PABLOS BRAVE ACT.

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XXI, Issue XVIII, 29 October 1898, Page 579

PABLOS BRAVE ACT.

THE STORY OF A RESCUE. ‘Whatever is this old boot doing here, Will?’ said Charlie Fowler to his friend, Tom Bayfield, as he. dragged the article in question from among a pile of splendid Mexican clothing and ornaments. ‘Hadn’t it better be thrown away? I don’t see any use in keeping it.' The two boys had been endeavouring to arrange to the best advantage the various trophies and curiosities collected during the past few years by Tom’s father, a well known hunter and traveller. And, in truth, the boot did look more fit for the dust-heap than for any other purpose. It was dirty, wrinkled, and half-worn out, and had a ragged cut going the whole length of the sole, as if some one had been trying to rip it up with a blunt knife. Round it was wound a strong cowhide rope, which could evidently be nothing else than a lasso. ‘Steady, old man,’ said Tom. as he took the boot and deposited it carefully in a conspicuous corner of the room; ‘father vaiues that more than anything else, as a remembrance of his old schoolfellow. Jack Low. And, besides, its own history is interesting enough. You must get father to tell you about it this evening'. He can do it better than I could; and. besides, I’ve forgotten exactly how it goes.'

And this is the substance of the tale that Mr Bayfield told the two boys when they showed him the battered old relic. Jack Low's first visit to the Dos Pueblos ranch in Northern Mexico wasn’t by half so interesting as he had anticipated. His father was occupied with business matters for the best part of the day, so that Jack was left pretty much to his own devices. It was hopeless trying to hold much intercourse with Don Moreno, the owner of the ranch, for that gentleman was far too proud and lazy. Most of his time was spent either in sleep or in lying on a bench in the sun smoking cigarettes and thinking what a great man he was. For Don Moreno was a pure Spaniard and a direct descendant of one of the old Spanish conquerors of Mexico—and he knew it. Sometimes he would so far rouse himself as to ride over the ranch superintending matters, but these fits of exertion were rare.

His son (Pablo Moreno) was very different. He was about Jack's age (15), and a tall, handsome boy. There was nothing in the way of lassothrowing' or riding that he couldn't do, and do well. “Don’t you feel tired?' Jack had asked him once on his return from a sixty mile ride. ‘No, why should I?' answered Pablo in astonishment, for since his fourth year he had scarcely ever been out of the saddle for any length of time, except to sleep, and not always even for that.

Jack, whose riding had to be acquired slowly and painfully, naturally found that he had little in common with Pablo, who, though he strove hard to conceal it. could not help despising his awkwardness. The contempt was not all on one side, however, when Jack found that Pablo was actually unable to read as. much Spanish as he himself could, while arithmetic seemed utterly beyond him. Still more strangely. Pablo did not seem tobe in the slightest degree aware of his deficiencies in these respects.

In the circumstances, it was not surprising that the two boys, after a while, kept apart as much as possible, though Pablo's ideas of hospitality always led him to see that Jack never came to harm while on one of the long walking excursions in which he passed most of his time. Pablo’s thoughts on the subject, if put into words, would probably have been somewhat to this effect: ‘Why any sensible person should walk when he could just as well ride, is more than I can understand. To say nothing of the extra exertion, he might at any time be injured l v the cattle, not to speak of “El Sacudidor.” '

This latter name (signifying ‘the thrower’ or ‘the tosser') had been given by the frightened servants to a peculiarly savage bull of which Don Moreno was especially fond, on account of its pure Spanish breed. Consequently, the vicious brute was allowed to roam about at will all over the ranch, his owner refusing even to have his horns sawn off, though several dead horses and injured herdsmen bore testimony to their deadly power. One morning, while Jack -was walking through a long and deep ravine, the perpendicular walls of which pre eluded all ideas of climbing, he suddenly heard a great rattling of stones just in front of him. Looking up. to his horror he saw the dreaded ‘EI Sacudidor’ rushing round a bend in the narrow path about thirty yards in front, with head lowered, and evident ly meaning- mischief!

It was a terrible moment, but for tunately Jack had sufficient present * of mind to stand his ground. This evidently surprised the bull, who stopped short for a few moments, and began to bellow and to tear up the ground with his horns.

Suddenly, however, he threw up his tail and sprang forward. Jack shut his eyes. At that moment something struck him in the face—the noose of a lasso— Looking up, he saw Pablo Moreno checking his horse on the very brink of the bank above, so close that the animal’s feet were breaking bits ctf the edge. ‘Put the lasso under your arms! Quick, quick!' he screamed. Half instinctively. Jack obeyed, and, running' close to the wall, passed the noose round his shoulders. ‘Now hold on to it!’ called Pablo again, and Jack was drawn up into the air just as the savage bull passed beneath him. with a toss of his head which sent one of his pointed horns along' the sole of his boot, cutting the tough leather like a knife. Before the brute could turn to repeat his attack. Jack was sitting at the top by Pablo’s side—saved! ‘I was lucky for you that 1 saw ‘EI Sacudidor’ entering the ravine, and galloped to the edge to watch him,' said the latter. ‘But even then, if you hadn’t known exactly what to do. you would have been too late,’ answered Jack, shuddering; ‘and to think that I used to despise you. who saved my life, for not caring to know anything about reading, or any of those things.’ ‘Well, to tell the truth.’ said Pablo. ‘l’ve often wished 1 knew as much as you do. but I didn’t like to show it.’ Not another word was said at the time about Pablo's brave act. but henceforth the boys became firm friends, with the result that by the time Jack left the ranch his only superior in riding, cattle-driving, and lasso-throwing was Pablo himself; while the latter, on his part, had picked up English. Latin, and a dozen othei' things with surprising quickness. He soon found the use of them, too. for a rogue tried to cheat Don Moreno out of half of the ranch, and would have succeeded, too. if Pablo had not been able to read the documents and detect the swindle.

As for Hie bull, his last performance sealed his fate. Don Moreno did not mind a few horses or herdsmen more or less, but when the beast so far forgot himself as to attack his master’s guest the ease was altered, and in a few days Jack had the satisfaction of eating a sirloin cut from his late

enemy, and tough enough he found it. ‘Where is Mr Low now?' asked Tom Bayfield, after his father had finished. ‘Well.’ said the latter, “he tried to settle down over here, but always found himself looking- back with longing <m his Mexican experiences. The end of it was that some few years ago he went back on a visit to Pablo, whose father had died not long before. The two friends became partners, and now the Dos Pueblos ranch is the largest, and its'owners the richest men in that part of the country'.