Leaving Vera at 8 a.m. the train goes at a snail’s pace along the branch line to Reconquista, covering the distance of about thirty leagues in five hours.  Arriving there in the sweltering midday heat, we were met by an English friend and his capataz, the latter dressed in his enormous slouch hat, deerskin apron, and silver spurs weighing probably a full kilo.

One cannot help noticing at once the different type of natives; from the slow, slouching, don’t-care kind of men, which one sees in Cordoba and Southern Santa Fe, to the quick, straight, hawk-eyed half-Indian Chaquenos.

Reconquista on a hot summer’s day is one of the dirtiest places on this earth, which is saying a good deal.  One drives through streets two feet deep in light sandy dust, which hangs in clouds all over the town.  There is an excellent hotel in the centre of the town, built on typical Spanish plans with fine large open patios, which are filled with splendid tropical plants and ferns.  Having washed off the dust of three days’ travel from our weary persons, and having changed into more suitable travelling gear, we sat down to an excellent spread.

In the cool of the evening we made a tour of the town, being most interested in the cigar factories, where we bought excellent smokes for $2 a hundred, all hand-made from pure tobacco leaf by the brown-hued lasses of Reconquista.

The rest of the evening we spent in unpacking our native saddles, and preparing everything for our long horseback journey—­not having forgotten to see that our tropilla of fifteen grey ponies were fit and ready to make an early start next morning.

Three a.m. next morning found us out in the “corrales” having our ponies allotted to us by the capataz—­we found the tropilla on “ronda”—­that is, in a corner with a lasso tied across in front of them, the height of their chests, and all facing outwards.  This is the most general way of teaching horses to stand in the Chaco, as, if taught to stand singly, they would fall too easy a prey to the Indians and gauchos.  In order to saddle these ponies we had to “manear” them, that is, tie their forelegs together, for without this they refused to let us put the blankets on their backs.

All being ready, we started off, four of us, two in front and two behind, with eleven loose ponies between us.  By this time the sky was beginning to grow light, and evidently the fresh morning air had disagreed with my friend T.’s horse, which suddenly cleared down a side street with his head between his forelegs and his back arched like the bend in an archer’s bow.

After some seconds of this amusing sight T. managed to get the pony’s head up and came along again, looking very warm and beaming; his pink-nosed pony quite satisfied that he would have to carry more than his own weight for some distance further.

Leaving Reconquista on the north we crossed, over an old railway embankment, a large stretch of low country, through which a small stream glided with winding course, and jogging along league after league we gradually got into more interesting country:  little clumps of trees with very thick undergrowth, clinging creepers, bright-coloured flowers, and gorgeously plumaged birds.