With the approach of spring, the desert around the mill became a constant source of study to me. The lagoon near the house was filled with seven or eight species of ducks and teals, and occasionally a pair of white swans might be seen upon the water, where they frequently staid for several days in succession. The ducks remained throughout the whole year; and before I left Causete, the China or half-breed girls were frequently seen swimming into the lagoon, where they captured great numbers of the young fowl.

The green-winged teal, pin-tailed duck, and other species of the northern continent, were far from uncommon.

One day, while standing in the doorway of the mill, attempting to get a glimpse of a dim line of the point of the Pié de palo, where I had been told that a beautiful region, called the “Fertile Valley,” lay embosomed in trees, my attention was attracted to a dark spot in the sierra, which seemed to be a hole in the rock. On the following day, at sunset, I again distinguished the same dark spot: each day it grew larger; and one morning an old miner came into the mill, and informed me that a company of Chilenos were opening a vein; the situation of the sierra, the peculiarities of the rock, &c., led him to doubt of the practicability of the undertaking. How the party succeeded in their search for gold I have not yet learned; but the antecedents of the mountain are bad, for when the sierra was discovered by the early adventurers, in expectation of finding gold, they named it Pié de Oro, or “Foot of Gold,” and afterwards, when they had been disappointed in searching for the ore, they dropped the first name, and called it that by which it is known at the present day—Pié de Palo, or “Wooden Foot.”

The llama and other animals are found in the sierra of this section, which are also known—for what reason I never could learn—as the mountains of Cordova. I had not time to visit the range when in Causete, though I much desired to do so, as the old guides and miners told many strange stories regarding it.

One evening, as I was in the mill at work, a servant came from the house, saying that Don Guillermo wished to see me, and give me an introduction to a guest who had just arrived. I repaired to the house, where I made the acquaintance of the celebrated gaucho, Diablo McGill. As he has quite a local notoriety, I will speak of him more fully here than I otherwise would.

McGill was celebrated above most gauchos for his skill in using the lasso, knife, and boliadores, and in the management of wild colts. He was the handsomest herdsman that I ever saw, and was so polite and easy in his intercourse with strangers that I at first doubted if he was really the wild gaucho of whom I had heard so much. McGill was the owner of a troop of mules, he left his native province to follow the wandering life of a pampa merchant, because he despised his own countrymen, and declared that they were all peons (laborers), and not gauchos; for the province in which he was born, being situated upon the desert, at the base of the Andes, contained very few cattle-farms, and consequently the inhabitants were mostly traders, laborers, and “loafers.”

He visited the province annually, and while in his native town invariably played some mad prank to astonish the natives, and keep his reputation as a diablo.

On feast days he dressed himself in the full habiliments of a herdsman, a showy chiropá, finely-wrought drawers, heavy silver spurs, &c. His horse was selected with care from his corral, and bedecked with silver ornaments from the head to the tail, and a costly recado, or country saddle, placed upon its back. Thus equipped, he would sally forth to visit the various pulperias, or drinking-shops, where the gauchos crowded to listen to his songs, and tales of mighty deeds transacted while accompanying his troop of mules across the lonely pampas.

All the señoritas felt happy when McGill asked them to accompany him through la samba cueca, el gato, or la mariquita, as the three principal dances are styled, and she who could keep the wild gaucho by her side for one half hour felt more gratified than if she had made a dozen ordinary conquests. But the wild gaucho could not love a fair señorita, though she might be the belle of the province. Horses, wild colts, wild bulls, and wild gauchos were his chosen companions, and the fair sex tried, but in vain, to find some uncovered spot upon which to make an impression: he was impenetrable to the shafts of Cupid.

The story is told that, during one of his last visits Don Antonio Moreno, who had always envied the success of McGill, challenged him to prove his skill in the use of the lasso. McGill accepted the challenge, and entered, lasso in hand, the corral of the jealous Don Antonio.

“I will do more than you challenge me to attempt,” said our hero, coolly. “Here are five hundred mules in this circular yard, and as you drive around the circle they run eight or ten abreast. Now, I will stand in the middle, and as they pass around me you are to call out which mule you wish lassoed, and upon what leg or part of the body the animal is to be noosed. This you must do when the particular beast is in front of me, so that I can throw the lasso when she is behind me. As fast as one is caught, you are to remove her from the corral. Thus will I catch each of the five hundred mules, without missing a single throw, and catch them while they pass BEHIND MY BACK. Will that satisfy you, Don Antonio Moreno?”

