During my sickness I continued to write daily, much to the annoyance of Facundo, who looked threateningly at my notes, as if he suspected his name was there. I even went so far as to ask him how he spelt his name, which was a useless question enough; for had he been disposed to inform me, he could not, since he knew not one letter from another.
My illness cost me but little time, and I was soon able to resume my pedestrian journey, and by night of the same day I was nearly well.
Our journey had been through the day across a hilly country. As evening drew near, we reached a watering-place, which afforded an abundance of feed around it, and the caravan was halted, and camp prepared.
At supper I was cautious to eat only of the food that I saw the others partake of, which they observing, I noticed that glances and meaning smiles were exchanged among them.
Early the next morning we were again in motion.
The country was still broken, and we met several deep gullies, which we crossed with great labor, it being necessary to attach extra yokes of oxen to the carts to effect a passage. One of these gullies was so dangerous, on account of the steepness of its sides, that a pair of oxen were fastened behind the cart to prevent it from gaining too great a velocity in its descent.
Near this latter pass was a five by six stone hut, roofed with sticks and mud, which served as a post house, where the galloping courier receives his fresh horse. Two women, with low foreheads and heavy features, came out of the cabin, followed by an old man, the postmaster, to stare at us, and inquire if the drivers had any sugar or yerba to exchange with them. For what articles they proposed to barter I could not conceive, as the open side of the hut showed an interior destitute of everything like comfort; for it contained only an old hide and bedding, and one cheese, that rested upon a swinging shelf made of canes bound together with hide thongs.
Like many of the poor gauchos, the postman smoked bad Tucuman tobacco, rolled up in a narrow piece of corn-leaf, a material that is preferred by some to the coarse linen paper manufactured in Europe for the South American market.
Among the hills that bounded our northern horizon, and which some travellers would classify as mountains, the wind blows almost constantly with great force from various quarters. The smallest of the hills were well grassed over, and wherever the ruts entered the soil near them it showed a sandy gravel. Upon the plains to the south was the richer pasturage, with a soil better fitted for cultivation.
At night we encamped close by the hamlet of El Moro, situated, as I believe, not far from the foot of Cerro Moro, a chain of low mountains.