I had before this heard of the Rio Plata gold hunters; but what could I do? Advise my friend to go home to his wife, of whom he often spoke in terms of strong affection, or assist him in his labors, and follow after the ignis fatuus that had lured him from friends and domestic pleasures? I answered him after this wise. “Ned,” said I, “I shall offer no opinion regarding this gold hunt, nor discourage you from an undertaking for the success of which you confess you have embarrassed yourself and purse; but I also have a mission to perform. I came to this country with the intention of crossing the pampas to Mendoza, from which town I mean to cross the Andes to Valparaiso, Chili. From the latest and best authority I have learned that the mountains will be impassable after the first week in May, and as it is now late in the season to insure a safe journey to Valparaiso, it will be necessary for me to leave Buenos Ayres in the next steamer, which will be ready to sail in a few days. Until the sailing day I will devote my time to your plans, but no longer.”
Though Ned spoke with enthusiasm, and promised the reward of one thousand dollars in case of success, I remained obstinate, and debate was dropped.
As we trudged on our journey, various birds and animals were at times seen by us. Once two small deer approached us, and acted as if influenced by great curiosity, and again, a tall ostrich started out of the grass, and, raising her plumed wings, ran off at the top of her speed.
Having reached the estancia house,—our landmark already referred to,—we halted to ask for water. The little that the family had was in an old barrel; by the side of it was a cow’s dirty horn, out of which we drank. We continued our journey to the next stopping-place, five miles beyond. This was a small hut surrounded by corrals, the whole serving as an outpost to a large estancia. The occupants were a lazy gaucho and his negress wife, who invited us in, and offered maté; but as our object was to find some suitable shelter for the night, we did not remain long, but pushed on towards the River Las Vacas. Darkness coming on, we hurried to several mud huts that loomed up in the distance. Upon arriving at them, we found a young gaucho, who led us into a room where a powerful-built, supercilious-looking personage was sitting. Glancing at us carelessly, he asked us several questions; but being ignorant of the language, we could only make use of the “Spanish Teacher” that my friend had brought with him: we could not discover whether he understood our requests or desires. He treated us in a very distant manner, calling a gaucho, and ordering us off to a low, mud hut, where a woman was cooking a strip of meat by a small fire.
The interior of the hut was filthy in the extreme, the broken walls covered with vermin, and the whole dwelling filled with blinding smoke. Shortly after our entrance, several gauchos came in, and conversed together in low tones.
After a few minutes they approached us, who were seated upon a log, and addressed numerous inquiries to my companion. Ned, with the utmost simplicity, opened his “Teacher,” and pointed out several sentences. The fellows at first looked at the book, and turned over several leaves with a puzzled air, then, breaking out in a loud laugh, threw it back into his lap. Soon one dark-visaged gaucho drew his knife, and commenced slashing it above the head of my companion, seeming undecided, however, to strike him.
At this manifestation of mischief, our hands grasped our Colt’s revolvers; and if the knife had touched either of our bodies, we should have drawn our weapons and shot down our assailants. “If they strike us, shoot all except the old hag, who can do nothing more than give the alarm, and take to your heels,” muttered my companion.
We sat thus for half an hour, during which time the gauchos made several attempts to strike at our legs, but did not succeed. They were at length called away by the old woman, who offered them their supper. We at last asked them by signs for a bed; they pointed to a pile of dried skins that lay heaped up in one corner of the hut. At this the indignation of my friend could hardly be kept within bounds. Having been accustomed to all the comforts that the great metropolis of our country could furnish, he determined no longer to suffer the inhospitable treatment of gauchos. Telling me to follow him, he moved towards the door of the shanty, which was nothing more than a large hide, swinging to and fro in the entrance.
But the gauchos would not allow us to leave; and after a vain attempt at arguing the matter, we were at last obliged to stretch ourselves upon the hides, and lying side by side, kept watch in turn, with pistols in hand, through the long and uncomfortable night. When I say uncomfortable, I mean the whole strength of the word, for the hides were alive with vermin, and their passage over our bodies and its attendant irritation, half crazed us both. But the longest night has an end. An hour before daylight the gauchos arose from the ground, which had been their bed, and lassoing their horses in the corral, galloped off to different parts of the estancia.
As soon as we saw that the disagreeable fellows were certainly gone, we arose and hurried away from the hut. The woman followed, and begged us to come back and eat meat; but we were only too willing to leave without a breakfast. We learned, some days later, from an Englishman, that the owner of this estancia, whose name was Moreno, belonged to a family of the most villanous character.