74 



THE PAMPAS.' 



and guns. Courier a little old man of about fifty- 

 five years of age — had been riding all his life — had 

 a face like a withered apple — carried his pistol in 

 his hand — told me he was father to the courier who 

 had just been murdered — that he was his only son 

 — that he had just succeeded in getting him the 

 appointment — that he was nineteen — and that it was 

 his first journey as courier — that he had no pistols, 

 not even a knife — that it was barbarous to kill him 

 — that he must have died like a lamb, &c. &c. 

 This story he repeated at every post-hut, and 

 people were so fond of asking for it, and he so 

 willing to give it, that we lost many minutes at 

 each post. He would relate it to anybody — at 

 one post he told it to a great rough mongrel-look- 

 ing fellow, who was sitting on a stone while a little 

 girl was combing his woolly hair—-'' En <io5?"said 

 the little girl who had divided his hair at the back 

 of his head, and who proposed to plait it into two 

 tails — Si !*" grunted her father, half asleep, and 

 nodding his head, as he listened to the courier^s 

 story. We therefore rode all day, and only went a 

 hundred and two miles. — Next morning off before 

 sunrise, and took a postilion, and travelling by 



