red to, with some bones of birds clean
picked, and the shells of a half-score ostrich eggs, are all the
_debris_ they can discover.

But none of these items give any indication as to who made bivouac
there; beyond the fact, already understood and unquestioned, that they
were Indians, with the further certainty of their having stayed on the
spot over-night; this shown by the grass pressed down where their bodies
had lain astretch; as also the circular patches browsed bare by their
horses, around the picket pins which had held them.

Indians certainly; but of what tribe there is nothing on that spot to
tell--neither sign nor token.

So concluding, Cypriano and Ludwig have climbed back into their
saddles--the former terribly impatient to proceed--but Gaspar still
stays afoot, holding his horse by the bridle at long reach, and leading
the animal about from place to place, as if not yet satisfied with the
search they have made. For there are spots where the grass is long, and
the ground rough, overgrown also with weeds and bushes. Possibly among
these he may yet discover something.

And something he does discover--a globe-shaped object lying half-hid
among the weeds, about the size and colour of a cricket ball. This to
you, young reader; for Gaspar knows nothing of your national game. But
he knows everything about balls of another kind--the _bolas_--that
weapon, without which a South American gaucho would feel as a crusader
of the olden time lacking half his armour.

And it is a _bola_ that lies before him; though one of a peculiar kind,
as he sees after stooping and taking it up. A round stone covered with
cow's skin; this stretched and sewed over it tight as that on a tennis
ball.

But to the _bola_ there is no cord attached, nor mark of where one has
ever been. For there never has been such, as Gaspar at a glance
perceives. Well knows the gaucho that the ball he holds in his hand has
not been one of a pair strung together--as with the ordinary _bolas_--
nor of three in like manner united, as is sometimes the case; but a
_bola_, for still it is a _bola_, of a sort different from either, both
in its make and the mode of using it, as also the effect it is designed
to produce.

"What is it, Gaspar?" simultaneously interrogate the two, as they see
him so closely examining the thing he has picked up. At the same time
they turn their horses' heads towards him.

"_Una bola perdida_."

"Ah! a ball the Indians h