I had been riding a brown horse, with a wall-eye, and some white hairs in his tail; he was not much to look at, but I found him to be sure-footed and comfortable, and a good horse among cattle. There was a little chestnut, too, which was very pleasant to ride. The Indians had horses of various sorts and colours, which they had been accustomed to ride themselves. Among these was a little rosillo, or roan, which I noticed Justiano liked to saddle up frequently, particularly when work amongst cattle was going on. He was not much to look at, being small, with rather a hollow back, and he seemed to me poor in condition, and to be overworked. Moreover, I saw that he had a nasty sore underneath the recado, one day when he was being unsaddled, so I took pity on him, and told the Indian not to ride him in future, as I would try to dress the wound, and if possible get it well. So I washed it myself, night and morning, applying a solution of tincture of arnica, and it soon began to mend. The horse, too, improved in condition by a little rest and freedom from pain. When the wound seemed nearly all right again, I saddled him up with my English saddle, and took him out for about an hour. I enjoyed riding him; he was so full of go; but at the same time docile and quiet. When I saw Don Frederico, he told me his history. One afternoon at the end of the Flores War, a soldier rode up to La Concordia, and asked for a fresh horse. "I cannot think what has come to this one," he said. "He is a real good one, but no sooner did we cross the river Rosario, coming from the Swiss colony, than he seemed to collapse all at once. He has come nearly ten leagues (30 miles), without shewing any sign of being tired." Don Frederico himself came out at the moment, and looked at the horse. "I can tell you," he said. "The rosillo has our mark, and so soon as he crossed the river he knew he was on his own camp, where he was born. He must have been caught as a 'potro,' or colt, and have been tamed by the soldiers. Except that he carries the mark of this estancia, we none of us know anything about him. However, go to the kitchen and get some refreshment, and we will give you another horse, and doubtless the rosillo will be glad enough to find himself at home again." No sooner, however, was he let loose, than he gave two or three neighs of joy and then he trotted off, straight up to the Cerro, and joined the horses there, so we could only conclude he must have originally been caught and taken from the Cerro end of the estancia. Such was his history, and I now saw after him myself, and took him for my own riding. He was a real good little horse, and I liked him more and more as time went on. Napoleon liked him, too, and used to lie down beside him when I had him tied up under the "ombu" tree, which gave so good a protection from the sun in the courtyard, and then as evening came I let him loose, so that he might join the other horses, and feed and enjoy himself to his heart's content.