The other party looked incredulous. Don Antonio was himself a first-rate gaucho and rastreador; he had seen good lassoing, but this offer seemed preposterous.

“Go on, McGill,” he said, with a contemptuous shrug of the shoulders. “When you have caught five hundred mules behind your back, I will pay you well for your trouble.”

The gaucho took his place in the centre of the yard, and, as the mules were driven around the circle, threw his lasso with unerring skill; first one, then another, then a third, rolled over upon the ground, always falling upon the head in a particular manner.

Don Antonio suspected the gaucho, and perceiving his object in throwing the mules upon their heads, protested against it.

“You will break the necks of half of them!” he exclaimed to the gaucho, who at the same moment, with a dexterous jerk on the lasso, sent another mule, stunned, upon the ground.

“Stop!” he shouted. “McGill, what mean you by throwing the mules in that manner?”

“What do I mean?” replied the herdsman, as another mule shared the same fate of the last one. “What do I mean? Why, man, I mean to break the necks of all your mules, that I may give you a certain proof that I can throw the lasso equal to, and better than, any San Juanino.”

“Enough! enough!” replied the excited don. “You have proved it; there is no necessity of further effort. Besides, these mules are to be driven across the Cordillera into Chili, and if you break their necks it’s money out of my pocket. Had we not better enter the house? I believe Doña Trinidad is ready to serve maté.”

When McGill rode forth upon a feast day as Gaucho Porteño, or Buenos Ayrean herdsman, the peons of San Juan gazed with astonishment upon his rich trappings. I have the list of articles that he and his animal wore. Upon his favorite black horse were first placed three bageras, or skins, to preserve the animal’s back from the chafing of saddle-gear. Upon these were laid a heavy, fine-wrought jergon, or blanket, to absorb the perspiration; over these were laid, first, a corona de vaca, or cow’s hide covering, to give firmness to the saddle; secondly, a corona of fine leather, to hide the rougher pieces beneath.

The latter article, which was richly embossed, was very ornamental, and drew from the gauchos many admiring remarks. Upon this platform, or foundation the recardo was placed, and kept firmly in position by a wide cincha, or girth, cut from softened, untanned hide. A pellon, or sheepskin, was laid upon the saddle, and kept in its place by a smaller girth. The pellon was then covered with a small piece of embroidered cloth, worked by the hands of some fair damsel. The lasso lay upon the animal’s croup, behind the rider, and was attached to an iron ring in the broad cincha. A pair of alforjas, or saddle-bags, were thrown across the peak of the saddle, and around the animal’s neck hung a leather rope, the fiador, used to tie him when feeding, though the lasso is generally employed for that purpose.

Upon the peak of the saddle were swung the chifles, two cows’ horns, in which was carried wine or water,—fluids absolutely indispensable upon the travesia of San Luis.

From beneath the left side of the coronas, close by the peak of the saddle, peeped the three balls, the well-known boliadores (called in most works of travel bolas), with which the gaucho secures game while upon the road.

Hanging from the fiador was a pair of manes, or shackles, for the horse’s fore feet, which serve the same purpose as a pair of handcuffs. If the rider wishes to leave his horse in the street, where many travellers are passing, he places the manes upon the animal’s fore legs, and it is only with great difficulty that the beast can slowly move about. Lastly, the bridle, a magnificent article, formed of leather, and thickly studded with silver plates, and the horse was equipped. McGill was dressed in the gala costume of a Buenos Ayrean gaucho, with drawers of the finest needlework, and the chiropá, that covered his loins, of costly silk. From this description the reader can gain some idea of a fast man among the gauchos, for such was the guest of Don Guillermo.

In this connection I may devote a few lines to a character well known throughout the Provinces of La Plata—the rastreador, or trailer.

