The bullock is grazing in the midst of his fellows, plucking stolidly at the spring grass, whose close blades paint the undulations of the Uruguayan Campo in soft green. No pedigree animal this, his lengthy horns, rather pointed nose, and shaggy mottled coat being redeemed by various features that tend to raise him from the mere ruck of the disappearing country-bred. There is a trace of Hereford in the compact form, straight back, and in the symptoms of red-brown and white that endeavour to assert themselves from out of the confusion of his other markings. Representing one of the earlier stages in the forward march of the local breeds, he is of the type known to experts by the cryptic word "useful"—a meritorious physical condition whose reward is wont to fructify in an earlier death than that accorded to those of his brethren who are less liberal in meat. At the present moment the bullock is supremely content, although profoundly unconscious of the charm of his surroundings. This is perhaps just as well, since his ribs would undoubtedly emerge from their plump covering were he to waste the precious moments of mastication in favour of less material delights. As it is, he tramples carelessly on the patches of scarlet verbena, and crushes the life from the white tobacco blossom and the blue lupin flower with a ponderous impartiality. It is enough for him that the warm sunlight beats down upon his back, and that the plentiful grass rises to his cud in a ceaseless green stream. Moreover, the few score of companions that surround him lend a dimly-felt but comforting sense of comradeship.
From the green of the foreground to the blue and mysterious distant swellings of the horizon the face of the Campo has been devoid of humanity. Near by a humble rancho, it is true, raises its diffident walls from the earth, a lowly erection of turf and reeds, enlivened here and there by a small auxiliary patch of corrugated iron, that catches up the sun-rays to flash them back in brilliant defiance. But there are no signs of life about the place beyond that afforded by a couple of hens of worn and frayed appearance that make rapid and spiteful passes at the dust with their beaks. Only when the sun is falling near to the horizon does the first sign manifest itself of more active stirrings. The figures of two horsemen have emerged from behind a distant clump of eucalyptus that stands out like a green island from the midst of a rolling sea.
As the riders draw nearer it is plain that they are Gauchos—Gauchos in a workaday mood, and consequently in attire far less picturesque than that which lends colour to their feast days. Yet they afford striking enough figures of men in their sombreros, kerchiefs, white shirts, broad trousers, horse-hide boots, and giant spurs. Each part and parcel of his horse, they come loping easily along with that curious air of careless alertness that is characteristic of the Gaucho. With the first warning of human approach the cattle have raised their heads in the wary and rather resentful stare that the presence of such visitors demands. When no doubt longer remains that the grim-faced riders are heading directly for their own company, doubt turns to active alarm. There is a flinging up of heels and tails, a bunching together of scattered units, and a surging to and fro, while the horns wave in a panic of indecision. The bullock with the traces of Hereford markings has run to a common centre with the rest.
A moment later the horses are cleaving the ranks of the cattle, and the cumbrous bodies of the horned creatures go floundering to right and left just as they have floundered a dozen times before, with precisely the same degree, moreover, of dread and confusion. Dodging and twisting ponderously, they rush to and fro for a while, then flee with a thunder of hoofs from the impact, ending up in a breathless halt at length to turn their horns upon one another in a fury of terror. All but the bullock with the scanty Hereford markings. He has raced and charged with the rest, only to find on each occasion a horse's flank or chest barring the way to safety, and a threatening human arm raised on high that sent him without further ado to the right-about. And now the situation is doubtless quite inexplicable, since the rumbling of his companions' hoofs has died away, and he is racing across the Campo quite alone save for the horseman who gallops remorselessly on either flank—fatal attendants who are no more to be shaken off than the hairs of his hide. A lasso circles lightly in the air, uncoiling as it goes like an aerial snake: the noose falls with a gentle rattle on the hurrying animal's horns. A terrific jerk shakes him from tail to nostril. But the bullock has kept his legs, and stands firm now, pulling with all his might against the strain that follows, heaving from side to side in his fight with the rope that never slackens. There is a thudding of horses' hoofs at his quarters now. Enraged at the presence of a second foe, the bullock kicks wildly, and the action is the signal for his doom. Another rope has whistled through the air, and has encircled his fetlock in some demoniacal fashion. In consequence, he gives a strenuous jump into the air—his last, for ere his feet have touched the ground his legs are wrenched away from under him, and the heavy body of the creature, flung full upon its side, strikes the earth with a crash. Ere he can move the beat of galloping horses' hoofs has drawn near, and ceased. Two men have sprung to the ground, and are securing his legs with ropes; then one rises to draw the blade of a huge knife from its sheath at his belt. A minute later there is a pool of darker crimson by the side of the verbena patches. A couple of hours later there is a log fire upon the Campo, and the beef is being cut into long strips from where it is spitted above the blaze, and eaten wholesale as Gaucho appetite demands. In the meanwhile the carancho birds are gathering thickly above, for meat is cheap upon the open pastures, and they will be economically-minded Gauchos indeed who do not leave them the greater share of the carcass.
[CHAPTER XXII]
URUGUAY AS A PASTORAL COUNTRY
Origin of the live stock of the country—Influence of the climate and pastures upon the first animals introduced—Live stock census of 1909—Importance of the breeding industry—Various ramifications—Principal items of home consumption—Articles of export—Quality of the first herds introduced—Type of original sheep and horses—Goats and pigs—The introduction of a superior class of animal—The criollos and the mestizos—Breeds imported—Durham, Hereford, Polled Angus, and Devon cattle—Dutch, Norman, Flemish, and Swiss cattle—Growth of the dairy industry—Popular breeds of sheep and horses, and pigs—Principal countries from which the animals are derived—Growing value of the local-bred live stock—The manipulation of an estancia—Well-found estates—Uruguayan agricultural societies—Work effected by these—Government support—The Rural Association of Uruguay—Financial results of agricultural shows—Side products—Tallow—Hams—Tanning—"La Carolina"—A great dairy farm—The factory of Breuss and Frey—The saladeros, or meat-curing establishments—Number of animals slaughtered—Method by which the meat is cured—Tasajo—Countries to which it is exported—The frozen meat trade—"La Frigorifica Uruguaya"—Important growth of the new industry—Shipments of frozen meat.
The great numbers of the live stock which to-day constitute the chief wealth of Uruguay owe their origin to the animals introduced by the Spanish conquistadores at the beginning of the seventeenth century.