We Rarely Won When There Were Any Stakes,
As The Native Boys Were Too Clever On Horseback For Us, And Had All
Sorts Of Tricks To Prevent Us From Winning, Even When Our Ponies Were
Better Than Theirs.
We also went tinamou, or partridge, catching, and
sometimes we had sham fights with lances, or long canes with which we
supplied the others.
These games were very rough, and one day when we
were armed, not with canes but long straight pliant green poplar
boughs we had cut for the purpose, we were having a running fight,
when one of the boys got in a rage with me for some reason and,
dropping behind, then coming quietly up, gave me a blow on the face
and head with his stick which sent me flying off my pony. They all
dashed on, leaving me there to pick myself tip, and mounting my pony I
went home crying with pain and rage. The blow had fallen on my head,
but the pliant stick had come down over my face from the forehead to
the chin, taking the skin off. On my way back I met our shepherd and
told him my story, and said I would go to the boy's parents to tell
them. He advised me not to do so; he said I must learn to take my own
part, and if any one injured me and I wanted him punished I must do
the punishing myself. If I made any fuss and complaint about it I
should only get laughed at, and he would go scot free.
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