As a very
small boy I was not allowed to use a gun, but as I had been taught to
throw the _bolas_ by the little native boys I sometimes associated
with, I thought I might be able to procure a few of the birds with it.
The _bolas_, used for such an object, is a string a couple of yards
long, made from fine threads cut from a colt's hide, twisted or
braided, and a leaden ball at each end, one being the size of a hen's
egg, the other less than half the size. The small ball is held in the
hand, the other swung round three or four times and the _bolas_ then
launched at the animal or bird one wishes to capture.
I spent many hours on several consecutive days following the flocks
about on my pony, hurling the _bolas_ at them without bringing down
more than one bird. My proceedings were no doubt watched with
amusement by the people of the estancia house, who were often sitting
out of doors at the everlasting mate-drinking; and perhaps Don
Anastacio did not like it, as he was, I imagine, something of a St.
Francis with regard to the lower animals. He certainly loved his
abominable pigs. At all events on the last day of my vain efforts to
procure golden plover, a big, bearded gaucho, with hat stuck on the
back of his head, rode forth from the house on a large horse, and was
passing at a distance of about fifty yards when he all at once
stopped, and turning came at a gallop to within a few feet of me and
shouted in a loud voice: "Why do you come here, English boy,
frightening and chasing away God's little birds? Don't you know that
they do no harm to any one, and it is wrong to hurt them?" And with
that he galloped off.
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