SHOOTING IN CHILE. 191 



In the evening a neighbour dropped in^ and the doc- 

 tor_, who never let an opportunity pass, proposed a little 

 ga,nie of poker, in which Don Federico was induced to 

 join. " I suppose we can^t make it four-handed, North ?^' 

 said the wily villain. " Not much/' said I, my forefinger 

 wandering playfully over my nose ; " I'm going to have 

 one pipe and one grog, and then the downie." In my 

 heart of hearts I wished the doctor would keep it up all 

 night to shake his nerves, when I might beat him in the 

 field; alas ! little did I know the hardness of that head. 

 After being asleep, I should judge, some six hours, I was 

 awakened by a noise, which to my ears sounded like very 

 hard swearing. Shall I ever forget that scene ! There 

 was the doctor with a suit of cards in one hand, and 

 raising a glass of grog to his lips with the other ; on 

 the other side of the table were his two antagonists, or 

 rather one of them, with his head resting on his folded 

 arms, the other having slid off his chair on to the 

 ground ; he had drunk the pair blind drunk. '^ And to 

 think that I should hold four kings!'' he muttered, as 

 he swept up his winnings, dashed his cards on the table, 

 and rolled himself up in his plaid before the fire. 



I was up at daybreak, and, taking my gun, I visited 

 the old spot again, and knocked over eight more torto- 

 Htas. On my return to the house I found the doctor 

 taking his morning dram, and as fresh as a lark ; but 

 the condition of the other two was something fearful to 

 contemplate — they literally had heads on them like 

 " biled turnips." After discussing some more casuela, 

 we saddled up and proceeded to the serious part of our 

 business. 



" Now we will take all different directions, and meet 

 at this rock at two o'clock for lunch," said the doctor. 



