Mistaken Journey

New Zealand Listener, Volume 12, Issue 301, 29 March 1945, Page 23

Mistaken Journey

5 |

Roy

SHEFFIELD

An account of adventures in Central South America by an English "Innocent Abroad:" He is now on q cattle ranch in the Matto Grosso.

XIV. ALTER declared’ that the cause of the war in’ the Gran Chaco between Bolivia and Paraguay was due to the discovery of oil in the disputed territory; and that opp2sing international interests were supporting the two combatants for their own ends. In proof of his opinion he made some very surprising — and very libellous! — statements regarding the supply of rifles, ammunition and equipment, and told me of strange individuals with whom he came into contact in his bordertown home. The various incidents he related certainly sounded convincing enough, but, interesting as they were, this is not, I am afraid, the place to discuss them. Before we dozed off to sleep, the conversation turned to minerals and precious stones. Walter knew of nothing that had been discovered in those parts, although he spoke of an old Indian who lived in his home town. This native, he said, had worked in the diamond mines farther north and could be counted on to know 4 fertile chimney when he saw one. A diamend chimney is the peculiar formation of rock in which the stones are found, and the Indian had declared that he could lead a party to such a place. But he had not been definite enough in his assurances, and had variously estimated the time it would take to reach the spot from a month to a whdle ‘season. Moreover, the projected route lay through extremely difficult country where the forest presented a weill-nigh impenetrable barrier; this country, too, was inhabited by unfriendly tribes who might well put a summary end to any expedition. So, altogether, Walter said, the scheme bristled with too many difficulties for a respectable married man like himself to consider, although, he admitted, the prize was a tempting one. I fell asleep to dream of gushing chimneys which spouted oil, and covered the ground with diamonds. * * Bg OR the rest of the week our programme was similar to that of the _ previous two days. Two more herds were rounded-up, and each was corralled for a night at the camp before being driven on to fresh pasturage. On the sixth day, after the third bunch of cattle had been

moved, we returned to the fazenda to spend the week-end there, instead of remaining at the camp. It was a strenuous week, and during the latter half we experienced bad weather. At times the torrential rains blotted out the landscape and more often than not we _ discarded our paunchos — the so-called "waterproof" capes — and took the inevitable showerbath with a good grace. Our guests, the frog family, disgraced themselves, for one morning, when we were holding out our plates for a helping of cold stew, Walter said a rude word and removed one of their number from the pot. That apparently was where he had spent the night, snuggled deep down in the warm viscous mass of food. For some reason, I suddenly ceased to feel hungry, as did Walter, but the boys were not squeamish over unconsidered trifles like that; indeed, frog spice might have been an appetising savoury judging from the amount they ate! When we returned after the day’s round-up, stew was still the only course on the menu, as it was in fact all the week. Walter and I compromised by adding more water, meat, rice and beans to the pot, and by giving it a good boiling, after which we forgot about the frog. Among the horses which had been corralled for use during the week were a number of lively young bronchos which had been saddled only a few times. Under Walter’s tuition and encouragement I had so far progressed in my horsemanship as to ride these mettlesome creatures in the daily round-ups. And very exciting rides they gave us, too, for they danced about like high-spirited chorus girls. They were not a scrap afraid of cattle, either, and when any of the herd made a breakaway they did not always wait for a shake of the reins, or a pressure of the knees, but were off in instant pursuit. We returned to the fazenda for the week-end, and I took the opportunity of repairing my trousers. It "needed about two feet of adhesive plaster to do so, and the mend was rather noticeable. But that was nothing; in fact, it was father a desirable effect, since, until then, I had been the only male person in Descalvados who did not boast a patch on his trousers somewhere. * % . FTER a day at the ranch-house, we returned to the camp for, another week-to make the final efforts at clearing the cattle from the low areas. It was the last opportunity we should get that season, for the flood waters were rising apace, and in a few days the only means of transit would be by canoe. : Our journeys that week took us farther afield than previously. The first day Walter divided the outfit into two parties, and each made a wide sweep. across the campo, meeting again before sundown at a prearranged spot with.all the |

cattle they had rounded up. In this way a large atea was covered, and a number of odd bunches of cattle were driven in. It had not ‘been intended to return to the camp, and we slung our hammocks in the timber, where we spent rather an uncomfortable night. On previous occasions we had been fortunate when sleeping away from the’ camp," for the weather had always been kind; this time, however, our’ luck deserted us. The interlaced branches ' overhead | afforded some protection, but the driving rain beat through, and, in spite of the paunchos with which we covered our hammocks, we were all decidedly damp before morning. (continued on next page)

_ MISTAKEN JOURNEY (continued from previous page) The hunt went on next day, and for greater efficiency the outfit was split up into three sections. The middle one, consisting of three riders, guided the herd, while on either wing two riders skirmished through the campo, and drove inwards any cattle they picked up. I was on the left wing with Rufino, and a great game we had together. One bunch of cattle led us a rare dance, and ‘I had the privilege of seeing his superlative skill as a cowpuncher really put to the test. The cattle were a stubborn lot of beggars, and would have been a handful for half-a-dozen riders, let alone two. But Rufino twisted and doubled his

horse like a swallow; he checked a rush here, took a smack at a waverer there, and, with yells and waving arms, kept the herd moving solidly inwards. Our horses were in a lather before that bunch were pushed in, and we, of course, were soaked to the skin with flying spray. Towards mid-day we all joined forces again, and after a drink of maté José pointed the herd towards the camp, which we reached some five hours afterwards. The cattle were safely corralled and, while a calf was killed and being prepared for churrasco, Walter and I had our usual swim. Splashing about in the water, I thought I heard a dog bark, and called to Walter to listen. Again came the noise, a husky "woof," not very loud, but fairly close, and obviously not the bark of "a dog. "Git goin’, son,’ exclaimed Walter, "that thing’s got four legs an’ a tail, but he ain’t no dawg. He’s a ’gator." There are few things guaranteed to make a person feel more acutely conscious of his nakedness than the presence of an alligator in the same’ stretch of water. Both Walter and I became distressingly aware of our condition, and our dash through that swamp ‘would have earned us prizes at any gala. Ms Bx * HE incident amused the _ boys hugely, and we were a very jolly party that evening. Walter was in a reminiscent mood, and recailed many amusing experiences, most of which, I am afraid, are scarcely fit for publication. One of the more respectable stories he related concerned a sheriff in his home town in the days when a man’s state of health depended largely on: his speed with a gun. "T’ve often heard my ol’ dad tell this tale," said Walter, "but we was always ready to hear it again, ’cos he was there at the time, an’ them things don’t happen no more now. "A new sheriff’d bin appointed, a stranger from another county, an’ nobody knew nothin’ about him. They was all a-wonderin’ what he’d be like, an’ was waitin’ for him to turn up. They was waitin’ in the saloon, naturally, an’ there was a couple of card games goin’ on. All at once, there’s a howdy-do, an’ it’s pretty plain that a guy’d bin caught cheatin’. He looked to be in a fair way to git shot there an’ then, but they thought they’d have some fun first to pass the time away. So they ropes this guy to a chair with his arms stretched out, an’ in his hands they put two cards. The fellers he was playin’ with had first go, an’ they took their revolvers an’ tried to shoot the cards out of his hands. Then some others who'd played with him, they took a turn an’ all the time the guy in the chair was a-cryin’ blue murder. "In the middle of the fun, a stranger walks in, unnoticed. "‘What’s goin’ on in here?’" he asks. "That guy’s bin caught cheatin’,’ someone tells him. "‘Cheatin’, eh?’ sez the stranger. " ‘Cheatin’? I never did like fellers who cheated. Put up two more cards.’ "*You want to go a bit steady round here, stranger,’ sez one of the others, ‘there’s a new sheriff we’re a-waitin’ for, an’ maybe he won’t like to find no gunplay goin’ on when he gits here.’ "‘Maybe not,’ sez the stranger, ‘but put up them cards" — "So one of the fellers goes to stick two more cards in the guy’s hands,

"What card hev you got there?’ calls the stranger, standin’ easy-like by the counter. ‘Hold it up so’s I kin see it.’ "‘Tt’s the deuce of hearts," sez the feller, an’ holds it up for everyone to see. "Suddenly there was a shot, an’ the stranger had a smokin’ gun in his hand, while the card fell to the floor with a third mark on it between the other two. "There was dead quiet, an’ everyone was a-wonderin’ what was goin’ to happen next, when the stranger speaks up. "‘Somebody said the new sheriff might not like to find no gunplay goin’ on when he gits here, he sez. ‘Well, that’s quite right, he don’t like it, an’ what’s more, it’s goin’ to be mighty unhealthy for anyone around here who does* like it.’ "‘He’d better not catch you here, then,’ remarks somebody with a laugh, though, with his eyes on that gun, his tone was respectful-iike. "‘T don’t hev to catch myself,’ sez the stranger, ‘I am the sheriff.’ "An’ after that," conciuded Walter, "my old dad said you could leave your change on the counter for a week, an’ nobody’d touch it, they got so honest. While as for shootin’s, that shot which made the deuce of hearts into the tray was the last one ever fired in that saloon. Yes, sir! The new sheriff certainly knew his job all right, all right." It was @ dramatic story, and Walter told it well, as he did most of his tales. Those nights at the camp, with the row of hammocks slung under the thatched roof of the hut and the fire glowing outside, live in my mind as memories which I shall hte’ ig ae. sk N the morning ga cattle were saletinall from the corral, and once more we made the now familiar ride through the swamps to dry ground. Being back at the camp again with still a couple of hours of daylight left, I persuaded José to give me a lesson in throwing. a lasso. I did not prove a very apt pupil, for my rope always ‘seemed to fly through the air in a figure eight and never fell fairly across the target, In return I tried to teach José to walk on his hands, and bewildered him by juggling three stones. Both of these feats were beyond him, however, although he and the others derived much amusement from their unsuccessful attempts to accomplish them. During the second half of the week we repeated our programme of the previous three days. Again we split up into sections, spending a night out, in the campo, and returning to the camp to corral the cattle on the following afternoon. That trip I remember especially well, because for the first time I rode a swimming horse. We were following the herd down, a creek and my horse had turned to head off q silly cow which was standing still, swishing her tail, and wondering which way to run. Suddenly, I was up to my thest in the swamp and for the moment I thought my mount had fallen. Then ‘I realised that we had plunged into deep water, and, remembering Walter’s advice, I sat perfectly still while my horse, with ears back and staring eyes, swam the few yards necessary to reach shallow water again. A swimming horse can usually carry a man, but the rider needs to sit still and to maintain a correct balance; and if he feels the horse floundering to slip (continued on next page)

