'm sure it would have been
wiser. What will the Senora say, when she knows of my thus dallying--
trifling with the commands she gave me? Bah! she won't know anything
about it--and needn't. She will, though, if I stand dallying here. I
mustn't a minute longer. So up, Senor Avertruz, and lie there."

At which, he hoists the ostrich--by the gauchos called "_avertruz_"--to
the croup of his _recado_; where, after a rapid manipulation of cords,
the bird is made fast, beyond all danger of dropping off.

This done, he springs upon his horse's back, and then looks out to see
which direction he should now take. A thing not so easily determined;
for in the chase after it, the ostrich had made more than one double;
and, although tolerably familiar with the topography of that plain, the
gaucho is for the time no little confused as to his whereabouts. Nor
strange he should be; since the palm-groves scattered over it are all so
much alike, and there is no high hill, nor any great eminence, to guide
him. Ridges there are, running this way and that; but all only gentle
undulations, with no bold projection, or other land-mark that he can
remember.

He begins to think he is really strayed, lost; and, believing so, is
angry with himself for having turned out of his path--as the path of his
duty. Angry at the ostrich, too, that tempted him.

"_Avertruz, maldito_!" he exclaims, terms in the gaucho vernacular
synonymous with "ostrich, be hanged!" adding, as he continues to gaze
hopelessly around, "I wish I'd let the long-legged brute go its way.
Like as not, it'll hinder me going mine, till too late. And if so,
there'll be a pretty tale to tell! _Santissima_! whatever am I to do?
I don't even know the way back to the house; though that wouldn't be any
good if I did. I daren't go there without taking some news with me.
Well; there's only one thing I can do; ride about, and quarter the
pampa, till I see something that'll set me back upon my road."

In conformity with this intention, he once more puts his horse in
motion, and strikes off over the plain; but he does not go altogether
without a guide, the sun somewhat helping him. He knows that his way to
the Indian village is westward, and as the bright luminary is now
beginning to descend, it points out that direction, so taking his
bearings by it, he rides on. Not far, however, before catching sight of
another object, which enables him to steer his course with greater
precisi