354 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 of a 

 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 Picaso ! 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 



