DUDLEY ESCAPES WITH HIS PRISONER

Roughriders of the Pampas

A Tale of Ranch Life in South America

By

Captain F. S. Brereton

Author of "How Canada Was Won," "With Wolseley to Kumasi,"
"Jones of the 64th," "With Roberts to Candahar,"
"Roger the Bold," etc., etc.

Illustrated by
Stanley L. Wood

H. M. Caldwell Co., Publishers
New York and Boston

Copyright, 1908
BY H. M. CALDWELL Co.

Published simultaneously in the United States, Great Britain,
Canada, and British Possessions

Electrotyped and Printed at
THE COLONIAL PRESS:
C. H. Simonds & Co., Boston, U.S.A.

Contents

CHAPTER

I. [Outward Bound]
II. [A Confidential Friend]
III. [The Home on the Pampas]
IV. [An English Gringo]
V. [Showing his Mettle]
VI. [Our on the Rancho]
VII. [An Indian Invasion]
VIII. [Dudley Leads the Gauchos]
IX. [Fighting the Enemy]
X. [An Important Discussion]
XI. [White Brigands]
XII. [An Unexpected Meeting]
XIII. [In a Tight Corner]
XIV. [Back to the Rancho]
XV. [Dudley Makes a Discovery]
XVI. [Hemmed in on Every Side]
XVII. [Fighting in the Forest]
XVIII. [A Dash for the Pampas]
XIX. [Antonio Sarvisti is Surprised]
XX. [Brought to Book]

List of Illustrations

[Dudley Escapes with his Prisoner] (See [page 342]) Frontispiece

["Its hoofs fouled the top, and in a second horse and man went headlong"]

["All the while the gaucho clung like a leech to it"]

["Dudley's revolver snapped sharply"]

["Dudley looked incredulously at the stranger, and then uttered a cry of astonishment"]

["He stood to his full height on the saddle, one hand over his eyes to shade them from the light"]

Roughriders of the Pampas

CHAPTER I
OUTWARD BOUND

"One moment please, steward!"

"Yes, sir."

"Bring a little soup and a piece of bread at once, please."

"Soup, sir. Yes, sir."

The steward bustled off, and returned within a minute with a steaming bowl of pea soup.

"Thank you," said the tall passenger who had called for it, nodding pleasantly, and with a knowing wink. "Not for me, steward. For this young gentleman here. Now, sir, tackle that. You will feel a man again. There, don't think me interfering and presumptuous. We are fellow passengers, and you are in want of a little help and advice. Come, set to work at it and you will feel yourself again. You've been feeling very ill. Everyone does that at first, and we have had a dusting in the bay. But that soup, believe me, will do a world of good to you."

The tall stranger leaned on the edge of the saloon table and spoke kindly to the pale-faced youth sitting exactly opposite him. He had noticed Dudley Compton on the day of sailing, for there was something striking about the young fellow. Then he had lost sight of him for three days, for outside the mouth of the Mersey the brig had run into a nasty sea, and had held on right into the Bay of Biscay, lashed all the way by a stiff gale, which had caused her to flounder and roll, and had kept her decks incessantly washed by the spray and the rollers which broke aboard. Of the twenty or more passengers aboard but two had put in an appearance at meals in the saloon, and for them, hardy travellers though they were, eating had been a matter of difficulty, for the table was decked with fiddles, and every scrap of crockery and glassware was secured. To eat soup one had to cling to the basin with one hand and to the spoon with the other, while one balanced oneself in his seat as skilfully as the elements allowed.

Dudley had been utterly miserable. He had not been five miles to sea before, and he had succumbed to nausea within two hours. For three days he had lain in his bunk, tossed this way and that, utterly prostrate, and careless of the many bruises he received, for he was thrown out of his berth on several occasions. Now his natural courage had forced him to get up, for he was not the lad to lie and sulk at any time, and not the one to be easily beaten.

"I feel horribly ill and giddy," he said to himself that morning, "and I really shouldn't mind much if I heard we were sinking or had run on a rock. But a fellow can't stand more of this kind of thing. They'll think I'm shamming. I'll make an effort to get up."

He crawled from his bunk and struggled into his clothing, a process accomplished by dint of clinging to the bunk, and very often interrupted by a pitch and a roll which sent him into the corner of the narrow box which went by the name of cabin. He clambered to the deck and was promptly requested to retire by a bandy-legged seaman, clad in shining oilskins.

"Can't come out here, sir," he said politely, helping the passenger into the saloon entrance. "There's still seas a-sweepin' her decks, and yer don't want ter go overboard, now do yer?"

"I don't know. I hardly care what happens," answered Dudley desperately. "I shall be ill again if I go down to the saloon."

"Ill! You've been that this three days. Pull yerself together, sir. Never say die! Why, Nelson hisself was always that sick the first two or three days at sea that he wasn't fit to fight his own shadder, much less the Frenchies. But he pulled hisself up. He wasn't the lad to go under without a struggle. Jest you slip down to the saloon and call for food. It'll set yer up, sir."

The kindly sailor assisted Dudley to the door of the saloon, and left him there with an encouraging nod. Dudley struggled across the narrow saloon, a cosy enough place as accommodation went in those days, but a wretched enough saloon when compared with those provided on modern-day leviathans. A roll of the ship sent him with a lurch against the table; he grabbed at the fiddles, almost tore them from their place, and was flung into a seat immediately opposite the only other occupant of the saloon. He was giddy. The hot atmosphere choked him after the breath of pure air which he had inhaled on deck. He felt faint, wondered whether he should struggle back to his cabin and give himself up to despair, and then the voice of the passenger broke on his ears.

"Now tackle the soup, and you'll see," he heard. "There's a spoon. Hold on to the bowl, wedge yourself into the seat, and enjoy your meal. Bravo! I see that you will be the very first of our invalids to get over this little trouble. Steward!"

"Sir?"

"A cup of coffee, black and strong, and a few biscuits, for this gentleman."

Dudley felt better already. The very fact of having someone to talk to was a relief, and it took his attention from himself for the moment. He found that the soup tasted as no other soup had done before. Wonderful to relate, he suddenly discovered that he had an appetite, and recollected that he had starved for three whole days, a sacrifice in which he had never before indulged.

"Like it?" asked the stranger shortly.

"The best I've ever tasted," answered our young hero, a thin smile wreathing his lips. "I'm hungry."

"And so you ought to be. Steward, just bring along a plate of beef, and see that there is nothing but lean. This young gentleman is hungry."

There was a broad smile on Dudley's face now, for the hot soup had warmed him right through, and seemed as if by magic to have driven his giddiness and nausea away, such is the rallying power of youth. He took a closer look at the passenger sitting opposite, and found something attractive in his face. He sat high in his chair, and had every appearance of being tall. He was remarkably thin and wiry, as if he were trained to the very last ounce, for no one could suggest that illness had anything to do with his condition. His powerful bronzed face, with its fair, flowing moustache, its prominent nose and cheek bones and piercing, kindly eyes, discouraged that idea, while there was no sign of frailty about the broad shoulders, the deep chest, and the powerful, sun-tanned fingers which were clasped upon the table. This was a man who was engaged in an active, strenuous life, and, inexperienced though Dudley was, something told him intuitively that his new friend had gone through many an ordeal, had faced death, and had battled often for existence.

"Wondering who I am, eh?"

The question was asked abruptly and not unkindly, for there was the suspicion of a smile on the stranger's face. Dudley blushed, and stammered.

"Yes, sir," he admitted, "I was. You see——"

"There's something different about me from the men you have been in the habit of coming across."

There was undoubtedly. Why, even the clothes which this stranger wore were strange to Dudley. They were of a smooth, dark cloth, probably of foreign manufacture, while the cut was decidedly different from that in vogue in England. There was a soft, white shirt beneath the coat, a soft collar attached, and a brilliant-coloured tie of very ample dimensions issued from beneath the collar and fell in soft folds over his shirt and the lapels of his coat. Added to all this, a wide-brimmed felt hat, with an ostrich plume thrust into the band, lay on the seat beside him, the sort of article which one would hardly have expected to have come across at sea, and certainly not in England in those prim days.

"Well? Am I right? Speak out, lad, and don't fear to offend me. My name's Blunt. Harvey Blunt, at your service. Blunt by name and blunt also by nature, I fear."

Dudley smiled, for the stranger beamed on him as he spoke, his kindly face and eyes belying his words. He might be blunt in speech, and perhaps for all Dudley knew had cultivated the habit for some special reason. He might be a man who commanded many workers, and short, sharp orders were appreciated and quickly obeyed. But he was certainly not offensively blunt, and there was a kind heart under his jacket. Dudley reckoned all that out swiftly, while he noticed that Mr. Blunt spoke English perfectly, but sometimes with the faintest foreign accent, while later, as they conversed, he heard many strange exclamations issue from his lips, and he was at a loss to understand what they meant or in what language they were uttered.

"A lad who thinks and notices," Mr. Blunt was saying to himself, as he watched the young passenger opposite. "I like his looks. He is a fine sample of the English boy, well set up, manly, with a lot of character and determination about him, and yet with manners. Ah, I like a lad who is always polite! Well, sir?"

Dudley laughed outright now. He had finished his soup, and was now discussing a big plate of beef, while a steaming cup of coffee was wedged into the corner of the fiddle just at his elbow.

"I must admit that you are a little different, sir," he said. "To begin with, your clothes are not like those we wear, and then, well, you look to me as if you had always lived in the open, and had slept there, too. You look, what we call at school, 'as hard as nails, and awfully fit.'"

"English or not?" was the next question, flashed at him without a second's intermission.

"Yes, undoubtedly, but accustomed to use another language."

"Right! Right, all the way through! A lad who thinks, who uses his headpiece! Good!"

The stranger brought a big bony fist down on to the edge of the fiddle with such force that had Dudley attempted to do the same he would have suffered considerable pain. But Mr. Blunt did not seem to notice any. He smiled at Dudley while he repeated the words. As for the young fellow opposite him, he went red to the roots of his hair, while his thoughts flew away back to the school which he had so recently quitted. Had anyone there given him credit for keen perception, or even taken the trouble to imagine that Dudley Compton ever had a serious thought?

"He is hopeless where work or thought is concerned," the headmaster had said to Dudley's guardian, only a year before. "You will do nothing with him in an office. Send him abroad. He is a jolly lad, good-tempered, steady, and with plenty of pluck, but little head."

