- The carancho, a vulture-eagle - Our
pair of caranchos - Their nest in a peach tree - I am ambitious to take
their eggs - The birds' crimes - I am driven off by the birds - The nest
pulled down.
Just before my riding days began in real earnest, when I was not yet
quite confident enough to gallop off alone for miles to see the world
for myself, I had my first long walk on the plain. One of my elder
brothers invited me to accompany him to a water-course, one of the
slow-flowing shallow marshy rivers of the pampas which was but two
miles from home. The thought of the half-wild cattle we would meet
terrified me, but he was anxious for my company that day and assured
me that he could see no herd in that direction and he would be careful
to give a wide berth to anything with horns we might come upon. Then I
joyfully consented and we set out, three of us, to survey the wonders
of a great stream of running water, where bulrushes grew and large
wild birds, never seen by us at home, would be found. I had had a
glimpse of the river before, as, when driving to visit a neighbour, we
had crossed it at one of the fords and I had wished to get down and
run on its moist green low banks, and now that desire would be
gratified. It was for me a tremendously long walk, as we had to take
many a turn to avoid the patches of cardoon and giant thistles, and by
and by we came to low ground where the grass was almost waist-high and
full of flowers.
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