"ALL THE WHILE THE GAUCHO CLUNG LIKE A LEECH TO IT"
"It is no time for soft measures, Dudley," said Mr. Blunt. "It is kinder to be harsh now, for once and all, than constantly to repeat the cruelty. That horse is getting beaten. In a couple of hours he will be docile. How would you care to try your horsemanship?"
"Not at all," was the candid answer. "I should be sprawling after the first half-minute. But you said he would be beaten in two hours. Will he be able to go on plunging and bucking for such a time?"
"He might, but our object is to wind him. The gaucho will take him for a gallop and give him his head."
The time had apparently come for this portion of the breaking-in, and a few moments later there was a warning shout from the struggling gaucho, a number of the men lined up between the other horses and the exit, and then the animal he rode was steered out of the corral. Once outside there was nothing to limit its pace, and it set off at a furious gallop, lashed into frenzy by the whip which the gaucho now used, and smarting under the cruel rowels of the spurs.
"He will go miles," said Mr. Blunt, "and when he returns he will be like a naughty schoolboy who has come to school for the first time after being given free play at home. He will have met with his first master, and will be aching after his very first lesson. In a week he will be a likely horse, and in a month he will whinny a welcome to the man who now treats him so harshly. Let us go along the corral and watch the other men."
Nearly a dozen other horses were meanwhile being roped in, and for the next two hours Dudley watched the same process repeated, but with variations. Sometimes a horse had less spirit, and was beaten very early, even consented to trot round the corral without attempting to get rid of its rider. But in every case, whatever the fight shown, they were taken out of the corral for a long burst over the pampas. Soon the first one was seen returning, limping over the grass, and looking as if it could barely drag one leg after the other. Indeed the poor brute had been ridden to a finish, and could scarcely reach the corral. It was taken to one corner, the bit slipped from its mouth and the saddle from its back. At once it lay down on the ground, disdaining the fresh grass placed beside it.
"He is hopelessly beaten and as tired as a dog," said Mr. Blunt. "He will lie there for twenty-four hours perhaps, and will not touch a morsel of feed, nor any water. Then he will recover, and our big friend will be there to talk kindly to him, to encourage him, and to comfort him with a bundle of sweet grass. Now, what do you think of our methods of taming horses?"