"Yes, sir, I'd rather have faced twenty falls than have been beaten," answered Dudley earnestly.
"Then you are the sort of help I want," came the swift answer. "A gaucho would think nothing of such a tumble, for the reason that he has ridden since he was a child, and has been thrown so often that he knows how to fall. In nine cases out of ten, if thrown as you were, he would have landed on his feet instead of on his back. And he would have taken his beast over the jump again, promptly and without hesitation. The gaucho is like you, lad, he doesn't like to be beaten. Now let us ride home together, while you tell me what you have been doing and what you think of the rancho."
They turned their faces to the dwelling, now plainly seen in the distance, for owing to the general flatness of the country objects were in view a long distance away. And as they rode Dudley recounted how he had practised mounting and dismounting.
"Good!" said Mr. Blunt. "I saw how you hopped into the saddle just now, and I noticed some improvement. But you must do better. A gaucho could mount his horse while the beast was cantering, and he can lean from his saddle so as to pick a scarf from the ground while going at a gallop. But all in time. Patience will help you to conquer everything. Tomorrow we will go out together, and it would be as well to bring your revolver and ammunition. We will have a little practice."
When a week had passed, Dudley himself was pleased with his progress. He now sat his horse as if he felt thoroughly at home, could steer him with certainty over the roughest country, and was not afraid of the biggest jumps. Then, too, he had mounted another of the beasts in the stable, a rough, ill-tempered animal, and had managed to cling to his seat. In short, he was progressing, and Mr. Blunt, who watched him closely, congratulated himself that he had a young fellow with him who would quickly prove of great value.
By then Pietro and the gauchos who had been left to bring up the stores arrived; and the test which one of the number had proposed was remembered.
"I repeat, Pietro," said the ill-favored individual who had scowled at our hero, "I say that this gringo, who clambered into his saddle as if into a bed, will not be able to hit the pith ball of a bolas at thirty paces. A revolver is the weapon, and if he fails, you give me your rifle. If he flukes the shot, then I make you a present of mine, and lucky you will be, for it is a grand weapon."
"Buenos, the gun is mine," came the laughing answer, an answer which caused the gaucho to grind his teeth. "Giono, I am a judge of people, and I back this gringo. He is not so green as you think, and he will hit the ball. I will add something more."
"Then you will lose. No, Pietro, I am an honest man and will not rob you. Let him win the rifle for you. Pah! Not green, do you say? That is his manner. These English stamp about as if the world were theirs and they the best on it."
He went off to his quarters in an evil mood, casting a scowling glance at Dudley as he passed him.