They were wealthy estancieros but not Spaniards. One was an Englishman and the other a North American, owning ranches near Rosario, and they were negotiating with Colonel Lacevera for some pedigreed horses which he owned.
They talked partly in Spanish and partly in English; for like most educated Argentines, the Colonel spoke some English and understood more. Francisco had studied English at school just as he did French, and he was delighted to be able to understand some of their conversation.
Before they parted, the Englishman urged Colonel Lacevera to attend a large sale of cattle and horses which was to take place at his estancia the next day, Sunday. Patting Francisco on the head he added:
"Bring the Niño also, he may enjoy it."
So early the following morning José had their horses at the curb of the hotel, saddled and ready for the three league gallop.
Francisco had not ridden often, but his enthusiasm knew no bounds when he saw the Argentine pony that was to be his mount.
The Colonel looked at José meaningly, for he knew that this eagerness would not outlast the long gallop.
At first they rode briskly in the cool morning air. Francisco held on bravely, but the Colonel noticed the firm set of his lips, and that he talked less and less as they rode on.
They were riding through beautiful country. The turf was fresh and green in spots where the old coarse grass had been burned off and the tender young sprouts were coming up through the rich soil. They passed droves of several thousand sheep nibbling peacefully on this succulent new growth. There were shepherds, with here and there a hut made of poles covered with mud; the roof thatched with asparta grass.
Francisco was so tired and his bones began to ache so desperately that he ceased to show any interest in the things they passed. Colonel Lacevera and José exchanged knowing looks, but dared not permit Francisco to see them. When they came to one of these rude huts his uncle said: