CHAPTER V

SHOWING HIS METTLE

There was a calm air of self-possession about Dudley Compton as he stood in front of the rancho building on the following morning, his native saddle at his feet and his gun across his shoulder. For he had every reason to be pleased with the way in which his fortunes were progressing. He had worked hard, till every bone in his body ached, and till his knees were chafed and raw. He had persevered until even the exacting Mr. Blunt was favorably impressed with his riding.

"Few would consider him to be a gringo now," reflected his employer, as he watched his young friend out of the tail of his eye. "He is well set up, carries his new clothes as if he had been born in them, and can get about as if spurs had grown on his heels as a natural appendage. He ought to do well. The gauchos view him with favor, except that fellow Giono. I don't like the man, and never have. There is something mysterious about him. However, there he is, and Dudley must go through the trial they have arranged for him, for trial there will be as sure as I stand here. A gringo must always be tested."

A few minutes later a dozen of the gauchos employed on the estancia came round the corner of the building, and strode up to our hero. They were a rough but a good-looking and pleasant lot of men. All were dressed in the same sort of costume as Dudley wore. They carried revolvers at their hips, and hunting knives in their belts, and some of them had a coil of rope, with the bolas attached, slung over the shoulder. As they looked at the young Englishman, all save one were bound to confess that he was a fine-looking fellow.

"He will be one of us, surely," said Pietro, their leader, beneath his breath. "He may be a gringo, but he is not soft; that I will swear. Now, Giono, you can take a better look at the señor. Does the arrangement still hold?"

Giono, who was taller than his companions, was a raw-boned, dusky individual, with deep-set eyes and a protruding lower jaw, which gave him the appearance of being vindictive. He was a surly, silent fellow, and was known by his comrades to be somewhat short-tempered. This was an evil reputation to have amongst gauchos, a class of men who were exceedingly polite to one another whenever possible, though at other times they had violent and bitter quarrels. Dudley did not know them yet, but those who worked with them could tell how these fine horsemen of the pampas, with their strain of Spanish blood, could be as tender as women to one another, and then would draw their knives and engage in conflicts which too often resulted in the death of more than one of the combatants. In short, they cultivated a native politeness for the simple reason that ungainliness and a surly manner led to trouble, and a man, however pugnacious, could not be forever fighting, or hope always to be victorious.

"Pietro is thinking tenderly of his gun," was Giono's harsh rejoinder as he scowled at Dudley. "He wishes to make excuses for this English pup. Good! I am willing to accept a fine of some sort. Give me a hunting knife, Pietro, and we will cry quits. But is it not a pity? This señor stands as if he owned the ground on which his heels rest, and lets all the world see his revolver. If he carries one, surely he can shoot, or else why have the weapon?"

"_Bueno_! You will have the match," was the answer, given very suavely, for Pietro knew the man with whom he had to deal, and he had no wish to experience his rough temper. "Good, Giono, we will speak to the señor. As to the rifle, it is yours if you can win it. I have no fears of our gringo. Señor," he said, coming up to Dudley, "Señor, we have had a little discussion amongst ourselves, and I, who think I know a man when I see him, have boasted that you can shoot. We hear that you have courage, for you have saved our master. Now we wish to see whether you can use your revolver. Giono here declares that you are a novice. He is even risking his rifle, to show that he considers himself a better judge than I am."

"To show that he is sure of his statement," growled the gaucho, striding up to the two, and towering over Dudley as if he would impress him with his superior proportions. "I said that a gringo was always a gringo; that because he could scramble on to a saddle he was not therefore a horseman, nor without fear of horses. As to the revolver, why, there are men, and boys too, to be found who carry them to gain a fine appearance. You understand? A boy feels grand when decked up in the clothes of a gaucho."

The man's words were uttered in a loud, coarse voice and there was not the slightest doubt as to his unfriendly intentions. He was a taciturn, surly fellow, governed by caprice, and apt to take sudden and strong dislikes which often were simply the outcome of childish jealousy. From his youngest days he had always made a point of falling foul of men who were obviously his betters, or who were more favored than he. Even Mr. Blunt was an eyesore to him, for was he not a wealthy man? But his dislike there was cloaked to some extent, for a gaucho must live, and an employer found the wages. Here, however, there was a difference. Why should he, Giono, the biggest and the most feared of the gauchos, knuckle down to this young Englishman, with his smooth, beardless face, who had come undoubtedly with the object of helping Mr. Blunt and becoming a second master? No, there was nothing to fear in this case, and if he could terrorize and upset the dignity of this gringo, why, all the better.

"You understand? The butt of a big revolver, and the bigger it is the better, is a fine thing to have sticking from one's pocket. Fine clothes make fine birds, they say, and so they do up to a point. That's the point we've come to. Fine togs such as you have don't help a gringo to shoot, no more than do big spurs help him to ride."

Dudley felt like replying to these boastful words, but he restrained himself, and turning to Pietro said: "It is good of you to support me, and I fear that you have been rather rash. But let me remind you that, though you have told me what you two are to give to each other, you have not yet let me know what you expect of me."

"When you hear you will be sure of his rashness," burst in Giono. "The task is this, I say that you will not hit the pith ball of a bolas placed on a fence thirty paces away. Here is a bolas, and here the pith ball."

He turned to one of his companions and dragged the coil of rope from his shoulders with rough lack of ceremony. Dudley had seen the implement before, and did not need to look. This bolas is one of the most useful possessions of the gauchos and of the Indians, for it is to them what the lasso in more northern parts is to the cowboy. But it differs somewhat in construction, for, whereas the lasso consists of a long coil of rope with a slip noose at the end, the bolas has no noose. One end has three tails of rope attached to it, and at the ends of two of these is secured a heavy stone or a piece of lead or iron. To the third is attached a lighter ball made of pith.

"See," cried Giono, "that is the mark, a mark which I could hit with my left hand, or when standing on my head. I say that you will not hit it under the most favorable circumstances."

Force of habit caused him to hang the coil over his left palm, while he gripped the pith ball with his right hand and swung the leaden balls about his head till they whizzed through the air. For this was the way in which the gauchos wielded what was an instrument of great value, and at times a dangerous weapon to their enemies. They would gallop at headlong pace across the pampas, swing the bolas, and launch it at a horse or cow they desired to capture, and with such unerring aim that the balls would fly straight for the legs of the animal, and in a moment the rope or the plaited thongs to which they were made fast would be hopelessly twined round the limbs.

"Perhaps the English señor will tell us that he is able to cast the bolas," sang out Giono, mistaking Dudley's silence for weakness, and imagining that, now that he knew the task expected of him, he was anxious to withdraw. "Perhaps he would prefer to have another wager laid on the throwing of the bolas."

There was a sneer in the man's voice, and an insolent, browbeating manner about him which made Pietro's eyes blaze, for he had taken a fancy to Dudley, while the latter had some difficulty in restraining his own warm temper.

"Thank you," he answered with composure, his common sense telling him that it was this man's aim and object to rouse him, and therefore his own to keep unusually cool. "I would rather shoot, for I confess that I have never used the bolas. I think I may be able to use this big revolver which has attracted your notice. And now the task. I have to hit the pith ball, and so have you. There will be no difficulty for you, for you tell us that you could strike it even if standing on your head. Afterwards we will try a shot at the pith ball as it flies in the air. Our friend Pietro shall take the bolas over there and cast it at the trunk of the tree nearest the well. You and I will take post twenty paces from the well, and fire as the ball passes."

It was a daring thing to suggest, and the very mention of it made the gauchos breathe deeply and mutter their astonishment. As for Giono, he looked at Dudley as if he thought he were mad. The task was a most difficult one, and, moreover, required a great deal of practice, and this he had not had. Again, a man ought to be in the pink of health and wonderfully steady to have even a chance of success; and in his case a visit to the river port and a few days idleness had not helped to smooth his nerves. He was a gambler, and the saloons had seen not a little of this surly gaucho. However, the challenge was issued by a gringo, and if he, Giono, failed, so surely would this English boy. He could afford to be amused. He roared with laughter, and tossed his hat into the air, while his eyes closely inspected Dudley's gun.

"Now," interrupted Dudley, "let us carry out the tests. As Pietro is interested in this matter, I suggest that one of his friends acts as umpire for him, while one may care to do the same for me. That fence round the corral ought to suit very well for our mark."

He had been carefully watching the faces of the men up till now, but once the arrangements were made he turned from Giono, looked at the corral, and, noticing the height of the rails, decided that it would do. Then he led the way in that direction, and in a few minutes the whole party were in position, one of the gauchos having detached a pith ball meanwhile and placed it on the rail, while a comrade carefully paced the distance from it. It was time for the contest to begin, and Dudley nodded to his opponent very coolly.

A few minutes before he had been feeling somewhat ruffled and annoyed by the obvious hostility of Giono; but now he had regained his composure and felt steadied. More than that, he was confident, for he knew what the gauchos were ignorant of. He had had abundant practice with a revolver on the voyage out, and had won unstinted praise from Mr. Blunt; for the lad had a quick eye and a happy knack with his hand. He was not quick at drawing his weapon; that was a thing requiring practice, and he had had but very little since he had donned his leggings and had worn the revolver in his hip pocket. But he could hit a small object with unerring accuracy, and he believed that he could strike the ball of the bolas as it flew in the air. At any rate he had done so more than once in the past week when away on the pampas.

"Perhaps you would care for the first shot," he said politely. "Just to encourage a gringo."

"I will shoot first for that reason," came the answer. "You shall shoot at the flying target before I make the attempt, and--and----"

"Yes, I am listening."

"Perhaps the señor would care to have it that three shots are allowed in each case. It will give him a better chance. I am satisfied."

The man's attitude was mending. He had even addressed Dudley as señor. He was not so confident as before. He was weakening, and a grin passed amongst the gauchos.

"If one shot suits you, it suits me also. If you desire three, let there be three."

Dudley gave the gaucho no opening, and with a growl of disgust, and a laugh which did not deceive the lookers-on, Giono decided that three shots should be allowed at the flying target.

"Well and good. Then shoot," exclaimed Pietro, his eyes flashing, with excitement.

"Come, Giono, there is the mark, and you shoot first," said the man who had measured the distance. "Here is the line. Take your post."

They watched eagerly and almost breathlessly as the gaucho toed the line scratched in the earth with the rowel of a spur. For there was something out of the ordinary in this contest. Gringos had been tried before many a time, and failed almost without exception. But there was something different here, something which the gauchos could not fathom. They knew little or nothing of this gringo, but his self-assurance impressed them. It had already made Giono feel a little uncertain, though he tried to think that there was no danger.

"Bah," he said, as he went to the line, "it is another of these cocksure pups from Europe, only this one has a bigger head than the rest! There is more swelling in it. The friendship of our employer has puffed him out. We shall see."

He drew his revolver, lifted it, and fired, smashing the pith ball into a number of pieces.

"Good! I could do that when a child," he boasted. "Shall I fire the other shot for the señor?"

"Thanks, no! If you will kindly stand fast where you are I will shoot from here. It is a little farther, and perhaps more difficult."

Another mark had been hastily placed in position, and, seeing that all was clear, Dudley, who happened to be some ten paces behind and to the left of Giono, drew his weapon, and in a flash the ball was splintered, a feat which brought a shout of delight from the gauchos, while Giono paled under his dusky mud-colored skin, and swore beneath his breath.

"One to us, señor!" sang out Pietro. "The gun which Giono promised is mine, or yours, if you wish to have it. Now for the other part. Give me a bolas, and I will take up my station. Better still, let me have six of the coils, then I can cast them without waiting. Let all the rest stand behind the firers. Come, comrades, time is getting along."

He took six of the bolas and went off with a swagger which he had not possessed five minutes before. And a gallant fellow he looked as he strode away, for an open kindly face was not Pietro's only possession. He was some forty years of age, short and lithe, but for all that powerfully built. It was said of him that where all were experts with the bolas, and where all could ride from infancy and as if part of the horse, this Pietro could excel them all. He knew the life of the pampas, and he knew his fellow men. This foreman of the hands employed on the rancho was a good friend to Mr. Blunt, the partisan of the weaklings, and a man who loved fair play. He went to his station with the thongs of the bolas trailing out behind him, and with the fringes of his leggings fluttering in the breeze. Dudley and the others sauntered over towards the well, the men looking askance at Giono, while Dudley kept a cautious eye upon him.

"An ugly-looking beggar," he said to himself, "and boasts too much to like being beaten. I'll wager he's considering whether he shall not shoot me instead of the ball. Very well, my fine gentleman, I'll take rather more than good care to keep you in full view and well in front. Fellows have been shot in the back before now, and accidents will happen."

He watched the man as he fingered his revolver, and slipped his own into his pocket; but he was careful to keep the group of gauchos between him and Giono.

"He is angry," one of them whispered cautiously. "Giono is never beaten, or rather no man ever lives who defeats him. Better to let him win, señor. He is a bad enemy. He has killed many men."

"But he won't hurt me if I can help it," answered Dudley doggedly. "We'll see about this killing. But thanks, my friend, for your warning."

By now Pietro was in position, and could be seen with the bundle of bolas at his feet and one swishing in the air over his head. He was an expert thrower, and knew that he could cast the long plaited thong with such skill as to make certain of striking the tree beside the well. The leaden balls swinging in the air would fly direct, while the lighter one would drag behind. To attempt to strike it with a single bullet seemed madness, and yet it was not an impossible feat to a man with a quick eye and ready hand and one who knew his weapon. The man who had knack and steadiness might succeed, for the cast was a long one, and by the time the bolas reached a point opposite the group it would have lost a considerable amount of its momentum. Then it would pass by a little more than twenty feet away, making a correct aim less difficult than at first seemed possible. Still, when all was said in favor of the task, it was difficult enough, and raised doubts in the minds of both competitors. However, a faint heart would serve but badly, and Dudley entered upon this part of the contest with the same coolness and calm self-possession which had already roused the ire and jealousy of his opponent.

