Roughriders of the Pampas: A Tale of Ranch Life in South America

by F. S. Brereton

"There is a good deal of noise from the saloons in the town," answered Dudley. "It sounds as if they were quarrelling."

"I should not wonder," was the reply. "They are a set of ne'er-do-wells, who enjoy a rough and tumble in the saloons. It would not surprise me if one or more were hurt. The gauchos who come in from the estancias are wonderfully polite as a rule, but when they get to the saloons, and have indulged somewhat freely in the bad spirit to be obtained there, they become quarrelsome. It does not take a gaucho a second to produce a revolver, and when shooting begins someone is sure to be killed. They are, in fact, every bit as wild as the cowboys in North America. Ah! That was a shot. Well, we cannot interfere, but I hope that those foolish fellows have not got into trouble."

He stifled a yawn, flung the stump of his cigar through the port, and lay back in his seat. As for Dudley, the silence of the river had some fascination for him, or perhaps the sudden and quiet arrival of the other boat had aroused his suspicions. He went out on the deck again, and paced restlessly to and fro, listening intently, starting when a yard creaked, and straining his ears to catch every sound. He could see a light now across the water some fifty yards away, and now and again thought he heard the sound of voices.

"Perhaps they are having a late meal before turning in," he thought. "But I cannot make out why they are so silent. As a rule one hears a mandolin playing, and some fellow singing to the stars. They are so suspiciously silent!"

Half an hour later, unable to make anything of the strangers, and satisfied that there was really nothing to be alarmed about, he went to the cabin again, and reported that the town was quiet, and that as yet there was no sign of the men who had left the vessel.

"They will appear in the early hours of the morning," said Mr. Blunt, "and no doubt we shall be awakened by their singing. Time to turn in, Dudley; we have work before us on the morrow."

Throwing themselves, fully dressed as they were, upon the cushions on either side of the cabin, they closed their eyes and were soon fast asleep, the feeble rays from a swinging candle light shining upon their figures, while the silence of the cabin was broken by their heavy breathing and by the drone of the many mosquitoes infesting the river. Now and again there was a sound from the neighboring boat, but it did not disturb them. They suspected no danger from that quarter, and would not have troubled had the boat lain alongside their own. If, however, they could have looked into the cabin aboard that ship they would have thought otherwise, for gathered there were more than half a dozen cut-throats, all smoking, and all drinking out of tin mugs, which they replenished liberally from a big stone jar. They sat in the narrow place about a long table, at the head of which was a bearded individual, tall and lean, and with a malignant cast of countenance. To look at him under the flickering rays of the smoky lamp he might have been of any nationality. He was swarthy enough almost to be an Indian or a gaucho, and yet he lacked the upright carriage, the direct manner, of those wild men of the pampas. Certainly he was not an Englishman, while his language seemed to indicate that he was an Italian. He was speaking in low tones to his comrades, sometimes addressing them in Italian, sometimes in Portuguese, and at times throwing a word of explanation in English to a haggard individual who sat at the far end of the table.

The latter had the cut of a sailor, and any doubt there might have been on that subject was set at rest by his nautical language. He was an Englishman, a down-at-heels sailor, and most likely had deserted from one of the many sailing ships which put in every week at Montevideo. He was dressed in ragged clothing, wore a week's growth of stubbly beard on his chin, and was altogether as disreputable as one could expect to see. The others were much the same as those who had been engaged by Mr. Blunt for building operations on the rancho, except that they had the cut of gauchos. They wore riding overalls too, and had spurs at their heels, a fact which went far to prove that they were used to horses and to the pampas.

"You have the plan nicely in your heads, comrades," said their spokesman, draining his pannikin. "You are poor?"

"Poor! As poor as mice who live in a church," laughed one of the men. "We have not a dozen coins to toss among us. We are at the end of our tether, and look to you and other kind friends to help us to improve our fortunes."