Eight feet high,
when all at once I saw a few yards before me a big round heap of
thistle plants, which had been plucked up entire and built into a
shelter from the hot sun about four feet high. As I came close to it a
loud savage grunt and the squealing of many little piglets issued from
the mound, and out from it rushed a furious red sow and charged me.
The pony suddenly swerved aside in terror, throwing me completely over
on one side, but luckily I had instinctively gripped the mane with
both hands, and with a violent effort succeeded in getting a leg back
over the horse, and we swiftly left the dangerous enemy behind. Then,
remembering all I had been told about the ferocity of these pigs, it
struck me that I had had an extremely narrow escape, since if I had
been thrown off the savage beast would have had me at her mercy and
would have certainly killed me in a couple of minutes; and as she was
probably mad with hunger and thirst in that lonely hot spot, with a
lot of young to feed, it would not have taken her long to devour me,
bones and boots included.
This set me thinking on the probable effect of my disappearance, of my
mother's terrible anxiety, and what they would think and do about it
They would know from the return of the pony that I had fallen
somewhere: they would have searched for me all over the surrounding
plain, especially in all the wilder, lonelier places where birds
breed; on lands where the cardoon thistle flourished most, and in the
vast beds of bulrushes in the marshes, but would not have found me.
And at length when the searching was all over, some gaucho riding by
that cattle-path through the thistles would catch sight of a piece of
cloth, a portion of a boy's garment, and the secret of my end would be
discovered.
I had never liked the red pigs, on account of the way they ploughed up
and disfigured the beautiful green sward with their iron-hard snouts,
also because of the powerful and disgusting smell they emitted, but
after this adventure with the sow the feeling was much stronger, and I
wondered more and more why that beautiful soul, Don Anastacio,
cherished an affection for such detestable beasts.
In spring and early summer the low-lying areas about Canada Seca were
pleasant places to see and ride on where the pigs had not defaced
them: they kept their bright verdure when the higher grounds were
parched and brown; then too, after rain, they were made beautiful with
the bright little yellow flower called _macachina_.
As the _macachina_ was the first wild flower to blossom in the land it
had as great an attraction to us children as the wild strawberry,
ground-ivy, celandine, and other first blooms for the child in
England.
