"Roast deer, grilled bones, bread and coffee," shouted Harold at length, appearing before Dudley in his shirt sleeves. "Dinner is ready and waiting."
"And so are we. Bring the boys, Pepito," sang out Dudley. "Let us get the meal over before it is dark. Then the men will have time for a smoke before turning in."
Out there on the pampas, when the first streak of light found the camps astir, and the rising of the sun often enough discovered the gauchos, already breakfasted, their horses watered and fed, and themselves mounted and away after the cattle, a man did not as a rule wish to sit up late after darkness had fallen. Candles, like matches, were scarce, and, besides, the strenuous life, and the fresh open air, always had their effect. The gauchos worked hard from cock-crow till nightfall, and then, having supped and smoked a pipe, they were content to fall asleep, as if they were children, and make the utmost of the hours of darkness. Scarcely an hour, therefore, after their meal was ended, the camp was wrapped in silence, eight long figures lying beneath blankets under the shelter of as many saddles, while on the four sides, spread out some two hundred yards from the camp, rode the comrades who were on guard. Gaunt and weird, too, did these latter look as the light of a small crescent of the moon fell upon their figures. Each man was wrapped in his poncho, which belled out all round him, falling sometimes even lower than his knees. Wide-brimmed hats were pulled well over the ears, and in every case a thin rod stuck up above the shoulder and head, standing out prominently against the light of the moon, and showing plainly that the gaucho carried arms. Sometimes the sturdy fellows would sit like statues, watching and listening, while their mounts, seeming to understand what was expected of them, would stand without so much as a move, waiting, like the patient and well-trained beasts they were, for the word of their masters. Perhaps a low whistle would sound across the camp, and at once the men on guard would lift their heads and would amble across to where the call had originated, only to retire again within a minute. For the whistle was a signal, and a prompt answer to it told the one who had given it that his comrades were awake and alert.