"My turn first, I think," he said easily. "Giono, will you have Pietro cast as a trial, so that we may judge this distance, or will you have me shoot at the first cast?"

"The latter. I had no trial before, let us have the same treatment now. Hit the mark if you can, I will stand here and give you three shots. When you have failed, I will show you how the thing is done."

Dudley nodded his thanks. "Now, Pietro," he shouted, "cast!"

He stood watching the gaucho closely as he swung the bolas over his head, and slowly drawing his revolver, put it at full cock. It was the weapon which the passengers aboard the ship on the outward voyage had presented to him, and for the moment he nursed the barrel on his left forearm. It was a handy little weapon, throwing a moderately heavy bullet and using a very moderate charge, so that the "kick" was not very pronounced. Thanks to the amount of practice which he had had, Dudley had learnt to counteract what jar there was, and there was not the slightest doubt that he had become a first-rate shot.

"Ready, señor?" shouted Pietro.

Dudley nodded as he watched the bolas. The leaden balls made a dark and continuous circle about the head of the gaucho, while the hum even could be heard. Then of a sudden the circle disappeared, and the leaden balls, with their long serpent of hide, came shooting out towards the well. The sun, standing moderately high in the heavens behind, shone on the white pith ball, making it a splendid mark. In two seconds it had covered half the distance between the thrower and the tree, but still Dudley nursed the barrel of his weapon, while the gauchos kept their eyes fixed on the pith ball. Another second and the pith flew opposite Dudley, its pace already retarded. Giono, who watched him like a cat, saw the young Englishman lift his weapon like a flash, and, without pausing to look along the sights, pull the trigger firmly. He gave a howl of delight, a howl which set the echoes ringing and brought Mr. Blunt to the door of the house. For it seemed that the shot had missed. They heard its scream as it buzzed through the air, and they still saw the pith ball. But all but Giono had noted a curious fact. A chip of white had started from the ball, and for an instant only the course of the ball had been deflected; then it flew on as before for some few yards, when it burst asunder and dropped in small pieces to the ground, leaving its own particular thong to go on without it.

It was Dudley's turn to shout, his and those who supported him, and it might be truly said that all the gauchos present, save Giono alone, were in his favor. He swept his hat from his head, pocketed his weapon, and turned to his opponent, while the air rang with the shouts of the gauchos.

"Your shot, señor," he said. "Three are allowed. I have made mine, and have struck the object. Attempt the same yourself."

He was beaten. Giono knew well that the young Englishman had the better of the argument, and at the thought his sallow face went red with anger. He strode to the front, shouted to Pietro to make ready, and swept his weapon from his pocket, where he had placed it while Dudley fired. Then some idea seemed to strike him. He turned upon the group with a snarl, a snarl which quieted their shouts, and strode back towards Dudley with a lowering look on his face.

"You say one shot is enough for you," he growled. "It would be, if you were honest. But we all know that Pietro is your firm friend. What is easier than for him to have broken the ball? He crushed it with his hand, and it was that which caused the pith to break asunder. It is an arrangement between you. You are attempting to rob me!"

The man was impossible. He was one of those pugnacious individuals who must always quarrel. In addition, unknown to Dudley, he was one of the browbeating kind, accustomed to have his own way whatever happened. He was defeated hopelessly, he told himself, and there was only one course to pursue. He must accuse his opponent of cheating and turn his weapon on him, a common enough occurrence in those wild and lawless parts.

"Yes, it was arranged," he shouted. "You and Pietro agreed to cheat."

The man's finger played with his trigger, he scowled round at the gauchos, hesitated a moment, and then deliberately lifted his weapon; but he never got it to Dudley's head.

"You will please to lower your arm," suddenly commanded a stern voice, and, swinging round, Dudley found Mr. Blunt some five paces away, his revolver covering the gaucho. "Drop it, man; drop it instantly, if you don't desire to have a hole through your head. Good! You are a scoundrel, and I have known it for some time. Why I have allowed you to stay I cannot imagine. You are a ruffian, I repeat, and if I shot you down all would thank me. Go, take your horse and ride. If you are found within the bounds of the rancho when the sun sets I will hang you without hesitation. And listen! Let this little affair teach you a lesson. A lad is sometimes smarter than a ruffian."