While the mill was in operation one afternoon, I had occasion to leave the building, in order to let on more water from the acquia. While attending to the flood-gate, I saw an old man slowly approaching the mill, with his eyes bent upon the ground. He frequently stopped to inspect the soil; then, continuing his course, he passed the mill, and crossed the rude bridge that spanned the canal. Continuing along the travesia in the district of Anjuco, he was soon lost among the thorn trees and thickets of mata-gusano. I thought no more of the old man, supposing that he had probably lost some article, and was searching for it. An hour later he returned to the mill, and said a few words to Don Guillermo and several gauchos, who were waiting for their respective turns at the hopper. In an instant the loom was vacated; the party dispersed along the road, and as they occasionally came together near the mill, I could see the old man giving some advice, upon which the gauchos again dispersed. The party returned about eight o’clock, and from the peons I learned that the old man was a trailer. He had been walking along the road, and had noticed a footprint that struck him as “deceitful.” He said that a man had passed the mill about three o’clock, and that the man was a robber. “For he was dressed,” said the trailer, “in woman’s clothes. There are places along his trail that prove he held the dress up with his hands; in others it trailed along the ground. He wore a woman’s shoe, which did not fit him; his foot was broad, the shoe long and narrow. He walked in some places, and ran through the thickets. No man dresses in woman’s garb without some bad intent.”

“He is somewhere among the ranches of Anjuco.”

Wonderful to state, news came from town the next day that several men had dressed themselves in female attire, and in that disguise had visited the stores in the Calle Ancho, or Broadway, where they had purloined many articles, which the rogues had hidden beneath their dresses. It was the trail of one of these dresses that the old rastreador had struck.

The patriot Sarmiento, a San Juanino by birth, says of the characteristics of these men, the trailers,—

“Once, as I was crossing a path that led into the Buenos Ayres road, the muleteer that conducted me cast his eyes upon the ground, as was his custom, and said a very good black mule passed here yesterday; she had an easy gait, and was saddled; she belongs to the troop of Don ——. This man was coming from the sierra of San Luis; the troop was returning from Buenos Ayres.

“A year had passed since he had seen the black mule, the track of which was confused with those of a whole troop, in a path not more than two feet wide. But this keenness of perception, so apparently incredible, is a faculty common to every gaucho; this man was a mere muleteer, and not a professional trailer.”

He also describes another trailer in La Vida de Juan, Facundo Quiroga, as follows:—

“I knew a trailer by the name of Calibar, who had practised his profession in one province during forty successive years. He is now nearly eighty years old, and though bowed with age, still retains a venerable and dignified appearance.

“When they speak to him of his fabulous reputation, he answers, ‘I am now useless; these are my children.’ It is said of him that during a trip that he made to Buenos Ayres a saddle was stolen from his house.

“His wife covered the robber’s track with a wooden bowl. Two months later Calibar returned home, and saw the almost obliterated footprint, that to other eyes was imperceptible, and nothing more was said of the occurrence. A year and a half afterwards Calibar was walking along a street in the suburbs of the town, with his head inclined towards the ground. He entered a house, and found a saddle, blackened, and almost worthless from use; he had found the trail of the robber after a lapse of two years.

“During the year 1830 a criminal had escaped from jail, and Calibar was charged to find him. The unhappy man, knowing that he would be tracked, had taken all the precautions which the fear of the scaffold could invent.

“Useless precautions! Perhaps they only served to insnare him, for Calibar felt that his reputation might be compromised, and self-pride caused him to acquit himself well.

“The runaway took every advantage of the unevenness of the ground so as to baffle his pursuer; but his efforts only proved the marvellous sight of the rastreador.

“He walked the whole length of streets on tiptoe, then climbed low walls, crossed a pasture, and returned in his own track.

“Calibar followed without losing the trail. If he momentarily missed it, it was soon recovered. At last he arrived at a canal of water in the suburbs, where the fugitive had followed the current, to foil the trailer. But in vain! Calibar followed along the shore without any uneasiness, and at last stopped to examine some grass, with the words, ‘At this place he came out; there is no track, but these drops of water in the pasture indicate it.’

“The fugitive had entered a vineyard. Calibar surveyed with his eye the walls that surrounded it, and said, ‘He is within.’ The party of soldiers that attended him sought in the vineyard without success. At length they became tired of hunting, and returned to report the uselessness of their search. ‘He has not come out,’ was the brief answer which the trailer gave, without moving himself, or proceeding to a new examination. He had not come out, indeed; another search discovered him, and on the following day he was executed.”