At the gate of the corral the end of the lasso was received by the eldest son of the family, a tall, strapping, and exceedingly handsome youth, of about twenty-three, who had been named Pizarro,—no doubt after the conqueror of Peru. He certainly resembled his namesake in courage, vigour, and perseverance, if in nothing else. The young horse displayed great unwillingness at first to quit its companions,—shaking its magnificent mane, and flourishing its voluminous tail in wild disdain as it was dragged out.
But the moment it found itself outside the corral, its first idea was to gallop away. A jerk of the lasso checked him effectually. Another member of the household then deftly threw his lasso in such a manner that the prancing steed put its feet in it, and was caught just above the fetlocks. With a powerful twitch of this second lasso its legs were pulled from under it, and it fell with tremendous violence on its side. Before it could rise the young Gaucho forced its head to the ground and held it there, then drew his long knife, and therewith, in a few seconds, cut off its mane. Another Gaucho performed the same operation on the hair of its tail—both acts being done, as they explained, to indicate that the horse had been once mounted.
Meanwhile Pizarro quickly put a strong hide halter on the animal’s head, and a piece of hide in his mouth to serve as a bit. He also girthed a saddle on him, and, when all was ready, ordered the men who held him to let go. At the same moment he sprang into the saddle and held on.
Holding on was the point on which Pizarro had to concentrate all his attention and power during the next few minutes, for the way in which that outraged and intensely fierce creature strove to unseat him is alike beyond the power of description and conception. Jumping, plunging, kicking, rearing, bounding, and pirouetting are all sufficiently expressive terms in their way, but they are mild words with which to describe the proceedings of that creature of the Pampas while under the influence of temporary insanity. With ears flat on its neck, nostrils distended, and eyes emitting something almost like flames, the young horse absolutely screamed in its fury; but all was in vain. As well might it have tried to shake off its own tail as Pizarro!
Suddenly it changed its plan, and stretched out its sinewy length to its longest stride. Pizarro fell in with the idea, encouraged it with his long sharp spurs and heavy lash, and away they went over the mighty plain like a streak of personified lightning.
It is useful sometimes to let wilful people not only have their way, but compel them to continue it. John Gilpin’s spirit, when he said—
“’Twas for your pleasure you came here;
You shall go back for mine.”
is not unknown on the Pampas and the prairie:
After sailing away over the plain, like a ship going out to sea, until it was a mere speck on the horizon, Pizarro’s horse thought it time to reduce its pace; but here Pizarro did not agree with it. He applied whip and spur until his steed was quite exhausted. Then he turned homewards, and galloped back to the corral, into which he turned the animal in a very broken and humble state of mind. There it found several young friends who had just been subdued in a similar manner, and it is not altogether improbable that they spent the remainder of that evening in comparing notes!
“A roughish method, but—aw—effective,” remarked the sportsman to his friend.