Another time, when driving home from the town of Vernado Tuerto, we were caught in a very bad dust storm.  Things became so black that we could not see where we were going, so we had to halt.  The wind was so strong that the men had to get out of the carriage, which was a heavy covered-in waggonette, and hold the wheels down to prevent it from being overturned.  We all looked like seaside niggers, as the dust and rain falling at once came down like mud on us all.  One gets quite hardened to these severe storms.  On one occasion a very rough wind began to blow, but, as it was a steady gale, no one took particular notice of it.  It was after dinner, and everybody was busy playing cards.  The wind made such a deafening noise that you could hardly hear yourself speak; presently some of the occupants of the house thought they would have a look outside to see if things were all right; when they were surprised to see an outer building, used for stores and machinery, roofless, and the roof nowhere to be seen; it was discovered afterwards on the top of their own house, and they had never heard it happen.

The climate in the Argentine is very variable; we have great extremes of heat and cold.  It is healthy as a rule, except in the swampy districts or during a very wet season, when a great many residents suffer from rheumatism.

People talk about the sudden changes of English weather, but we are treated just the same; one day it will be brilliantly hot and fine, and another day cold and miserable.

One part of the country or another is generally suffering from drought, when in another part they are being flooded out.

In the winter there is much more sunshine than there is in England; in the early morning it is bitterly cold, at noon on a fine day it is blazing hot, and then, as soon as the sun goes in, it freezes hard.

In the summer, of course, the heat is very great, but, as it is generally dry, it is quite healthy.

SOME EXPERIENCES OF WORKING ON ESTANCIAS.

I came out with my brother on a tramp steamer from Penarth.  We took thirty-one days.  However, time passed fairly quickly, chipping off rust and painting the decks, after we got over our sickness.

Rain fell heavily as we landed at Buenos Aires, two typical gringos (greenhorns), not knowing a word of Spanish.  I went to a first-class hotel, whose proprietor I had met in England.  My first attempt to speak Spanish was in a tram.  I asked the conductor to stop; getting out I said, “Mucha grasa” (much fat), instead of “muchas gracias” (many thanks)—­then called the man a fool for laughing.

We stopped in Buenos Aires a week and our bill came into hundreds of dollars, which took a big slice off our small means.

We then went to an estancia (farm) in the Province of Cordoba.  The estancia was fifty-one miles square, owned by an Argentine family.  The manager was a North-American, well known in camp life.