3254 The Naturalist in La Plata. 
earth. The stricken beast rolled violently over, 
while my horse stood still as a stone watching him. 
Strange to say, I was not unseated, but, turning 
round, galloped back, greeted by a shout of applause 
from the spectators—the only sound of that 
description I have ever had the privilege of listen- 
ing to. They little knew that my horse had 
accomplished the perilous feat without his rider’s 
guidance. No doubt he had been accustomed to 
do such things, and, perhaps, for the moment, had 
forgotten that he had passed into the hands ofa 
new owner—one of tender years. He never volun- 
tarily attempted an adventure of that kind again; he 
knew, I suppose, that he no longer carried on his 
back a reckless dare-devil, who valued not life. 
Poor Picdso! he was mine till he died. I have had 
scores of horses since, but never one I loved so 
well. 
With the gauchos the union between man and 
horse is not of so intimate a nature as with the 
Indians of the pampas. Horses are too cheap, 
where a man without shoes to his feet may possess 
a herd of them, for the closest kind of friendship 
to ripen. The Indian has also less individuality of 
character. The immutable nature of the conditions 
he is placed in, and his savage life, which is a 
perpetual chase, bring him nearer to the level of 
the beast he rides. And probably the acquired 
sagacity of the horse in the long co-partnership of 
centuries has become hereditary, and of the nature 
of an instinct. The Indian horse is more docile, 
he understands his master better; the slightest 
touch of the hand on his neck, which seems to have 
