'The Government will in course of time,' replied Moncrieff. 'At present, as we lie pretty low down in the western map, we are looked upon as rich pioneers, and left to protect ourselves.'
They were riding then round the estancias, visiting outlying puestos.
'You have your rockets and red-lights for night signals, and your flags for day use?' Moncrieff was saying to each puestero or shepherd.
'We have,' was the invariable reply.
'Well, if the Indians are sighted, signal at once, pointing the fan in their direction, then proceed to drive the flocks towards the estancias. There,' continued Moncrieff, 'there is plenty of corraling room, and we can concentrate a fire 261 that will, I believe, effectually hold back these raiding thieves.'
One day there came a report that a fort had been carried by a cloud of Indians.
This was in the forenoon. Towards evening some Gauchos came in from a distant estancia. They brought the old ugly story of conflagration and murder, to which Moncrieff and his Welsh partner had long since become used.
But now the cloud was about to burst over our estancia. We all ate our meals together at the present awful crisis, just, I think, to be company to each other, and to talk and keep up each other's heart.
But to-day Moncrieff had ordered an early dinner, and this was ominous. Hardly any one spoke much during the meal. A heaviness was on every heart, and if any one of us made an effort to smile and look cheerful, others saw that this was only assumed, and scarcely responded.
Perhaps old Jenny spoke more than all of us put together. And her remarks at times made us laugh, gloomy though the situation was.