188 RAMBLES AFTEE SPORT. 



A sportsman at home might be slightly fastidious about 

 eating it afterwards ; but, bless your heart ! when you 

 have travelled about a bit, alligator pie is really a 

 luxury. 



The above conversation was held in the doctor's dis- 

 pensary, and it means that a Chileno farmer, named Don 

 Yicente, had told me there were any amount of golden 

 plover [jpacliarones) and curlew {bandurrias) at his farm 

 after the first rains, and had invited the doctor and my- 

 self to go and shoot them. 



Next morning the doctor appeared, and, saddling up, 

 we started off. To English eyes we should have appeared 

 a queer lot I dare say. The doctor, with his portly 

 form enveloped in a large Scotch plaid, leather gaiters, 

 and ample bonnet, and with his old double, that might 

 have belonged to a remote ancestor, slung behind his 

 back, might have passed for a '^chield^' on a cattle- 

 lifting expedition, had it not been for the perfectly awful 

 quadruped he bestrode. I wish I could describe that 

 beastie, but all description would fail to give an idea 

 of him; suffice it to say he was some sort of four-footed 

 creature with a mane and tail. But — and all is in the 

 hut — like a singed cat he was better than he looked, 

 as the sequel showed. Don Federico was got up in 

 boots that reached to his thigh, and spurs with five-inch 

 rowels ; he mounted a flaming red-striped poncho, 

 and a Panama hat with an enormous brim, while his 

 montura or saddle was composed of somewhere about 

 fifteen sheepskins, one on top of the other ; he rode a 

 mettlesome little Chile horse, and every now and then he 

 would show off his paces by rushing madly forward and 

 stopping in an instant, or wheeling hither and thither 

 with the ease and grace of a hawk. As for myself — well. 



