“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 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 p. 22Partido 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.

p. 22

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, p. 23horses 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.

p. 23

Days followed one another, and nights still caught us upon horseback, driving or rounding up our horses, 

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