nevertheless. This meat was carefullysalted and stored in huge earthenware jars.
One way of storing meat was very strange to me, but, as I afterwardsdiscovered, most effectual. It was first salted with pampas salt fromthe Salinas, it was then buried in a grave lined with salt-sprinkledleaves, and well packed down. Meat was also sun-dried and partiallysmoked.
Fish were caught in abundance, especially a sort of perch, and thesewere smoked with a peculiar kind of wood and stored away for winter use.
Firewood was also to be had in abundance, simply for the gathering.Much of this was dug up out of the boggy land, and was found to be "asfat as fir," to use an expression of Ritchie's.
There were many kinds of fruit in the forests, principally of thehardier species, and bushels of these were dried in the sun or by fire,and during the winter they made a valuable adjunct to our diet. Nutstoo were plentiful.
But, after all, the most important item of food, not only for ourselvesbut for our horses, was a kind of tuberous root, which grew in anyquantity in the glens and even on the banks out in the open plain. Fortwo whole weeks we had fully a score of Indians, to say nothing of theirchildren, digging and storing these roots. The mice were in millionsall round our _estancia_, so the only safe way of preserving our rootsand thereby preventing a famine was to dig graves and bury them. Eventhese had to be watched, so numerous were the mice.
Hay we stored in large quantities in stacks; also the tender herbage ofseveral trees of which, when green, the horses ate with great relish.
We soon discovered that the armadillos were on the scent of our buriedflesh food. So stakes were driven in the ground, and to these dogs werefastened every night in the immediate vicinity of our buried treasure.We did not intend, however, that these poor animals should be on sentryall night long exposed to the wind and rain, the sleet or the snow. Wetherefore built them shelters, so that they were cosy and happy.
We had our reward, for even on the second night of his watch one dogmade an immensely large armadillo prisoner. I happened to be firstabout that morning, and seeing how eagerly the faithful canine sentrylooked towards me, I went up to pat him, when he pointed to a hugeball-looking thing.
"That's the robber," the dog seemed to say; "I can't get him to unrollhimself, or I should soon let the stuffing out of him. Will you obligeme?"
I did not oblige the dog, as I object to take life in a cold-bloodedmanner. But an Indian did, and we had the 'dillo for dinner. Thoughsomewhat peculiar in flavour, the flesh was as tender as that of astewed rabbit.
So much fodder had we collected, that we determined to add to our stockof horses, feeling sure that some accident would befall a few of thembefore the winter was over.
Jill and Ritchie joined the expedition to go over the plain in search ofwild horses. Peter preferred to stay at home. He had no desire, hesaid, to raise his bumps again. I stayed with Peter to keep himcompany.
Jill and Ritchie were gone for three days, and I was getting uneasy whenthe whole cavalcade reappeared.
"Terribly wild work," said Ritchie as he entered the log-house. "Ain'tI tired just?"
"Oh, I'm not a bit," said Jill, coming in behind him.
Jill looked flushed and excited, and confessed to being delightfullyhungry. He proved his words, too, when we all sat down to dinner.
The Indians had brought in with them five poor, dejected-looking animalsthat had been thrown with the lasso, and altogether used far morecruelly than I care to describe.
But these horses soon took to their food; then the breaking-in processwas commenced. After being tormented until perfectly wild, and theirstrength almost quite expended with kicking and plunging, they wereforcibly bitted and bridled. An Indian then waiting his chance wouldspring boldly on the bare-back of a steed, and the battle 'twixt man andbeast commenced in downright earnest. The way the Indian breaker stuckto his horse, despite his rearing, plunging, and buck-jumping, was trulymarvellous. If he was thrown, which he sometimes was, he sprang to hisfeet again, those around jeering and laughing at him, and though bruisedand bleeding, vaulted once more on the horse's back.
The battle had but one ending: total exhaustion of the horse, andvictory of the Indian.
Only one poor animal escaped thorough subjection. This steed reared toofar, fell backwards, and his skull coming against a piece of rock with asickening thud, he never moved a leg again.
We had that horse for dinner.
Jeeka, seeing the accident, touched me on the shoulder.
"Poor horse!" he said, "good horse! He go there now. So, so?"
He pointed solemnly upwards with his whole arm as he spoke.
What could I answer? This was my convert to Christianity, the religionof love. I had read to him of horses in both the Bible and NewTestament. Could I now say to him, "No, Jeeka, a horse has nohereafter?" Had I done so, I would not have been speaking my mind, as Ido most sincerely believe that no creature God ever made is born toperish. So I nodded and smiled and said--
"So, so, Jeeka; so, so."
CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN.
THE SNOW-WIND--WINTER LIFE AND AMUSEMENT--DEATH OF "DE LITTLE COQUEET."
"Listen," said Castizo, one evening about a month after this, as we allsat round the fire in the log hut. "Listen, boys, listen all. That isthe snow-wind. Winter is coming now in earnest. Pedro," he added, "putmore logs on the fire, and brew us a cup of _yerba mate_. Thank Heavenno one of us is out on the Pampa to-night, or belated in that dismalforest."
The snow-wind!
Have you ever heard it, reader mine?
If you have listened to it only half as often as I have done, you willbe able to tell it by the sound, as it goes moaning round your dwelling,although at the midnight hour. Should you even have gone to bed ere itcomes on, and are awakened by it, you will shiver a little and say toyourself, "That is the snow-wind." A nervous shiver it would be, ashiver born of thought and thankfulness, for there is something in thevoice of this heartless wind which seldom fails to cast a momentarysadness over the spirits of the listener--not necessarily an unpleasantsadness, for you have to thank Heaven you are not out on the moor or outon the plain, and exposed to it. And if sitting by your own hearth whenyou hear it, the fire seems to burn more cheerily, and the room aroundyou looks more pleasant and homelike.
The snow-wind does not shriek and whistle, and scream, as does anordinary gale; it is heard but in one low, long-drawn dreary monotone.It never threatens to tear off roofs or uproot trees; it does not getvery high at one moment to sink into semi-silence the next; it hardlyever alters its key-note, but keeps on--on--on in its one sad wail.
If you hear a wind like this on a winter's night, be sure that, ifflakes are not already falling, the snow is on its wings, and soon itwill be shaken off.
The snow-wind! I have been out on the icy plains of Greenland when ithas begun to blow, and made all haste to reach my ship. I have heard itin moorland wilds when far from home, and made speedy tracks backward tomy hut, my very dogs seeming to know what was coming, and trotting onwith heads down and tails almost trailing on the ground. If it comes atnight the stars always hide themselves, and the very moon--should therebe one--appears to shelter behind the unbroken surface of dark greyclouds.
Every wild creature knows the sough of the snow-wind. Bears creepfarther into their dens when they hear it; wolves hide under the pinetrees; the fox dreams not of leaving his burrow; rabbits cower closerbeneath the tree roots, and birds seek shelter under the thickestboughs.
"The snow-wind," continued Castizo. "Are we all safe and secure,Ritchie?"
"We be, I'm thinking, sir. I noticed the Indians covering the front oftheir huts. I think everything is done, and, before I came in, sir, Islewed the funnel round against the breeze; that's the way the fireburns so cheerily."
"Thanks, Ritchie; I'm sure I don't know what we would do without sogenuine a sailor to keep us straight. Ah! here comes Pedro withsteaming bowls of _mate_. Now, boys all, I call this the a
cme ofcomfort."
"So do we all," cried Peter, jovially. "Oh, here's to the Queen, Godbless her!"
"God bless her," said Ritchie. "I wonders now if ever she drank a basino' _mate_ in all her born days. Strikes me, as a sailor like, sir, it'sbetter nor tea and beer, and better nor all the rum in the universe."
Our talk was now of home. This soon gave place to yarns of our variousadventures, Ritchie being in excellent form to-night, and, between thewhiffs he took of his Indian pipe, he related to us some marvellousexperiences. Though his English was not of the best, he managed to makeit graphic, and every picture he drew, we seemed to see before us. Isuppose Castizo saw those pictures in the fire. He kept gazing steadilyinto it, at all events, and was more silent than usual.
Perhaps his thoughts were not in Ritchie's stories at all. I felt now,as I sat