And here was a stranger praising Dudley for the very thing which his late master had never imagined him to possess. Straightway he resolved to cultivate a habit which evidently gave pleasure to this tall gentleman.

"Going out to join your parents?" was the next question, fired at Dudley as he devoured his meal. "Where do you disembark? Don't answer if you wish to keep such matters to yourself. I'm not inquisitive, but we seem to have struck up a pleasant acquaintance, and, after all, there are few enough English over in South America, and it's always nice to meet one and exchange views. I'm getting off at Montevideo, where I transship, and make up the River Paraná. Ever been out before?"

"Never. And I am not going to join my parents, sir, for they are dead. I'm an orphan, and have been so for the past ten years."

"Dear, dear! You're about seventeen, I take it. Eh?"

"I shall be in a month, sir."

"Then you have nothing to complain of with regard to English feeding. You are five feet nine, I should reckon."

"And a half," exclaimed Dudley, his nausea and sickness now entirely forgotten, while the blush of robust health was fast returning to his cheeks. "Five feet nine and a half inches, in my socks, sir."

"And your name?"

"Dudley Compton, sir. I'm going out to Montevideo, where I have to make enquiries for a Mr. Bradshaw. He was a great friend of my guardian, and wrote a year ago to say that I was to come out to his ranch and he would give me work. Later I shall buy a farm for myself."

"Humph! You will do well to serve an apprenticeship first, and get to know the country. Besides, until the Indians are settled, and civil war has come to an end, it is not over safe to be in the neighborhood of Montevideo, much less to expend good money on a farm. So you are going out to join a Mr. Bradshaw, Mr. James Bradshaw, a short, wiry gentleman, who came out twenty years ago?"

"That is the description," agreed Dudley, "but I have never seen him. It is a year since he wrote to my guardian."

"Humph! Then there is disappointment for the boy," Mr. Blunt exclaimed beneath his breath. "I will not tell him now. I'll wait till he has got his sea legs and has overcome his homesickness. Anyone could see with half an eye that the lad was feeling lonely and forsaken. Come, we will make for a little nook I know of," he said aloud, seeing that Dudley had finished his meal. "It is just outside the saloon entrance, and the captain has rigged an awning so as to keep off the worst of the spray. Get a good overcoat on and join me here."

Dudley felt a different creature as he rose from his seat, and staggered out of the saloon, clinging to the edge of the table, to the back of the fixed seats, and to the walls as he made his way towards his cabin. And what a different aspect it presented now. Before, it seemed but a dismal hole, black and forbidding. Now, the white paint, and the fact that he looked at it with an eye which was no longer jaundiced, gave it a home-like appearance. He wedged his body into a corner, reached for the rough topcoat which he had purchased before sailing, and, cramming a hat on to his head, he returned to the saloon. Mr. Blunt was already there, his sombrero pulled down over his eyes and secured by a cord beneath his chin, while a cloak of ample proportions and of foreign appearance covered his shoulders and fell to his knees.

"The class of thing you will wear soon," he said, noticing Dudley look at it. "This is a poncho, and many a time have I been grateful for its services. It is the cloak generally used in South America. Now, up we go. Hang on to the rail, and follow me across the deck."

He ran up the companion, stopped for a few moments at the exit from the saloon to the deck, and then darted out, a gust of wind sweeping under the wide flap of his sombrero as he did so and turning it back over the top. Dudley followed swiftly, and in a few seconds he was ensconced with his new friend under a canvas awning rigged between the mizzen mast and the end of the companion. It was but a flimsy shelter, it is true, but it kept the clouds of spray from drenching them, while it was seldom that a wave of any proportions broke over the rail. Dudley sat well back on a roll of rope and watched the sea breaking about the vessel, thoroughly enjoying this magnificent sight, and forgetful of the fact that barely two hours ago all his misery and discomfort, not to say desperation, was due to the waves which he was now watching. It seemed wonderful to him that any ship could live in such a sea, and he was more than half surprised to note how placid and obviously content the two men at the wheel were.

"Settling down to a nice blow, with the wind right aft, and therefore carrying us fast to the end of our journey," sang out Mr. Blunt, for the ordinary tones of the voice were swallowed in the roar of the wind, in the rattle and scream of the rigging. "We are running out of the Bay, and shall be setting our course for Lisbon before the night falls. Then we touch at Cape St. Vincent, and at once set our bows west and south, making for Rio de Janeiro. A week from there will take us to Montevideo, and then the old life again!"

Between the gusts of wind he told Dudley how he had gone to South America, to the province of Entre Rios, many years before, and how he had acquired an estancia. Then he charmed him with a description of his life, mounted on the finest horse at the first streak of day, rounding up cattle which were more than half wild, or galloping over the wide plains in the effort to secure some of the numerous herds of fine horses which roamed the country, utterly wild and untamed. There were Indians, too, and outlaws to be contended with, and a thousand other dangers which made a man a man, and brought out all that was fine in him.

Dudley listened with wide-open ears, enraptured with the tale, and glowing at the thought that this was to be his life once he arrived at Mr. Bradshaw's farm, never dreaming that the kindly friend beside him had sad news to convey. For Mr. Blunt was aware that this same Mr. Bradshaw had been killed six months before in an Indian raid, and that Dudley could therefore no longer count upon his help. Then Mr. Blunt demanded more news of himself, and Dudley told that he had been left an orphan when very young, that a guardian had taken care of him till he was nine, and had then sent him to a school at Blackheath.

"He was a bachelor, and always very kind," he said; "but he was such a very busy man that he had very little time to devote to me, and, in fact, we were almost strangers. I seldom saw him in term time, while during the holidays we saw little of each other, as he did not return from London till late every evening, and left early on the following day. I think he had an idea that I should go into his office, but——"

"You hardly looked on that with favor," interposed Mr. Blunt with a knowing smile. "An office stool was not as attractive, perhaps, as the life which Mr. Bradshaw lived?"

"Hardly, sir. I had heard my guardian often speak of him, and of the life which he lived, and I own I longed to try it. But then, too, the headmaster seemed to think that I should be useless at a desk. He said as much openly."

"Which only proves him to be somewhat lacking in perception," was the short answer. "A youth with average intelligence never knows what he can do till he tries, so why discourage him beforehand? However, here you are, and I am sure you will like the life out in Entre Rios. It is rough, full of difficulty and danger, but one is a man there, as free as the air, and engaged in work far more natural to human beings than is that of the clerk, cooped in a stuffy office and poring over figures. Can you ride, lad?"

Dudley owned that he could, just a little. "I have often mounted a horse on the heath, and have even galloped and stuck on over a few jumps."

"And fallen off on other occasions. Then here's a word of advice. If you are asked if you can ride, don't be anxious to admit to any proficiency. You will be a 'gringo' out there, a foreigner, newly arrived, what is sometimes called a greenhorn, and the gauchos are fond of making fun. Can you shoot? Never fired a gun or a revolver! Time you commenced to learn, then. We'll have a little practice as soon as the sea calms down. You'll want to know the business end of a gun before you reach South America, for ruffians abound there. You see that block in the rigging? Well, before you consider you can shoot you must be able to hit it a score of times running, turning on it swiftly, and firing without a pause. It can be done. I could do it now, even with all this movement. It is simply custom, a knack of hand and eye, a useful knack which has saved my life on more than one occasion. Do you smoke, lad?"

The questions were fired at Dudley with surprising shortness, which almost made him gasp.

"Sometimes," he admitted guiltily. "Not very often."

"Good again. The fellow who commences to smoke too soon upsets his digestion, and therefore his development. A cigar is a fine thing, and helps a man when he's troubled. The weed soothes, somehow. You'll start some day and admit the same."

The very mention of a smoke caused Mr. Blunt to feel in the pocket beneath his poncho, and to extract a long cigar and a match of brilliant hue. Dudley watched him as he dexterously struck the match and kept it alight in spite of the wind, while his nostrils detected the rank fumes which came from the match. His new friend drew at the weed, and every line of his fine open face denoted enjoyment. Then the eyes, which had for a second or more looked somewhat dreamy, fixed themselves on Dudley's face, and scrutinized every feature.

"Hum!" thought Mr. Blunt, "not a bad-looking youngster either, now that the food he has had and this keen air have brought the color to his face. I expect he was a good fellow at school; popular and all that. Perhaps he left to the regret of all, masters as well as boys. Eh?"

"Pardon!" demanded Dudley.

"Not at all," was the answer. "I was thinking aloud, I fear. It is a foolish habit. But tell me, Dudley, are you not somewhat young to be sent out to South America? You tell me you are not quite seventeen. Most youngsters are older than that when they come out. Was there any special reason for your leaving home early?"

He asked the question in his usual manner, his eyes all the time fixed on the face of the young fellow before him. He saw the color rise on Dudley's cheeks. He could almost have declared that he saw tears welling up into the eyes, but he could not be sure, for with such a wind blowing any one might have tears in his eyes. The lad faced his questioner unflinchingly, coughed huskily as if something obstructed his throat, and then answered boldly.

"Yes, sir," he said, "there was a reason. I was to have come out here when I was seventeen and a half but something occurred to send me earlier."

"Something occurred. Exactly so! Just as I thought. And that was——? But there, I am too inquisitive. Your pardon, Dudley. Do not even mention the matter further unless you wish to do so."

"I do wish it, sir," said Dudley with decision, and in such altered tones that Mr. Blunt's attention was again attracted. "I will give you my confidence, knowing that you will not divulge a word. I was expelled."

"Expelled! Sent away from the school! Gracious! For what?"

There was a startled look in Mr. Blunt's eyes. He swung round on his young friend again, for he had turned his head away a moment before, and sat there staring incredulously at him.

"For what? The crime?" he demanded. "It was not a serious one, that I'll be bound."

"I was expelled for theft. When I left the school I was branded forever as a mean and despicable thief."

There was a strange tremor in Dudley's voice. Mr. Blunt was certain now that those were tears in the corner of the eyes. But still the lad faced him without a waver. He made his admission boldly, decidedly, with no attempt to lessen the significance of his words, and as he spoke, despite the tears in his eyes, and the tremor in his voice, Dudley Compton's head went higher, while there was a look on his face which spoke of pride, and of full consciousness of his own innocence.

