"Hey! Hey! We can't waste time thus, my boy. I am going over to the west of the estancia to inspect some horse branding that is to take place to-day. The mayor domo[16] will follow me later."
They cantered off across the corral and were soon on the open plains. On and on, over the pastures, some of them red, like battle grounds with the scarlet margarita or verbena; when again they would reach a huge patch of white ones that looked at a distance like snow.
"What was that, Uncle?" exclaimed Francisco, startled, as a large bird with yellow breast and gray wings screeched across their path, emitting a harsh cry of several syllables.
"That is the bicho-feo."[17]
"Why do they call it ugly bug? It is a bird."
"Because its cry is not unlike those words. Listen again and you will hear how plainly he says it. It is a bird of prey and lives on smaller birds. That bird just fluttering up out of the grass at your left is a scissors bird."
"Oh, I know why. See how its two long tail feathers clip the air like scissors as it flies."
They passed numbers of small gray owls; and once Francisco spied a flock of flamingoes across the water of a small lake. Occasionally they passed a shepherd's hut; but now they were getting on beyond the sheep grazing pastures and great herds of cattle came in sight.
Francisco leaped in his saddle with joy. "Oh! Uncle, are we coming to the cowboys?"
His boyish enthusiasm had pictured them on their native heath so often, and now he was really to see them! He had watched them when they came to the city on holidays and walked along the Paseo de Julio, where the pawn shops, with their tempting offers of silver sheathed knives, gaily striped ponchos, and silver mounted rebenques[18] draw them as honey draws bees; but to see them on the plains,—that was what he wanted!