He was a tall, well-made, but rather fierce-looking gaucho, with keen
black eyes, and a heavy black beard. He seemed suspicious of me--a
very unusual thing in a native's house, and asked me a great many
searching questions; and finally, still with some reluctance in his
manner, he invited me into the kitchen. There I found a big fire blazing
merrily on the raised clay hearth in the centre of the large room, and
seated near it an old grey-haired woman, a middle-aged, tall,
dark-skinned dame in a purple dress--my host's wife; a pale, pretty
young woman, about sixteen years old, and a little girl. When I sat
down my host began once more questioning me; but he apologised for
doing so, saying that my arrival on foot seemed a very extraordinary
circumstance. I told them how I had lost my horse, saddle, and
_poncho_ in the wood, and then related my encounter with the bull.
They listened to it all with very grave faces, but I am sure it was
as good as a comedy to them. Don Sinforiano Alday--the owner of the
place, and my questioner--made me take off my coat to exhibit the
bruises the bull's hoofs had inflicted on my arms and shoulders. He
was anxious, even after that, to know something more about me, and so
to satisfy him I gave him a brief account of some of my adventures in
the country, down to my arrest with Marcos Marco, and how that plausible
gentleman had made his escape from the magistrate's house.
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