All along the sides of the roads were little farms, apparently
uncultivated, except for small patches of wonderfully grown maize and
browning linseed. Practically all these farms are owned by Swiss and
German peasants, each one with his small herd of cows and working
bullocks.
We changed our ponies every three or four leagues, always going at the
same jog-trot, stopping occasionally at a wayside inn to wet our parched
throats with fresh well water (with a drop of cana in it to kill the
microbes), and smoking hard all the time to keep off the swarms of
mosquitoes.
After travelling ten leagues or so we began to leave these habitations
behind us, and got into wilder country with no fences, only long
stretches of undulating land, dotted with patches of splendid-looking
trees and enticing shade.
The road occasionally crossed small streams, which gradually became more
tropical looking, until we came to quite a large river, two or three
hundred metres wide, looking beautifully peaceful and oily. Standing
above on the bank, in the shade of some magnificent quebracho trees, we
looked down upon this lazy stretch of perfect scenery, when suddenly
there was a slight disturbance in the water and a small black dot
appeared on the top of the water.
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