furious animalwas within thirty paces distance, roaring loudly, shaking his head andbrandishing his long sharp horns. At this moment a happy thoughtoccurred almost simultaneously to Don Pablo and the Indian. The evening,as we have already said, was piercing cold, and both, in going out tocollect the fuel, had worn their ponchos.
The trick of the matador with his red cloak suggested itself in thismoment of peril. Both had seen it performed--Don Pablo often--and knewsomething of the "way." In a moment both had stripped the ponchos fromtheir shoulders, and, placing themselves _a la matador_, awaited theonset of the bull. It was agreed that as soon as the bull was "hooded"by either, that both should run at all speed to the rocks, where theycould easily climb out of reach of the animal.
Don Pablo happened to be more in the way, and perhaps his more showyponcho attracted the brute; but whether or not, he was the first toreceive the charge. With the adroitness of a practised matador he flunghis poncho on the horns of the animal, and then both ran in thedirection of the rocks. As they faced towards the hut, however, to thehorror of Don Pablo he saw the Dona Isidora, with Leon and the littleLeona, all outside, and even at some distance from the entrance!Attracted by the bellowing of the bull and the shouts of the men, theyhad rushed out of the hut.
Don Pablo, in wild accents, shouted to them to make for the door; but,paralysed by terror, they were for some moments unable to move. Atlength Dona Isidora, recovering herself, ran for the entrance, pushingthe children before her. But the low doorway was difficult of access;they were slow in getting under it; and they would have been too late,as the bull, after shaking off the poncho, had turned and made directlyfor the hut.
"O God, preserve her!" cried Don Pablo, as he saw the enraged animalwithin a few paces of where his wife had knelt to enter the doorway."She is lost! she is lost!"
In fact, the bull was making directly towards her, and it seemed as ifnothing could then have interposed to save her.
At that moment the tramp of a horse in full gallop sounded on theirears. Don Pablo looked up. A strange horseman was near the spot--anIndian. Over his head a singular instrument was revolving. There werethree thongs fastened at one end, while at the other end of each was aball. These balls were whirling and gyrating in the air. The next momentboth thongs and balls were seen to part from the hands of the rider, andwrap themselves around the legs of the bull.
The latter made an awkwardspring forward, and then fell upon the plain, where he lay kicking andhelpless. The horseman uttered a yell of triumph, sprang from his horse,and running up to the prostrate animal, thrust the blade of his longmachete into its throat. The red stream gushed forth, and in a fewseconds the black monster lay motionless upon the plain.
The new-comer quietly unwound the thongs--the _bolas_--from the legs ofthe dead bull, and then addressed himself to our travellers.