(continued from previous page) off and to swim alongside, holding on to the mane, or to the reins, with one hand. He can, too, grasp the tail and be pulled through the water, for a horse’s legs when swimming go up and down with no backward thrust and there is little danger of a kick. When we returnéd to the camp with the last bunch of cattle the rains had turned the big corral into a sea of mud, and together with all the’ droppings of the previous herds, it was a nastylooking, foul-smelling mess. Yet, just as we were opening the gate to drive in the cattle, a multitude of beautiful white butterflies descended on the filth like a miniature snowstorm, and covered a corner of it,with their loveliness, It came as a shock to see such virginal creatures abase themselves in that slime, and I was reminded of Shakespeare’s couplet: "For sweetest things turn sourest by their deeds; Lilies that fester smell far worse than weeds." No doubt, too, a cynic could have discovered a bitter moral in the occurrence. The following day we drove the cattle across to dry campo and although I did not know it, it was my last ride as a cowpuncher and that night was the last one I spent at the camp. In the morning the various odds and ends of our camp equipment were collected, and packing them on our saddies or across our backs, we returned to the ranch-house. * * * |t seemed strange to sleep on a bed again after the hammock, although that narrow bed, with its creaking springs and no mattress, would probably seem strange under any conditions. But Walter did not give me much chance to get used to it, for at twothirty in the morning he was in my room telling me to wake up. Mere words did not rouse me at that impossible hour, and he was misguided enough to give me a vigorous shake. That did it, for the old bed was in no shape to stand such rough treatment, and with a terrible clatter it collapsed underneath me. ' He had come to tell me that a bunch of cattle was being slaughtered, for, owing to the heat, the killings take place at night. Naturally, I was soon wide awake on hearing the news, and went out to watch the process. The slaughterhouse was an open here tee a corrugated-iron roof, there ~ a small corral at one end from which the cattle were taken. A lasso was thrown over the head of an animal, the other end of the rope being wound through a pulley-wheel and attached to the harness of two bullocks. A small boy whipped up the bullocks, the rope was drawn tight, and the animal was dragged forward on to a sliding table with its head securely held against a raised platform. On this platform stood José, the executioner; his long knife in his hand. With strong, unerring aim, he leant down and buried the blade in the back of the animal’s head, just behind the horns. One thrust only was needed, for the stroke severed the spinal column and death was instantaneous, A fixed, glazed look came into the animal’s wide eyes, and the lifeless body slumped down on to the sliding table, being drawn through to the paved stone floor inside.

The animals were killed in lots of four, and on the skinning floor a team of two men attended to each beast. The knife-work of those men was simply amazing. Their blades seemed to glide across the carcass, the hides were peeled off, and the meat fell apart as swiftly and easily as butter, Every few seconds a sharpening steel would be pulled from their belts, and, making a few swift passes across it, their right hands would be deftly wielding the knife again before their left hands had replaced the steel in their belts, The meat is immediately passed through a strong brine and afterwards well salted before being hung in the sun to dry. It is then packed in bags, weighed, and is ready for shipment down-river. The meat, as Walter ex-

plained, is termed "charqui" in Brazil, "tasajo" in the Argentine, and "jerked. beef" or "dried meat" in English. Coming from cattle of a much inferior quality than the high-class beasts of the Argentine, it is not comparable with their frozen meat. There is precious little of the beast that gets wasted, The hide is cleaned in brine, salted for over a fortnight, and rolled up for shipment; the horns are sold for making buttons, knife handles and similar goods; the tongue and heart are both specially prepared as delicacies; oil for cooking is obtained from boiling the bones, and soap is made from the fats. To crack a chestnut, the only thing they did not use was the moo! (To be continued next week)