CHAPTER II
A CONFIDENTIAL FRIEND

"A thief! Expelled from his school for theft, and sent out to South America to get him out of the way! Impossible! The boy is not lying. I swear he is honest, or ever after this I cease to believe that I am even the poorest judge of men."

Quite unconsciously Mr. Blunt uttered the words aloud, while he looked searchingly at Dudley. As for the latter, he had made his admission, he had told this new friend of his bluntly that he had just recently been expelled from his school for theft, and now he still regarded him without flinching, and in a manner which went far to persuade this tall man from the pampas that he was innocent. Mr. Blunt had not been meeting all manner of men during his life without encountering many rogues as well as honest men. The experience he had gained in various parts of the world was always proving serviceable, and now more than ever before perhaps. He prided himself on his judgment. That judgment told him without error that Dudley Compton was not a thief, despite the fact that the lad had just admitted that it was for theft that he had been expelled from his school. It was just like the kind-hearted fellow he was for the tall, raw-boned stranger at once to stretch out a huge brown paw and snatch hold of Dudley's hand.

"Tell me all about it," he said simply. "Tell me how it all occurred, and why you were selected as the culprit. Come, it may help you to talk. This matter has been weighing on your mind for some time and making you miserable. You will be happier and easier when you have given your confidences to me. Speak out, and do not fear that I shall not listen with sympathy."

He pressed Dudley's hand very gently, and looked away over the rail of the tossing ship. For his words, his sympathy, his openly expressed belief in his young friend had had their effect. Dudley Compton had for many a day now bravely borne the trouble which was on his mind, and had been there ever since the hour that he was expelled. His guardian, a busy man whose time was so occupied that he had little opportunity of going into outside matters, was possessed of very little sympathy. He was, in fact, not the best guardian for a lad, for he did not understand boys, and his mind was so wrapped up in business matters, so encompassed as it were by office affairs, that he could only look at outside questions superficially. He was disgusted that his charge should have been accused of thieving, and he thought it only natural that, when asked as to his guilt, Dudley should make the best of a bad matter and declare his innocence.

"Strange! Strange!" he had said, when their interview was over. "I have seen very little of the boy; too little in fact. But all have been fond of him and have given him a good character. I would not have thought him capable of such an act. But there——"

It never occurred to him to go deeply into the matter. He took it for granted that the evidence against his ward was convincing, and, that being so, he at once arranged to send him out to Montevideo, where in any case he would have gone after the next term. That done, he said good-by to the lad, gave him some excellent and prosaic advice, and, having seen him safely aboard, promptly dismissed the subject of theft from his mind, and in a short while he had allowed even the memory of his ward to be clouded by those business affairs which were the main object of his existence. He was not an extremely selfish man; but he was one of those business gentlemen who, being bachelors, and immersed in city affairs, give themselves up to them heart and soul, allowing them to take all the time and attention which other men would give to home affairs.

"There! Speak out. I'll listen and tell you what I think," said Mr. Blunt. "I've had trouble myself and know what it is. Tell me the whole tale."

He still looked away over the rail at the tossing sea, for his words, and his sympathy expressed by the gentle grip of his big and powerful fingers, had a strange effect upon Dudley. He had been stunned at first by the disaster which had befallen him. Then he had closed his lips firmly. He had become hard, and had wrapped up his feelings in an impenetrable cloak of silence. This tall Englishman, with his soft, kindly voice, his openly expressed belief in him, and his sympathetic grip, had broken Dudley's hardness and resolution. He gulped at the lump which had suddenly risen in his throat, tears welled up in his eyes and trickled down his cheeks, while a half-suppressed sob escaped him. The sound brought all his manhood back. He drew his hand out of Mr. Blunt's, straightened his back, and dashed the tears from his eyes.

"I will speak," he said. "I have not told a soul up to this, but now I can say safely what I have to say. I am no thief, sir."

"Look at me," came swiftly from his friend. "Look me in the eyes and say that again on your honor."

Mr. Blunt swung round, and now, instead of regarding the sea, stared at our hero. Dudley met his gaze at once, returned his glances without a waver, and spoke with the utmost deliberation.

"I swear on my honor as a gentleman that I am not a thief," he said solemnly. "If you care to hear the tale, I shall be glad to tell it to you. It will help me immensely, for it has been weighing on my mind."

"Then fire away, lad. I'll listen carefully, and let you know what I think at the end. But I say now, too, that you are no thief. I am sure of it. No youngster of your stamp could look me in the eyes las you have done and not be truthful. Fire away, and let me have the whole story."

His cigar was going again by now, and he sent big clouds rushing from his mouth, clouds which were caught at once by the wind and whisked away out over the sea.

"I was at Blackheath, at a school where there were one hundred and eighty boys," said Dudley slowly. "I had been there for five years, and as I have told you it was arranged that I should leave after the next term, and go out to South America. I lived at home, at my guardian's, and saw very little of him. I suppose he paid all my bills, and made provision for pocket money. He was fairly liberal, so that I often had a shilling, and sometimes many, in my pocket to use as I liked. I was a prefect."

"A prefect!" interrupted Mr. Blunt. "Then you were not such a dunce?"

"I was in the upper sixth, halfway up the form, sir; but though not a dunce I was considered anything but quick. That is why I was not selected by my guardian for office work."

"And perhaps you will have occasion to bless the fact to the end of your days. Give me a free and open life, where a man may work for hours healthily and without fatigue. But I am interrupting. You were in the sixth. You were not a dunce, and yet not brilliant. Many and many a lad could be described in a similar manner, and of those quite a few astonish their parents later when they have discovered, perhaps by pure accident, the life for which they are suited. They get congenial work and put their backs into it. Set their shoulders to the wheel, in fact, and do well. But, there, there, I am off again! You were fond of games? You liked cricket?"

"Rather, sir. I always liked the game, and was captain. In fact I was captain of the school for all games, and about tenth from the top in classwork."

"Then you had friends?" asked Mr. Blunt.

"Plenty, sir, I think," was the answer. "The fellows were very good to me when I left."

There was silence for a while, and Mr. Blunt turned away discreetly again, for he saw that Dudley was manfully endeavoring to suppress his emotion. As for the lad himself, as he mentioned his friends his thoughts flew away back to the school, where he had been so happy, and so popular if he had not been too modest to say it. He remembered with a pang how old school friends and chums had mustered round him when the dreadful news was issued to all, and he, Dudley Compton, their games captain, was declared a thief. In a hundred little ways they had shown their belief in and sympathy for him. Indeed, Dudley could have told how with very few exceptions the whole school had been in his favor, how for a few hours the question of his innocence or guilt was discussed with eagerness and no little warmth, and how, as he drove away from the doors of the place he liked so well, heads and arms were thrust out of every available window and wild cheers were flung after him. Yes, he had had heaps of friends, and many and many a time had the memory of their simple belief in him comforted the poor fellow's aching heart.

"Captain of the school? Then you were popular, that's clear," said Mr. Blunt decisively. "Go on, lad. You had plenty of friends."

"Plenty, sir. I often think of them. In the upper sixth we were a happy family, and all got on splendidly together. One fellow, named Joyce, was perhaps an exception."

"Ah! Joyce. That was his name. We are coming nearer to the matter," exclaimed Mr. Blunt, taking his cigar from his lips. "Yes?"

"Joyce had wealthy parents, who allowed him a liberal amount of pocket money. He was one of those fellows who cut a big dash, who dress better than the other chaps, wear a lot of linen and scatter their money fairly freely. In fact, he was very liberal, particularly if he wished to secure the friendship of some particular fellow."

"Ah! I've met many similar men in everyday life. A little arrogant, conceited, don't you know; inclined to give themselves airs and be high and mighty. Often very shallow, and always fond of good things, and in particular of scattering their cash so as to make a good impression. Yes, they are to be met with here and there, and many are excellent fellows at heart. They lose their conceit later and settle down. Yes, they are their own enemies. No one takes them very seriously. His name was Joyce?"

"Yes, sir," replied Dudley. "He was all you say, and beyond thinking him stuck up and foolish I certainly never had a bad word to say about him. We were friendly, and often enough when he had run through his monthly allowance he would come to me and borrow a shilling or two."

"Ah! He overspent his allowance and borrowed. A bad plan!" exclaimed Mr. Blunt. "Never borrow and never lend unless under very exceptional circumstances. It leads to trouble, and often loses one a friend."

There was silence for a little while again, as Dudley pictured the lively, smooth-tongued Joyce, with his fine clothes, and his great display of collar and cuff, while Mr. Blunt no doubt was occupied with his own thoughts. Perhaps he could tell tales of lending and borrowing which had led to misery and trouble. He tossed the stump of his weed into the air, where the gale caught it and whisked it overboard. Then he turned again to Dudley and spoke abruptly.

"Joyce borrowed once too often," he said with decision. "He asked you to lend him something, and in some manner implicated you in this theft. He was the culprit."

"Without a doubt, sir," answered Dudley promptly. "I can say it to you safely, I know. Joyce was the thief. It was he who stole the money, and he it was who should have been expelled."

"Humph! You know that now. Did you know it then? Did you shield him?"

The questions were fired at our hero one after another, while the answers were awaited with eagerness, for Mr. Blunt was more than a little interested in the tale his young friend had to tell him.

"I am sure of it now. I am as certain that Joyce stole the money as I am that you and I are seated here. I guessed it at the time. There was scarcely any possibility that it could be anyone else. But I could not speak. If he was the thief he was there to admit it. He heard me accused, and if he was the culprit it was his duty to come forward."

"Duty! Of course it was, lad. But it isn't every boy, or man for the matter of that, who has the moral pluck to confess to a theft even when he sees a friend accused of the act of which he himself is guilty. You relied on his honor and pluck. You were too proud to speak. Go on. I am interested."

"There is little more to tell you, sir," continued Dudley. "It seems that there had been robberies from one of the masters' rooms. I was warned of the fact, and indeed did what I could to put a stop to the matter, for such things are exceedingly disagreeable in a school. But they still continued, and as a result a trap was set for the thief. Money had been disappearing from one of the masters' rooms, and it was hard to say who could take it, for several of the upper school had occasion to go to that room during the day. I was often there, and so were Joyce and other members of the sixth. But you can guess what happened. Some silver was placed in a drawer, the one from which other sums had been taken, and that silver was marked. It disappeared, and promptly the whole school was mustered in its various rooms, and each one ordered to bring out his purse or show the money he possessed. Seven shillings had been stolen, all marked coins. Six of those shillings were found in my purse."

