Evening star., 1925-08-09

fore legs were loosened. He was made
to rise and the domador thorse-
breaker) came forward with the sad
die. Then much adjustment and taut-
ening of the powerful girths with a
reason, as we saw later.
Lastly, the domador sat down and
put on his mighty spurs, with their
cruel four-inch rowels, so big no man
could walk in them. He came up to
the colt, who stood with startled eyes
sweating and shivering in every limb.
placed hand on name and jumped
into the saddle.
For a moment the dumfounded
horse stood motionless. Down with a
thwack comes the rawhide rebenque.
''Ay. ah, Ay. ahr' cry the cowboys
The fight begins. Buck! 1t is hard
to believe any animal can twist itself
into such shapes-a sort of twisting
corkscrew motion. quick darts to one
side or the other, and in midair a
most disconcerting sideways kick.
The poems watch critically.
'Ay. ah! Ay, ahr' cries the donna
dor, roweling the satin f1anks
Thwack, thwack, falls the remorseless
rebenque.
There is something magnificent in
the rage of the animal tasting for the
first time the mastery of man. Sud
denly the bucking stops, and with
neck stretched the colt races over the
plain. Two other horsemen gallop
out and ride on each side of the mad
dened animal. But the fight is over.
The colt will gallop until he tires and
comes of his own accord to a rather
pathetic standstill.
Such is horse-breaking as 1t is still
practiced by old Gaucho stock in the
Argentine. Brutal. perhaps, to our
alien ideas, but undoubtedly effective.
THERE are brave men, too, as well
as brave horses in those parts. It
is point of honor with every cowboy
to be able to ride a potro. If thrown,
it is not enough that he get into the
saddle again. He must ride a fresh
potro as we'll as the one that threw
him to prove it was the fault of his
saddle that he lost his seat.
A cowboy looking for work. If he
passes during a horse breaking will
often ask to be allowed to ride potro
His request is generally granted, and
sometimes IL he Is a good horsernan he
will catch the eye of the estanciero
and get himself a job.
In Argentina stock raising is carried
on on a grand scale. 1t is something
to have seen a rodeo of some of the
finest herds in this land of lavish
pastures, where every beast gets from
four to seven acres to himself, or as
much more as he requires.
Though moon and stars are still
above, the first flicker of the sun s
light shows over the horizon as the
managers young chestnut throws a
buck or two.
Pedro. the old Gaucho horse-tamer.
and few cowboys lingering around a
campfire over their early mate, watch
critically. They judge a white man
much by his seat on a horse in those
parts. On. over three miles of rolling
camp. Now low at first, but growing
louder, a sound reaches our ears-like
distant thunder or an artillery barrage
heard a great way off. 1t is the call
of the cattle. The rodeo has begun
From all parts of the great estate
cattle are being driven to their allotted
points. To the right. to the left, ahead
silhouetted against the crimson sky
the slow-moving herds troop solemn
ly. Now and again so or 100 horses
fash by with tails and names flying in
the breeze. A colt breaks back, but is
Immediately headed by watchful
peon, galloping at breakneck speed
over the broken plain.
1t is a grand sight to watch the
slow approach of this vast array of
beasts. controlled by 10 men at most
on their fast, wiry horses. Lank dogs
of greyhound breed assist, now and
again finding diversion by coursing
hare. The cry of the poems, impossi-
BILE to reproduce in print, but not un-
like the shrill song of bird, echoes
around the hill.