The comisario was afraid of his superiors in office; and the federal government had forbidden horse racing in the territories where the conditions of life were too primitive to allow orderly management of this diversion. It always resulted in drunken orgies and innumerable fist-fights, or worse. But this former city-dweller needed greater resources than his government pay in order to bear his sojourn in Patagonia with resignation; for which reason Antonio Gonzalez could always persuade him, after a little private conversation, to overcome his scruples in the matter.
“But, for Heaven’s sake, Gallego, don’t advertise your horse race too widely!” the comisario implored. “Don’t make such a noise about it that they’ll hear up in Buenos Aires about what’s going on ... because we’ll get into trouble. Have it up at the dam if you like ... but for the people who are here only ... no one from outside!”
But to be a success the undertaking must be given wide publicity! As early as the Saturday before the great event, riders began coming in from all parts of the territory.
After all there were none too many days of general merry-making in the region and the races at La Presa were something that should be taken advantage of. The population at the settlement suddenly tripled, and within twenty-four hours a whole month’s supply of liquor had been consumed at the boliche.
Manos Duras greeted the numerous riders who had come in from distant ranches; many of them had from time to time been of use to him in his business transactions. On this occasion they all rode their best mounts, those they called “fletes”; these were the horses they were going to ride in the races.
The prizes put up by the Gallego did not amount to very much—a twenty peso note, brightly colored handkerchiefs, a jar of gin; but the gauchos, proud of their spurs, of their belts adorned with pierced silver coins, of their silver-handled knives, had come to win for the honor and glory of winning. They would go home satisfied with having shown their skill and grace as horsemen before the hordes of gringo workmen who were quite incapable of riding a broncho.
They did not often start for home when the races were over, but stayed to celebrate their triumph. This brought it about that in the early hours of Sunday the Gallego took in money by the fistful. It was these hours that were most dreaded by Don Roque, and that made him vacillate about granting new permissions to Gonzalez, even though such refusals cost him the handsome sums that the tavern keeper was only too willing to pay him.
The crowds overflowed from the boliche and formed in groups around it. Friterini aided by the women went in and out among them with bottles and glasses. Guitars were twanging, accompanied by shouts and the clapping that meant there was dancing going on in the centre of the dense clusters of gauchos and workmen. The comisario with his long sabered soldiers stood at a considerable distance for he knew that his presence, or theirs at least, served more often than not to excite instead of pacify the crowd.
It was the Chilians who worried him most. In ordinary celebrations when they were with their compatriots, they grew drunk methodically without any violent changes of mood. Accustomed to a certain decorum in their social relations, they sang and danced the “cueca” without in any way disturbing the peace. Nevertheless their aggressive patriotism increased in proportion to the quantity of liquor they absorbed.
“Viva Chile!” they shouted in chorus, in the intervals between cuecas their dances.