He stopped abruptly, all the bitterness of the old scene returning at once. He recollected how he had produced his little wealth, how he had rolled the silver on to the desk, and how, all of a sudden, the face of the headmaster had changed. He had looked incredulous, then as if deeply pained. A second later he was questioning Dudley in icy tones.

"This is your money?" he asked. "You are sure that it is yours?"

"Quite," was Dudley's easy answer. "It is all that I possess, sir."

"Then it is not yours, sir. Those shillings were stolen from the very drawer from which many thefts have taken place. See for yourself. They are marked. They have been stolen. I am grieved to have to call you a thief. Go to your room at once, sir."

The whole dreadful scene flashed before his eyes. He remembered his own amazement, how the accusation had stunned his senses so that he could not even protest his innocence, and how, without a word, he had gone to his room. And there, what agony of mind he had suffered till the school was assembled, and he was declared the culprit before them all. It was then that Dudley had recovered his courage and found power to speak. Very quietly, and with an earnestness which would have impressed anyone, he declared his innocence.

"I swear that those marked shillings were given me scarcely two hours before my purse was examined. They were given me by one of the boys of this school who owed me six shillings."

"His name?" the headmaster had demanded icily.

"I cannot give it. I am not here to accuse a comrade," Dudley answered firmly.

"Then I will ask the question. Boys," said the headmaster, "a series of despicable thefts has been taking place. I was determined to put a stop to them, and for that purpose placed seven marked shillings in a drawer in Mr. Harland's room. Those shillings were stolen, and within two hours six of them were found in the purse of your late captain. You have heard what he has to say. Is there any truth in it? Is there a boy here who owed him money, and refunded it after the theft? I beg of him, if that boy is here, to come forward and save the honor of Dudley Compton."

Silence was his only answer. The boys looked askance at one another, and two or three of the older ones even glanced across at Joyce. But the latter looked as jaunty and cool as ever. His eyes were fixed on the headmaster, and he seemed to have forgotten poor Dudley. But his heart was beating furiously. His legs would hardly support him, and the boy was trying and trying to screw up his courage to declare himself the thief, and so save his old friend and comrade. He hesitated. Dread of what would follow sealed his lips, and in a second or two the opportunity had gone. It was too late to speak. Dudley was condemned to be expelled, and was already out of the room. Only when Joyce returned to his own cubicle did the enormity of his offence fully appeal to him. Then, when it was almost too late, he saw what a coward he had been, how dishonorable and despicable had been his conduct. For he it was who had actually stolen the coins. In fact it was Joyce who had for some time been acting as a common thief. He had been tempted. The power to spend money, to be able to cut a dash and appear grand before his fellows, possessed a huge fascination for him, and he had fallen to the temptation. After that he had repeated the offence. And now he groaned when he reflected on this last act, to which thieving had led him. He had always had a large amount of friendly feeling for Dudley. He had looked up to the lad, recognizing in him a stronger nature. And now he had stood aside and had seen him condemned, knowing all the while that he was innocent.

"I can't bear it. I will go at once and set the matter right," he cried.

He rushed to the door of his cubicle, dragged it open, and ran into the passage. And there his courage again oozed through his finger tips. It was so easy to let matters rest where they were. It was so hard to go and make that declaration, and afterwards to be expelled, to face all that that meant. He hesitated, returned to the cubicle to think it over, and finally did nothing. But for days and weeks Dudley's look of anguish haunted him. Joyce became a different person. He no longer displayed such an amount of linen. His clothes were less conspicuous, and the cash which he had freely spent before was now kept in his pocket. Remorse was steadily altering the boy. The subject of the theft was never out of his mind in waking hours, and when asleep he even dreamed of poor Dudley. For Joyce was not a bad fellow at heart. True, he was a thief, a mean contemptible thief; but there was a lot of good in the lad if only he could be induced to show a little more moral courage. If he had been otherwise, if he had been hardened and callous, he would hardly have given a thought to his crime, or to the suffering imposed on Dudley. At length, tortured by the recollection of what he had done, he finally resolved to declare his guilt, and straightway went to the headmaster. Later, strong in his purpose, he faced the whole school, admitted that he was guilty, and begged earnestly that every boy present would recollect that Dudley was innocent. Then he left the school, and once at home set about to consider how he was to make amends to Dudley.

Dudley finished his portion of the tale while Mr. Blunt listened attentively.

"Joyce could have saved me," he said solemnly. "He owed me money, and repaid it with the coins which were marked. How did he become possessed of them? And remember, sir, that scarcely two hours passed between the theft and the discovery of the marked coins. To my mind there is no doubt that Joyce was the guilty person, and I am sure that if he had had more pluck he would have come forward. In any case I am sure that life has been unbearable to him since. At heart he is a decent fellow, and I am certain that his conscience will have been very active."

"And you were expelled? You went out of that house knowing what you tell me, and yet you would not speak?"

Mr. Blunt asked the question quietly, while the look in his eyes belied his manner and showed plainly that he was not a little excited.

"What else could I do, sir?" came the simple answer. "I was not absolutely sure, and even then it was not for me to clear myself at the expense of a comrade."

"Tommy rot! False pride, sir! A wrong impression of your duty to your comrades! But it was fine! Shake hands!"

Mr. Blunt seized Dudley's hand and shook it eagerly, his eyes flashing strangely as he did so.

"I repeat, it was wrong," he said earnestly, "but none the less you were a true comrade. You were not certain, and I know how hateful it is to have to accuse a friend. Rather than do that you suffered. Well, all I have to say is this: If that lad Joyce does not admit his guilt very soon, and entirely clear you, he is a cur of the worst description. It is bad enough for him to be a thief. It is worse when he has so little pluck that he can stand by and see another accused and disgraced, whom he knows to be innocent. No, if he does nothing he is a cur. But I shall be surprised if the lad does not learn a serious lesson, and I look to this matter to make a man of him. I expect that guilty lad to turn over a new leaf, to give up thieving and his shallow ways, and to act like a man. There, Dudley, you and I understand each other. You at least have behaved with honor. You know you are no thief, and you are equally sure that I, who have heard the tale, believe implicitly in you. Banish it from your mind for a time. Do not brood on it. Let the future set matters right, for I look forward to the day when you will return to that school to listen to the apologies of your masters. Now let me tell you more of Entre Rios, of the Pampas, and of the gauchos and the Indians."

They sat chatting for two hours, after which another meal was served, when Dudley descended to the saloon boldly, feeling himself again, and fresh and hungry. More than that, now that he had unburdened himself to this stranger, to whom, boylike, he had taken such a sudden fancy, he felt much happier. A huge weight was lifted from his mind, and he felt that he could go on without brooding on his misfortune, in the hope that something would occur to set the matter right. Indeed, thanks to Mr. Blunt's lively chatter, to the vivid descriptions he gave of South America, and to the narratives of his adventures there, Dudley very soon was taken entirely out of himself. A bright prospect was opened up before his eyes, and he longed for the hour of their arrival, wishing many a time that he were going to Mr. Blunt's estancia.

Two days later the wind went down, the sea became smooth, while the passengers put in an appearance one by one, looking pale and emaciated after their trying experience. The ship made Cape St. Vincent, having called in at Lisbon, and in due course furrowed her way across the wide Atlantic to Rio de Janeiro. By that time all the passengers were on excellent terms.

Every day Dudley had spent an hour under his friend's tuition with gun and revolver, till he had become an expert and an exceedingly rapid shot. Bottles and old boxes tossed into the sea had made excellent targets.

"You will do well if there is trouble, and it may come when you least expect it," said Mr. Blunt. "Remember this, the gauchos, as we call the natives of the country, are extremely polite to one another and to strangers, but one meets a ruffian now and again, and all are very excitable. They are quick to take advantage of one who they think is helpless, and more particularly of a gringo. You can hold your own at shooting. It now remains for you to learn to ride the wildest animal that can be provided."

On the following day the ship dropped her anchor off Rio de Janeiro, and the passengers made ready to go ashore. Dudley was to accompany his friend, and ran below at the last moment to fetch a stick which he had left in his cabin. As he reached the deck again, one of the ship's boats was being lowered, two of the sailors standing at the slings at the bow and stern of the boat, while Mr. Blunt and another passenger sat in the centre.

"A free ride," he sang out to Dudley. "We shall be in the water in a moment, when you can join me."

Hardly had he spoken when there was a shout from the deck, the men who were lowering the slings gave exclamations of dismay, and in a second the swinging boat fell from one of the davits, the slings at one end having parted, and hung, bow downwards, with her nose just dipping into the water. Her sudden upset was accompanied by four loud splashes, as the two passengers and the sailors were thrown into the water, and then by loud calls, and by a titter from those on the deck above. For all who had been tossed so unceremoniously into the sea were able to swim, and as Dudley looked over the side, there they were, treading water and looking up to the rail, Mr. Blunt's sunburned features unusually jovial, while a broad smile was on his lips.

"Spoke too soon and too truly," he sang out, seeing his young friend. "Said we should be in the water in a moment, and here we are, very wet, too."

Dudley laughed, for the scene was very comical. He clambered on to the rail, and leaned over, holding all the while to a halyard. Then, of a sudden, he became pale, his eyes opened wide, and he shouted with consternation. His eye had caught the flicker of a passing shadow down in the depths, a shadow which had rapidly enlarged and become brighter, till it developed into a long, silvery streak, getting broader every moment as the monster shark, for such it was, turned over preparatory to seizing its prey. It swirled across the few yards between it and the swimmers, selected one, and rushed open-mouthed at him. A second later, while the passengers above shrieked in consternation, the cruel beast had seized Mr. Blunt by the elbow and was endeavoring to back away, while the victim, suddenly realizing his precarious condition, snatched at the hanging bow of the boat, and clung there for life.

Dudley did not hesitate. He flung the stick behind him, took one swift glance below, and then leaped at the monster, hoping to strike him as he fell, or to frighten him by the splash he made. It was madness, perhaps, to make such an attempt. It was endangering his own life for that of a friend. But he had a warm heart and a brave one, and, moreover, he felt that he already owed Mr. Blunt a debt of gratitude. He could not stand there and see him dragged down beneath the surface. He must make an effort for him, and with that gallant resolve he plunged into the water.

CHAPTER III
THE HOME ON THE PAMPAS

Shouts of excitement, the shrill falsetto of one of the lady passengers shrieking in her fright, and loud cries of encouragement accompanied Dudley as he sprang into the sea, and were cut off abruptly as the water closed over his head. A burly sailor, barefooted and with dripping hands, leaped on to the rail, and clambered out on to the stern of the dangling boat, from which point of vantage he stared down at Mr. Blunt as he struggled with the shark, and deep and bitter words escaped his bearded lips in his excitement. Then a stout little passenger, with florid countenance and remarkably bald head, followed him on to the rail, and for an instant appeared as if he would leap after the young fellow. The intention was there, the fire of youth was in his eye, and no doubt this stout little man had, in his young days, been capable of a rescue. But he was too stout now, and he knew it. He paused, held back, and then shouted like a maniac. Behind him the other passengers crowded, till a voice ordered them to stand aside.

"Stand away, gentlemen, please" came from the captain in stern tones. "Allow this man to pass. Now, lads, sling him over, and, Tom, make good use of that boat-hook."

Quick as lightning a sailor thrust his way through the throng, clambered over the rail, and let himself go, four of his comrades lowering him hurriedly by means of a stout rope till he was close to the water and within reach of the struggle. Meanwhile Dudley had struck out, had reached the surface, and had looked round for Mr. Blunt and the shark. Hardly half a minute had passed since he leaped from the rail, but in that short space of time he had decided on his course of action, though when he plunged into the water he had no idea what course to pursue. Then, like a flash, he remembered reading in some book about sharks, and of how natives in some odd corner of the world were in the habit of attacking them.

"A shark is helpless if you can tear his tail," he said to himself. "I recollect the natives did it with their teeth. I'll try."

Treading water for an instant, he saw the long, ugly snout of the monster close to Mr. Blunt's shoulder, he noticed the crimson streaks which now dyed the sea, and also how the dangling boat swayed as the man clung desperately to it. Then he drew in a big breath, dived beneath the surface, and struck out for the tail of the giant fish, easily seen at that distance. It was still for the moment, the monster simply retaining its hold and clinging to Mr. Blunt's arm. Dudley darted towards it, seized it between both hands, and pulled with all his strength, only to find that his hands slipped from the surface, and to receive a blow from the tail which beat him off promptly. But he was returning to the attack within an instant, and knowing that there was no time to be lost, he gripped at the tail again, dug his fingers into the slippery surface, and a second later had buried his teeth in the centre of the very extremity. Ah! This was different. He had a firm hold this time, and though the beast made frantic efforts to throw him off he clung to the tail, and with a sudden movement of both arms and of his teeth ripped it from end to end. Not till then did he let go his hold, to rise, gasping, to the surface a moment later.

What a shout greeted him! Hoarse roars of excitement, bravoes, and the hysterical shrieks of the lady passenger fell on his ears.

"Bravely done! A splendid act, and the only effective way to tackle him," shouted the captain, now standing on the rail and clinging to a halyard. "He has let go his hold! Strike at the brute, Tom. You have him within reach. Ah! That should settle the matter."

He leaned over, breathless with excitement, and watched as the sailor, dangling over the side, steadied himself against the ship with his bare toes, aimed at the floundering fish, and then struck with the boat-hook with all his strength, driving the iron end deep into the shark's body.

"Hold him, Tom," called out the captain. "Mr. Blunt, trail on to the bow of the boat for a moment longer. Another is being lowered from the port side, and will be round. You're all right?"

"Never stronger in my life," came the cool answer. "But that brute has mauled my shoulder rather badly. Who came after me?"

"Dudley Compton," shouted the stout passenger, now all aquiver with excitement. "The brave lad leaped straight in."

"I thought he would. I guessed he would be the one," came the calm reply. "Don't fret, Skipper. We're all snug down here for a while if there are no more of those brutes. Ha, Dudley, that you?"

He nodded coolly as the young fellow swam to his side and gripped the bows.

"Look before you leap," he laughed. "In other words, don't dive into a sea where sharks are expected."

The man was made of iron. Dudley watched him closely as they clung, waiting for the relief boat, and plainly saw the lines of pain drawn on his friend's face, the suffering which this strong settler from South America was too proud and too courageous to show. He was suffering, anyone could tell that from the red streaks which issued from the rents in his coat, and he was shaken, for his lips twitched suspiciously.

"You're hurt, sir. Shall I hold you and so take the weight from your other arm."

"Hold me! Not a bit of it, Dudley!" came the swift answer. "Hush! I'm hurt I know, but a man recovers sooner if he shows pluck about a thing of this sort. Lad, if I had a hand to grip yours!"

There was a depth of feeling now in the voice, feeling which he would not show before. Mr. Blunt looked at his young deliverer with eyes which displayed his gratitude plainly. Then his features hardened, and Dudley saw the lines of pain again. At that moment the boat, which had been hastily lowered, came round the stern of the vessel, and the five who were in the water were lifted into her and conveyed to the gangway, which had now been dropped from the rail. They were greeted with shouts of delight, and Mr. Blunt was hurried off a second later by the captain to have his wounds attended to. For no surgeon was carried, and almost every skipper of ocean-going vessels in those days had picked up a smattering of surgical and medical knowledge from the seaman's hospital at Greenwich or in other ports. As for Dudley, he was seized upon by the passengers, hoisted to the shoulders of the stout and enthusiastic little man who had seemed on the point of following him into the water, and with the help of two others he was conveyed down to the saloon.

"There is no fear of his getting a chill out in these waters," cried the little man, blowing with his exertions. "Gentlemen——Pardon, ladies and gentlemen, for I see that there are two ladies with us, we cannot let Mr. Compton go to his cabin without a word of commendation for his pluck. He is just fresh from the most gallant rescue that I have ever witnessed, and there is no time therefore like the present. I speak for all here, my dear lad, for the passengers and crew of this vessel. We are proud to have you amongst us, and we thank you for letting us see what a young Englishman can do. It was fine, sir! Grand! I wish the lad were my son."

He beamed on Dudley, shook his wet hand till our hero winced, and then pushed him into the midst of the other passengers. It was, in consequence, a very bewildered young fellow who escaped from their friendly and enthusiastic attentions at length, and made his way into his cabin. Nor did congratulations cease for many an hour, for on that very afternoon a select committee of passengers went ashore and returned in the evening with a bulky package. That night, after supper had been served, for that was the custom in the days of which we write, the captain rose from his seat at the table.

"Ladies and gentlemen," he said quietly, "it has fallen to my lot to perform a pleasant duty for one and all of us. This morning a member of this ship's company, who, if he will excuse my saying so, is little more than a boy, behaved like a man, a very gallant man, let me add. He showed us in one fearful moment how self can be forgotten in the hope of helping others. That he may never forget this noble act, that we may show him what we think of his courage, we ask him to accept this memento. He needs nothing to stimulate his courage, but at times these useful little implements may remind him that he has behaved like a man, and can look the bravest in the face without flinching."

Short and crisp, and happily turned, the speech drew loud cheers from the assembled passengers, from the stewards, and from the sailors crowding in the doorway, while from Dudley there came a gasp of surprise, and two tears welled up in the corners of his eyes. The lad had met with very little kindness during his young life; his had been a somewhat lonely existence, and such notice was strange to him. He walked with unsteady feet to the captain, and looked at the memento with eyes which were blurred. In a splendid leather case, housed in suitable compartments, were a double-barrelled shot-gun, a rifle of fine workmanship, and a revolver of the latest pattern. No wonder his heart swelled with gratitude. He turned to express his thanks, strove manfully to steady his lips, and, failing hopelessly, stared round at the assembled people. A second later his friend came to the rescue. Mr. Blunt sprang to his feet, cool as ever, his face just a little paler perhaps, and his arm in a sling.

"Permit me, captain, and you, ladies and gentlemen, to answer for my young friend and deliverer," he said. "No one here should appreciate the truth of the words which our captain has used more than I, and all must know how deeply grateful I am. Mr. Compton saved my life. He rescued me from a horrible death, and in doing so performed a gallant act. You have presented him with a handsome memento, which I know he will always treasure, and for which he is deeply grateful. I know that he would tell you that he has done nothing, that Mr. Carter there was about to attempt the same thing; but we know—in his own heart he knows—that he has done well. Yet this memento seems in his eyes too fine a thing. He does not realize that you who looked on cannot recognize such gallantry too handsomely, nor that I, if I were to present him with a memento of a thousand times its value should still be his debtor for life. Ladies and gentlemen, our young friend has started his new life well; he has won your unstinted praise, and to the end of his life he will remember this day. He thanks you for your overwhelming kindness."

There were more cheers at that, while the stout little man who had been so unexpectedly referred to flushed to the top of his bald head and shook his fist at Mr. Blunt. Dudley, still covered with confusion, took up his guncase and rushed to the privacy of his cabin, where he threw himself on his bunk and buried his face in his hands. He was shaken. He felt more confused and unnerved by far than he had done immediately after the rescue.

"If only they would forget all about it," he groaned. "If only Mr. Carter had been first, then there would have been no need for me."

"While I should not have lived to thank you," said a voice at his elbow. "Come, Dudley, let us look at the guns. My word, you are well set up for the new life! You will have to hide this case, or the gauchos will think you are a desperate fellow and will leave you very severely alone. And, by the way, I have something to say to you. You hoped to meet a Mr. Bradshaw?"

Dudley shot up suddenly, ashamed of the emotion he had shown.

"Yes, sir," he said. "I was to disembark at Montevideo, and you told me that you would help me when I landed. I suppose I shall have little difficulty?"

"None whatever," was the calm answer. "That is, you will have no great trouble before you in finding work, for that, I suppose, is what you want."

"I will do anything," replied our hero eagerly. "I have fifty pounds in my valise, which will keep me going for some time. I hope to obtain employment with my guardian's friend. He promised to keep a place for me."

"And would keep that promise were he able to. But listen, my lad. I have kept the news from you till this. Mr. Bradshaw was killed six months ago in one of the frequent Indian raids. His estancia was sold up at once, and his successor might not want hands. But I do. Will you come? I offer you a fair wage, plain living in my house, and plenty of exercise."

Would he come? Would Dudley accept a post than which he could wish for nothing better?

Our hero leaped to the floor of the cabin and stared at his friend, too much surprised at the news he had just learned to make a reply. It was a blow to him to hear that this Mr. Bradshaw was dead, and that the friend to whom he was going would not be there to greet and help him. But that disappointment was wiped away in an instant by the handsome offer made him.

"I am truly sorry about Mr. Bradshaw," he said at last, "and I thank you from the bottom of my heart for your offer. Of course I accept it. I would come for nothing, for I expect I shall be useless at first, and as you offer me a home, I shall be able to look round and get to know the country. There is no one with whom I would go so gladly as with you."

"Then the matter is settled. You are my employé from this moment," was the swift answer. "Your salary will commence from to-day also, as I shall wish to commence your instruction immediately. No, not a word of protest, if you please! You are too apt to make little of yourself. You say that you will be useless till you know the work required on a rancho. That is not so. Any young fellow who is willing, and does not fight shy when work is in prospect, can make himself of use. A day or two will teach him sufficient, and after that he is becoming more efficient every hour. But I want to tell you something more. This post that you have accepted is no sinecure. You will be about at the first streak of day and galloping over the rancho. Often enough you will be sent off on expeditions to round up cattle and horses, and on those occasions you will not even have a tent. You will sleep with the stars twinkling overhead, and wake with the dew lying heavily on you. Maybe, on rare occasions, a frost will come, and then your blanket covering will be stiff with cold."

Dudley laughed a gay laugh, which showed that none of these hardships had any terrors for him.

"It will be a grand experience, sir," he smiled. "Besides, have you not lived that sort of life for years? And look how fit and well you are."

"It has made a man of me, lad. When I am away from the house on the rancho I feel free as the air. I eat and sleep heartily, and fine weather, sunshine, frost, or rain are one and the same to me. Give me the gauchos' camp on the plains, or amidst the small forests, the crackling fire of thistle tops, a saddle to rest my head on, and a thick blanket to cover me. I am happy then. I enjoy every minute of the day, and sleep soundly at night. But there is something else. Lad, there are Indians. I have been raided twice already, and on each occasion I have escaped only by the skin of my teeth. Fifteen of my gauchos were killed on the last occasion, and all my stock was cleared out."

"And still you are going back to the place, and sighing to get there, sir," came Dudley's answer, short and abrupt. "If you can face an Indian raid, why, I shall try to do so also."

"Then our compact is settled. Not that I thought that you would flinch; but there are some who would. Now for a few words as to myself. You have told me who you are. I will let you have a little of my own history. You hear me use strange expressions sometimes. They are Italian, and though I am an Englishman born and bred, yet I have Italian sympathies and interests. My father lived many years in Rome, and often had a villa in Sicily, to which I used to go for my holidays. I speak Italian like a native, and know the southern portions of Italy and the whole of Sicily very well. I married an Italian lady, and settled in the island I have mentioned, till one of the foulest acts of treachery drove me from it and sent me out here. You have heard of the vendetta?"

Dudley had heard of it in some obscure way, and had a faint idea of its meaning, but he was not quite sure.

"I fancy it is sometimes a secret society," he said. "Or perhaps it is an oath which certain families take, that they will be revenged on some individual or even on a whole family. They plot and plan for years, if need be, till their revenge is accomplished."

"Just so; the latter is more correct. It is a hateful practice, and is one which might be expected in a country such as Italy, where secret societies abound, where men are condemned before secret tribunals, and assassinated by the poniard of a ruffian who, beyond his interest in this society, has no direct animus against the condemned man. Dudley, my wife's family had fallen under the ban of some secret society the members of which are, to the best of my belief, all of one family. These wretches murdered her father, and would have done the same by the mother had not a kind providence removed her peacefully before their poniards could reach her heart. That did not satisfy them. They slew my dear wife, and would have assassinated me and my little daughter had I not escaped from the country. They drove me out, and I sailed for South America, where there are many Italians, a number of whom, however, have now returned to their native country with Garibaldi. But that does not concern us now. My daughter, a child of your age, is settled in a convent near Naples, where she is secure, and where she has been for the past six years, passing under an assumed name. For myself, one of these days I may be able to return to Italy, where I should like to live, for the warmth suits me, and I feel at home. Also I have an estate in Sicily. There, I have bored you, I fear."

Dudley shook his head emphatically, for, on the contrary, he had been vastly interested. Many a time during the voyage he had wondered what there was about his friend which made him so different from other men. He was sure that he had a history, and now he had learned it.

"It seems terrible that such things should occur," he said aloud. "In England we have nothing like it, for the people would not allow such revenge and such assassinations. You have found security in this country, sir?"

"Would that I had," came the answer. "I thought that by coming here I should escape these miscreants, but that is not the case. It is true that I have been far more secure, for the simple reason that out on the ranchos there are so few men that a stranger is at once noticeable. We want to know at once who the man is, where he comes from, and what he wants. I have faithful gauchos there who would protect me, and who may be relied on to give me instant warning of danger. And yet I know that one Indian raid at least was instigated by my enemies, and I was once attacked in the streets of Montevideo. There is, indeed, no doubt that the ruffians who slew my wife would willingly kill me and my child. However, they have a big, strong man to deal with, and if I catch them in the act of attacking, why——"

The big, strong fingers of his uninjured hand formed themselves into a sturdy fist. The man's stern, sun-tanned face hardened, and there came over his features a look which told better than any words that Mr. Blunt would deal promptly and with the utmost severity with his enemies.

"Yes," he went on, "they shall have little leniency from me, for nothing but the severest measures and a stern example will stop their practices. However, do not let me trouble you any longer. I have told you that many political exiles from Italy have come to South America and have settled near Montevideo, and, knowing that, you can realize that one or more can send news of me to these people in Italy. There are paid spies amongst them, and if I were to take up my quarters for long in one of the towns, such as Montevideo or Buenos Ayres, why, I should be inviting trouble. There are ruffians to be employed in every city. Now, let us take a stroll on deck. The city of Rio looks magnificent when seen from the sea."

They clambered up the companion and strolled arm in arm from bow to stern, their eyes tracing the city by the numerous lights which twinkled from streets and windows. Late that night they turned in, Mr. Blunt to fall asleep at once, in spite of his wounded shoulder, and Dudley to lie awake and think, and dream of the life before him, of camp fires, of a bed beneath the stars, and of a life of freedom and hardship out in the open.

"Just what I should like," he said over and over again to himself. "I shall do my best to become expert with a horse and to keep up my shooting, while I shall try to learn the business of managing a rancho. Perhaps some of these days I might become manager for Mr. Blunt, or even his partner. At any rate I mean to get on and make a living."

He fell into an uneasy slumber at last, and gradually his still active brain turned from the pampas, from what he imagined a rancho to be, to Italy, to the terrible vendetta which had cast such a cloud over his friend's life. Little did he imagine, or even dream, that in days soon to come he, Dudley Compton, would become involved in that vendetta himself, and stand in fear of his life.

Early on the following morning the anchor was roused, the sails hoisted, and the ship set on a course for Montevideo. A week later they came to a rest off the town.

"We get off here and transship to a river boat," said Mr. Blunt. "I have friends ashore, and we will stay with them for a couple of days, while I lay in a stock of stores for the rancho. At the same time we will get you a suitable outfit. In those clothes you are at once conspicuous, while, if dressed in gaucho costume, no one will know you from a native of the place, for you are as brown as any white man could be."

Having shaken hands with the officers and the passengers who still remained aboard, Dudley clutched his guncase in his hand and went over the side into the small boat awaiting them. They were rowed to the quay, and soon were at the house of Mr. Blunt's friends. Two days later they embarked on a small river boat, a mass of stores being placed aboard under Dudley's supervision.

"Check every article carefully," said Mr. Blunt, "for though people are for the most part honest, it is as well to remember that a ruffian is to be found here and there. How do you like your new outfit, lad? You look well in it."

Dudley colored, for he had donned the garments for the first time that morning. He wore a shirt of dark-blue flannel, open at the neck save where the folds of an ample red scarf surrounded the collar. A wide sombrero of black felt covered his head, an ostrich feather standing up from the ribbon. His nether garments consisted of a pair of trousers of light material; and over these he wore a pair of split buckskin leggings, reaching to his waist, fringed with leather tassels on either side, and the whole held in position by a strong leather belt which encircled his waist, and in which a hunting knife was thrust. On his right hip, with the butt protruding from the top of the pocket stitched to the leggings, was his revolver, so placed that it was always ready to his hand, and yet was out of the way on ordinary occasions, and clear of the saddle when riding. A pair of enormous spurs, with big rowels, completed his outfit, but he wisely refrained from wearing them.

"It takes a little time to get accustomed to such big bits of metal on one's heels," laughed Mr. Blunt. "A man looks very foolish if he happens to trip; and besides, a rowel can inflict a nasty wound on one's foot. Once we are off you can put them on, and practise walking with them, and when we reach our port you will feel more at home with them. I will see that you have a quiet horse, and can leave it to you to swing yourself into the saddle as if you had been at it all your life. Your poncho will always be strapped to the back of the saddle."

Some ten days later they arrived at the up-country port at which they were to disembark, Dudley being amazed at the size of the River Paraná. By then he was well accustomed to his new outfit, and was able to walk with ease and certainty in spite of his spurs. They went ashore, checked their goods, and handed them over to a party of gauchos who had come from the rancho to meet their employer.

"They will load them up on pack horses and come through after us," said Mr. Blunt. "Now, Dudley, this horse will suit you, and the stirrup leathers are, I should say, of a suitable length. Remember to keep your toes in, and your spurs clear of the flanks, or he will soon tell you that you are a novice. Pick up your reins, take a grip of his mane with the fingers of the same hand, and then tuck your toe into the stirrup. A little effort will carry you into the saddle, when you will easily get your other stirrup by a little manipulation. On no account place it on your toe with your hand."

The group of gauchos, dusky-faced and well-set-up fellows, who had come to meet Mr. Blunt, stood watching the two as they mounted. Their keen eyes had so far detected nothing about our hero save his youth, and perhaps the newness of his costume. They looked on critically as he went up to his horse, put his fingers beneath the girth to see that it was secure, and then patted the animal. Dudley was not going to be hurried, though he felt all those eyes on him. He picked up his reins, just as he had been taught to do at home, twisted a few locks of the long mane round his finger, and then put his toe in the stirrup. After that it was simple work to mount, and in less time than it takes to tell of it he was astride the saddle, and by good luck his other toe had found its stirrup.

"Bueno! He has ridden, but he is a gringo for all that," exclaimed one of the gauchos. "What is this tale of the master's?"

"The lad rescued him from a shark. Leaped into the water, and tore the brute's tail to shreds. He has pluck!"

"He will suit us, comrades," chimed in another. "I have asked the hands aboard, and they say that he has good manners, that he speaks politely to all, and that he is no duffer. There is a tale that he can shoot."

At that they pricked up their ears, for a gringo might ride fairly well, he might have ample pluck, but shoot!—no, that was an art learned only on the pampas.

"I will give my rifle to you, Pietro," growled one of their number, a rough-looking fellow. "Listen, I will give you my rifle if this gringo can hit the pith ball of a bolas placed on a fence thirty paces distant. That is, with the revolver. Anyone could do it with a rifle."

"And I will return the gift," came the answer. "I know nothing for sure, mark you, amigo, but the young señor is a good fellow, and he will try to win for me. Bueno! We will set to work to pack the animals."

Mr. Blunt had been careful to tell a portion of Dudley's tale on landing, knowing that his gallant act would win him more friends amongst the rough gauchos than would the fact that he was a protégé of his.

"He has come with me as a friend and employé," he told the head man of the gauchos, "and saved my life from a shark. You will find the young señor an excellent fellow."

Little did Dudley know what had happened. But he could see out of the tail of his eye as he rode off that the men were not disposed to be unfriendly to him. He felt glad that he had been able to mount his horse with such ease and dexterity, and he promised himself that he would do all he could to become a perfect horseman.

That night they lay down by the camp fire and slept beneath the stars. On the following day, having ridden across miles of sweeping pampas, they came to a strip of forest country, beside which were some buildings.

"Our home for the future," sang out Mr. Blunt. "Welcome to the rancho!"

CHAPTER IV
AN ENGLISH GRINGO

"We will make the most of our time while the men are absent," said Mr. Blunt, as he and Dudley sat outside the door of the principal building of the rancho on the night of their arrival. "As you see, I have a native servant here, who does the cooking and house duties for me. He is a faithful fellow and has been in my employ for many years; in fact, he has been at this special work ever since an Indian bullet lamed him and made him unable to mount a horse. He will not see you during the day, while the twenty odd men I have at the rancho will not put in an appearance for many days, as they are out branding the cattle."

"So that I shall have some time to look about me and pick up my duties," suddenly exclaimed Dudley, stretching his legs out and rubbing the back of his knees. Two days in the saddle had stiffened his limbs, and the unaccustomed exercise had chafed the skin from his legs. He felt sore and uncomfortable, and many a time on this last day he would have dismounted had he not been determined to master his horse and do exactly what Mr. Blunt did.

"Stiff and sore?" asked his employer with a laugh. "Yes, I have seen that. You managed to get across your horse at the landing stage in a very creditable manner. Not that you deceived the gauchos. They are too knowing for that. They saw, of course, that you had been in a saddle before. But even if they had been children they would have guessed that you had had very little practice. You see, once a horseman always one. Nearly six months later I return to this country and fall into its ways as if I had been away for only a day. My saddle comes as easy to me as a chair does to you, no doubt. My feet find the stirrups at once, and if there were need I could ride without them. Watch the gauchos when they return with our pack animals. They are amongst the finest horsemen. I have known, and there are few of the rough beasts that we capture from the pampas that they cannot ride after some little difficulty has been got over. They scarcely touch the stirrup, but place a hand on the neck of the beast and vault into the saddle. That's what I want you to practise, Dudley. The men will hardly reach here for a week, for they have a large amount of stuff to bring, and will come very slowly. Take your horse at dawn and make a wide circle round the rancho. Don't be afraid of riding off the place, for the land for fifteen miles round here belongs to me, though there is not a fence or a boundary stone to show where the property comes to an end. Get some food from Francia, the cook, take a shotgun with you, and spend the whole day in the saddle. Yes, yes, I know that you are sore," he went on, indulging in another smile at Dudley's expense, as the latter stroked his knees again. "I will give you something which will harden the skin, and to-morrow night you will be quite comfortable. Now, lad, how do you think you will like the life?"

"Immensely!" came the prompt reply. "Of course I am more or less ignorant of it at present, and perhaps I ought to have kept my opinion till I have seen and experienced more. But who could not like this open-air existence. It is so warm out on these plains, so, so——"

"Exhilarating," suggested Mr. Blunt. "Yes, a man feels fit and keen here. The air is a tonic to those who are weaklings when they come to the pampas, and many a delicate man have I seen get strong and healthy after a few months. Look at the sky! That is the sort of ceiling we have at night for the greater part of the year. The stars are brilliant, and that crescent of the moon makes the place almost as light as during the day."

Dudley stretched a little farther out in the bent-wood chair in which he was seated, and stared up at the glittering sky above, admiring the myriad stars, and the gleaming crescent floating in the heavens. The air was beautifully warm and balmy, so much so that a man might sleep out in the open without a covering and still not risk catching a chill. A soft breeze fanned his cheek and brought with it the sweet scent of the trees which grew thickly near the rancho. He could see their tops swaying gently in the moon rays, and as he glanced about him he could distinguish the low roof of the rancho, the building which had been Mr. Blunt's home for many years. It was a long, straggling affair, with timber sides, and a shingle roof, and so many doors that Dudley felt bewildered. Some two hundred yards from it was another building, of smaller proportions, while to the left of that was a fenced enclosure, surrounded by huge posts and beams.

"The corral," explained Mr. Blunt. "That is where we rope in our wild cattle and horses, and where the most fractious of the latter are trained to take a saddle. You will see all that work in good time. I notice that the doors of the house amuse you."

They were seated in their chairs some thirty yards from the building, and beneath a clump of trees at the foot of which was a shallow well, where the house supply was obtained. Dudley had, indeed, noticed the fact to which his employer referred, and waited for an explanation.

"They are put in with a purpose," said Mr. Blunt. "When I offered to bring you here I told you that there were certain drawbacks. Well, Indians and an ever-threatening raid are amongst those drawbacks. Now, supposing the Indians appeared at this moment, you and I should run for the nearest door, which happens to be the one in general use. We should bolt and bar it once we were in, and then our guns would speak from the openings left for that special purpose. But our men are still out on the rancho, and unless they were warned of the coming of the Indians they would be slaughtered one by one, for they are often widely separated. I should warn them. I have an old cannon mounted on the roof, and Francia would fire it. The noise would certainly reach the ears of the gauchos, and would tell them that there was danger. They would collect together, gallop for the rancho, and make a rush."

"While you would throw open the door or doors nearest to them, and fire on the Indians," interrupted Dudley.

"Precisely! There might be a hundred and more of these enemies, for they hunt in large parties, and our sole aim would be to get the whole of our force together. The horses and the cattle we should have to leave, and I have found by a former experience that they act as an excellent counter attraction. The Indians raid us for our horses and cattle, and also to kill us if possible. If they fail to kill us, and see that to capture us they must fight, they will take the easier course and make off with the cattle. To drive them they have to separate a little, and that is the time for us to retaliate. We follow, and on one occasion we succeeded in saving our beasts and in driving the enemy away.

"Now we'll turn in. To-morrow you take your horse as I have directed, and don't forget; make the most of the week before you."

He rose from his chair, stretched and yawned, and led the way to the house. A solitary candle was spluttering in the one big room of which the place consisted, and it showed two pallets, constructed of wide strips of canvas nailed to long wooden trestles. Mr. Blunt clambered on to one, drew a blanket over him, placed a revolver beneath his pillow, and nodded good night. Dudley followed his actions, blew out the candle, and settled himself to sleep. But for a long while he remained awake, listening to the deep breathing of his friend, and to the long, low whimpering of a biscacha, a species of rodent which infests the pampas in certain parts. Then he, too, fell asleep and continued in blissful unconsciousness till the first faint streak of light stole into the room.

"Time to water and groom the horses," cried Mr. Blunt, leaping from his pallet and touching Dudley. "Come now, how is the stiffness? What a grand morning it is! Why it makes one glad to be alive."

Dudley wakened with a start, threw his blanket from him, and sat up, rubbing his eyes. Then he rose suddenly and leaped to the ground, only to give a groan, and smile somewhat lamely at his friend.

"My word! Stiff!" he exclaimed dismally. "I can hardly move. I thought that a good night's sleep and rest would put matters right. I am worse than I was yesterday."

"And will be till I take you in hand. Strip off those things, my lad, and hop along over to the well. There is a pump there and a tub. Have a thorough good splash, and rub yourself down till your skin is on fire. Then I'll give you a little of my own special embrocation. Come, hustle!"

Mr. Blunt smiled at Dudley as he bustled him into one corner of the room and watched him remove his clothing. Then, tossing him a rough towel, he conducted him to the well for all the world as if he were his jailer. Dudley hobbled across the green space which intervened, gripped the handle of the pump, and set to work with a will. He meant to show his friend that even if he were stiff and sore he had still some energy. But he wondered whether he would, after all Mr. Blunt had said, be fit to ride that day, or move away from the house.

"My hips are so stiff and sore that I cannot bend them, while my knees feel too weak to carry my weight," he said to himself. "And my back, oh!"

"Get into the tub and sit down, my lad. That's right! Makes you gasp a little! The water comes from a spring, you see, and is precious cold. Put your head under the spout and let it pour right over you."

Mr. Blunt waved to the tub, saw Dudley clamber stiffly into it and crouch as low as possible, and then, with rapid movement of one of his muscular arms, for his injured limb was not yet quite recovered, sent a stream of ice-cold water gushing from the spout over Dudley's quivering body. No wonder that he gasped! For a moment he felt as if he could not endure it, and then he began to enjoy the sensation. The cold water wakened him effectively. He pushed his head still farther under the spout, and then gradually let the water pour over his back. A minute later he was splashing himself all over and rubbing vigorously at his limbs.

"Makes you feel better?" demanded Mr. Blunt with a grim smile. "Ah, thought it would! Hop out now and I'll give you a rub down. Then you can take a run round the rancho and afterwards have the embrocation applied. There, out you come! One has only to watch you to see that you are more active already. I'm not at all surprised to find you so stiff and sore, for you must remember that we have ridden fairly hard and fast, while you had not been in a saddle for many a long month."

"And then for only a matter of an hour at a time," answered Dudley, spluttering as the water ran from his face. "That beast I rode yesterday is a beauty, and quiet enough, but he seemed to be fretting, and kept jolting me about."

"He is young and raw in some ways, though sedate enough," came the answer. "You will have him again to-day, and there is nothing to prevent your putting him to the gallop. Practise mounting quickly, and when you get a little more accustomed to the saddle, put him at a jump. Now, how's that?"

It was no gentle hand which applied the towel to Dudley's shoulders, and very soon he was in a furious heat from head to foot. The sudden immersion, and the friction afterwards, had quickened his circulation, and already the greater part of his stiffness was gone. He tied the towel round his waist, and set off at a rapid pace round the rancho. Ten minutes later the embrocation had been applied and he was fully dressed again.

"Now for the horses," said Mr. Blunt. "That is a duty which you must never neglect, for it may happen that your life may depend on your horse. Every gaucho looks after his own animals, and I do the same, watering them at dawn, grooming and then feeding. Your beast gets to know you thoroughly well, till he will almost understand the words you say to him. Here we are. The animals live at this end of the house, so as to be under our guns. There is a trough near the well, and I generally do the grooming there, for it is out in the sun."

Everything was new to Dudley, for the reader must remember that he had lived for the most part in a town. He followed Mr. Blunt to the stable, took the brush which was given him and a wisp of straw, and then went up to his horse. The animal knew him at once and whinnied. Dudley patted its neck, and taking the beast by a lock of its mane led it out to the well, where he let it drink peacefully till it was satisfied.

"Now groom him thoroughly," said Mr. Blunt, "and afterwards give him his feed. And just remember another point. You like to have your breakfast in peace, I have no doubt, and so does a horse. Leave him to enjoy it. It upsets his digestion if he is constantly interfered with while eating, and if you would have him always fit, see that he has his feed-times to himself, and a reasonable space afterwards before you make use of him. There, the grooming's done, and we can take them back."

An hour later Dudley lifted his native saddle on to his head and went to the stable. His horse gave another whinny as he appeared, and moved a step towards him, standing perfectly still as he placed the bit in its mouth and the saddle on its back. Then our hero slung his shotgun over his shoulder, led the horse out, and sprang into the saddle, feeling wonderfully agile and supple now. A minute later he was galloping at full pace away over the pampas, his broad-brimmed hat flapping in the wind, and the trimmings of his leggings trailing out beside him.

"Sits fairly well," exclaimed Mr. Blunt critically, as he watched his departure. "There is a little too much daylight showing between him and the saddle, but that is a fault which he will rectify. That lad means to be a rider. If I make no mistake he has made up his mind to be as good at his work as any of the gauchos."

Dudley had, in fact, firmly determined to do his utmost to please his master and gain the good opinion of the gauchos. After a few minutes' fast galloping he began to feel quite at home in the saddle; he sat lower and less of that daylight of which Mr. Blunt had complained showed as he rushed along. He took a steady pull at his reins, and spoke softly to his horse.

"Steady, boy! Take it easy for a little. I want to practise that mounting and dismounting."

Pulling the animal up short, he slung his gun still higher, so that it should be quite out of the way, and for an hour he practised vaulting into his saddle, till he could reach it without putting foot to stirrup. Then he became more ambitious, walking his horse and endeavoring to gain his seat without stopping him.

"Not so easy as I thought," he said to himself. "But still a thing I must do, for it might happen that I should be chased by some of the Indians, and every second would be of importance. Another thing I must learn. I must manage to mount from the off side as easily as I can from this. Yes, I remember Mr. Blunt telling me that every gaucho could do that."

Two hours later he felt thoroughly tired with his exertions, and, seeing a clump of trees, rode towards it, dismounted, and slackened the girths.

"Time for something to eat," he thought. "I must be five miles from the rancho now, and this afternoon I will trot farther out. If I do twenty miles in all I shall have had a fair day, and shall have gained some idea of the country."

Following out this plan, he rested himself and the horse for a full hour, and then trotted across the pampas, his beast taking him along at a gentle amble, which is so comfortable for the rider when a great distance has to be covered, and which can be kept up by a good horse for two or three hours at a stretch. About four in the afternoon he turned his face towards the rancho, and when within four miles set his beast at a gallop. The pace increased as horse and rider entered into the excitement of the movement, and very soon they were sweeping over the pampas. Suddenly an object ahead attracted Dudley's attention and he looked anxiously at it, uncertain of its nature at that distance. But in a few seconds the object was distinctly visible, and to his dismay he found himself bearing down upon a long, low corral, which cut directly across his path.

"Steady! Whoa!" he cried, sitting well back and pulling at his reins. But his mount on this occasion was somewhat out of hand. The sharp gallop, and the knowledge that its stable was near at hand, had fired its blood and made it unheedful of the bit. Its neck was stretched to its fullest extent, its teeth were closed firmly on the bit, while its eye seemed to see only the rolling pampas, the brown-green grass swaying in all directions.

"Steady!" shouted Dudley again, pressing his stirrups forward and leaning far back to put all his weight and strength into the pull. Then, realizing that nothing would stop the mad flight of the beast, he gathered his reins well into both hands, gripped firmly with his knees, and steered as well as he was able for what appeared to be the lowest portion of the long corral rails extending across his front. To turn the horse more than a few inches either way was hopeless, for he had already made one mighty attempt to swerve to the right and gallop along parallel with the obstruction.

In a flash they were within twenty feet of the rail, and only then did the animal observe what was before him. Dudley felt it hesitate in its stride, and, taking instant advantage of the fact, he pulled the beast in a little, though to bring it to a halt was impossible. Then his voice rang out again, encouraging the horse.

"Steady, boy!" he cried. "Get yourself together. Up! Over!"

Nobly did the gallant beast respond. Though the rail was at least five feet in height, it gathered its legs together, steadied its stride, and then, rising to the obstruction, flew over it like a bird, alighting with a thud on the far side, a thud which, to an unaccustomed rider like Dudley, almost proved disastrous. He was jerked forward on to the animal's neck, but recovered himself with an effort and once more gripped his reins. But still there was no stopping that mad flight. His mount seemed to gather fresh impetus now that it had overcome the rails, and it tore across the corral. Its eye fixed itself on the far rail, it changed step some fifteen paces from it, and once again, as Dudley sang out to encourage it, the beast rose for the jump. But, alas! on this occasion the rail was higher. Its hoofs fouled the top, and in a second horse and man went headlong. Dudley was far away ahead, having alighted on his back, after having turned a complete somersault, while the horse fell on its side, rolled, and came to a halt with its feet lashing the air.

"ITS HOOFS FOULED THE TOP,
AND IN A SECOND HORSE AND MAN WENT HEADLONG"

To say that Dudley was shaken was to express the matter mildly. The breath was jarred out of his body, and for a minute perhaps he lay on the ground, his head swimming, and his senses somewhat scattered, while he gasped till his face assumed a purple hue. Then his breath came again, and with it his dogged spirit. He sprang to his feet and ran across to the horse, which was now lying on its side, scared and winded by the fall. Dudley took it by the ring of its bit and encouraged it to rise.

"Neither of us hurt, old man," he cried joyfully, as he walked the beast to and fro and noticed that it was not lame. "We were getting along too well together, and you seemed to think that you had a fine rider on your back. But we won't be beaten. We'll wait till you have your wind again, and then we'll have another go."

He patted the beast's neck, and then saw to the girths, which had slipped far back. Leaving the animal to stand alone, he slipped his gun from his shoulder and carefully examined it.

"Not even dented! That's another bit of luck, for it is hard to believe that it could have escaped. And, when one comes to think of it, it is as difficult to see how we both escaped breaking our necks. Lucky for me that I was thrown so far, for if I had struck close to him he might have fallen on me, and then there would have been an end to my prospects. I'll give him ten minutes more, and then we'll tackle the thing again."

He slipped the sling of the gun over one of the posts which held up the rails of the corral, and sauntered up and down, inspecting the rails somewhat grimly. There was a determined look on his sun-tanned face, a look which told that come what might he was going to persevere. The heavy tumble he had experienced had scared him not a little, and had shaken him considerably. Some would have considered it foolhardy for him to attempt the jump again, while others would have excused a second attempt, considering the narrow escape he had had. But Dudley was out there to conquer difficulties. He had a task to learn, and to hesitate now, to cry off because of a tumble, was not the way in which to overcome those difficulties. He hitched his belt in another hole, crammed his hat well down on his head, and walked steadily up to his horse.

"We're going to have another go, old boy," he said, as he patted the neck. "We'll take it steadily this time, for you want little run for the jump. Now, up we go!"

He himself was surprised at the ease with which he reached the saddle. Without touching the stirrup he vaulted into his seat, and after the practice he had had his toes fell of themselves into the stirrups. He gathered up his reins, patted the neck again, and walked his horse up to the rails to let it have a good look. Then he turned about, till they were thirty paces away, and with a touch of knee and rein he swung the beast round. There was no need to tell the gallant animal what was wanted. Dudley felt it bound forward. It took the bit in its teeth, gathered its feet beneath it, and hopped over the rails as if they had been a foot in height only, Dudley sitting well down all the time. A minute later they faced round again, and this time, with a leap which left a foot of light between its heels and the rail, the horse sailed over the obstruction, animal and rider alighting together, and without a jar, on the outside of the corral. Dudley slipped out of his saddle, slung his gun across his shoulders, and vaulted again into the saddle. Not till then did he observe that a horseman had ridden up. It was Mr. Blunt, looking a splendid figure as he sat in his saddle. There was a look of pleasure on his face, and he rode right up to Dudley's side.

"Hurt?" he asked curtly. "No bones broken? Then you are lucky. I saw everything. I could have shouted as you rode at the corral, but I knew that if I did so the beast you rode might have been startled, and perhaps might have changed step at the jump. That would have meant perhaps a worse fall. You were determined to do that jump, lad?"