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Updated: September 6, 2025
"I talked with that old man last night for an hour an old grey-bearded gaucho, and no more like Santa Coloma than that sailor." "I know I am right," she returned. "The General has visited my father at the estancia and I know him well.
I hired a Gaucho to accompany me on my ride to Buenos Ayres, though with some difficulty, as the father of one man was afraid to let him go, and another, who seemed willing, was described to me as so fearful, that I was afraid to take him, for I was told that even if he saw an ostrich at a distance, he would mistake it for an Indian, and would fly like the wind away.
This 'wild mirth of the desert, which the gaucho has known for the last three centuries, is now passing away, for the rhea's fleetness can no longer avail him. He may scorn the horse and his rider, what time he lifts himself up, but the cowardly murderous methods of science, and a systematic war of extermination, have left him no chance.
Around his couch flit the fireflies, resembling so many stars of earth with their strangely radiant lights. The brightness of one, when held near the face of my watch, made light enough to enable me to ascertain the hour, even on the darkest night. The Gaucho with his horse is at home anywhere. When on a journey he will stop for the evening meal beside the dry bones of some dead animal.
"Indeed!" simultaneously exclaim the others, with interest rekindled, Cypriano regarding him with earnest glance. "Yes, indeed, young masters," proceeds the gaucho. "The thing I now hold in my hand has once, and not very long ago, been in the hands of a Tovas Indian!" "A Tovas!" exclaims Cypriano, excitedly. "What reason have you for thinking so?" "The best of all reasons.
"No, Conrad is a very different stamp of man though he has not too much to boast of in the way of character if all that's said of him be true. The man we let go is a gaucho of the Pampas named Cruz. He delights in war, and has fought in the armies of Chili, Peru, and the Argentine Confederation without much regard to the cause of quarrel.
The Sierra de la Ventana is visible at an immense distance; and a Gaucho told me that he was once riding with an Indian a few miles to the north of the Rio Colorado when the Indian commenced making the same loud noise which is usual at the first sight of the distant tree, putting his hand to his head, and then pointing in the direction of the Sierra.
The picturesque and half-savage Gaucho, who lived entirely on meat, and would have scorned to have walked even a hundred yards on foot, has been replaced by the Italian agricultural labourer, who lives on polenta and macaroni, and will cheerfully trudge any distance to his work.
The last words are spoken as a whiff of icy wind, now blowing furiously down the ravine, turns into the cavern's mouth, bringing with it both dust and dry leaves. For a moment the gaucho stands in the entrance gazing out; the others doing likewise. Little can they see; for the darkness is now almost opaque, save at intervals, when the ravine is lit up by jets of forked and sheet lightning.
Ludwig thus interrogates, not thinking how easily the dexterous gaucho can alter his complexion, nor recalling what he has said about his having done so to disguise himself as a Guaycuru. "It might," returns Gaspar; "and no doubt would, if I left it as it is; which I don't intend doing. True, my face is not so fair as to need much darkening, beyond what the sun has done for it.
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