In the winter we were in bed by six to seven.

His clothes were a disgrace to any peon.  He had native trousers that button at the foot, with top boots, no socks, his heel and big toe were sticking out, no vest, only a shirt and an old hat, where the grease of many years was visible.

He was a splendid worker—­I have not seen a better one.  We used to catch locusts in a big zinc box pulled by two horses; the locusts were put into sacks, and after being left standing for four days, were carted to the village, where he got 10 cents a kilo.  The smell in carting these dead locusts was simply terrible.  Then I helped pick ten square of maize, which at first took a little skin off my hands.  At branding time we lassoed each calf to cut off the horns.  I had to sit on their necks, and got smothered in the face with hot blood.  The Boss was very proud because his monthly account only came to $12 for four of us:  biscuits, sugar, tea, and other things.  He sent his clothes once in three months to be washed.  He had few friends, no one ever came to visit him, and every Sunday he shut himself in his room.  He bought the place for $90,000 and sold it for over double.  He was a thorough campman, but so mean.  One cold winter 500 cows died of starvation; rather than sell them at a low price he let them starve.  The last thing he said was, he was “going to New Zealand to marry an ugly lady, but she has plenty of money.”  His countrymen called him a disgrace to his country and the meanest in the Argentine.

Then a kind friend found me a place on a well-known estancia in the same province.  The manager, the second-manager, and the book-keeper were all Irish, born in the country.  I had a good horse, which I rode fifty miles to the estancia.

The second told me to have my food with the peons (men), which was rather disheartening.  I tried to eat in the kitchen, but the French cook kicked me out, and for ten months I fed with the peons; they were very good fellows.  The second and the book-keeper had meals together.  The second-manager did no work:  up at half-past eight, he went to the train, had a drink at the shop, then came back for dinner, slept until tea-time, then went to see the train pass again and have another drink, and came back at all hours.  He had been there fourteen years and was only getting a hundred a month.

The chief work was loading cattle and sheep for the big freezing factories.  The trucks were rotten.  One night we finished at 11 p.m., after a hard day’s work, three of us unloaded 300 quebracho posts in under three hours.  I had a French gardener in my room who did nothing else but spit and talk politics.

The Boss took me to learn shearing.  I had to shear, gather the wool, sort it and pack it up.  Each man got five cents a sheep, but it was hard work, all done by hand.

Then I cut alfalfa for a fortnight—­a nice easy job.