"Yes, certainly it would have been better
for you - better for your soul." Nevertheless, I still ask myself:
"Would it?" and if this incident should come before me half a second
before my final disappearance from earth, I should still be in doubt.
One of our favourite games at this period - the only game on foot we
ever played with the gaucho boys - was hunting the ostrich. To play
this game we had bolas, only the balls at the end of the thong were
not of lead like those with which the grown-up gaucho hunter captures
the real ostrich or rhea. We used light wood to make balls, so as not
to injure each other. The fastest boy was chosen to play the ostrich,
and would be sent off to roam ostrich-fashion on the plain, pretending
to pick clover from the ground as he walked in a stooping attitude, or
making little runs and waving his arms about like wings, then standing
erect and mimicking the hollow booming sounds the cock bird emits when
calling the flock together.
The hunters would then come on the scene and the chase begin, the
ostrich putting forth all his speed, doubling to this side and that,
and occasionally thinking to escape by hiding, dropping upon the
ground in the shelter of a cardoon thistle, only to jump up again when
the shouts of the hunters drew near, to rush on as before.
