This man's house was made from rocks held together with dried mud. When Manuel and he were talking, Zepherin noticed that the rocks had many odd designs embedded in them. Some he easily identified -- birds, leaves, fishes -- but there were others he could not. Putting his fingers on one of these , he looked up inquiringly at his father.

"Seashells," said Manuel.

"But we are so far from the sea, Papa."

Manuel shook his head. "Our land is full of mysteries," he said. "Take your saddlebags. We must not wait too long or the train will leave without us."

This threat roused Zepherin to a burst of activity.

Hurriedly putting off the saddlebags, he put his arm around his horse's neck and gave it a warm, farewell snuggle, to which the horse objected by pulling its head away and tossing it in protest. Slinging the bags over his shoulders and, holding them on his chest, he hurried after his father down the trail to the station.

Zapala was the end of the line where the train stopped long enough to handle passengers and take on merchandise garnered along the extensive Argentine-Chilean border. To Zepherin, however, it presented the most interesting gathering of people he had ever seen. The strange sights, sounds and smells held him spellbound. Some individuals were dressed in clothes, partly adapted to the life of the pampas, partly to life among the huincas. The heavy revolvers, casually slung at their sides, make him think they were outlaws, adventurers or spies, who, his father said, infested these frontier regions. But there were several men whose feet were shod in polished riding boots with silver spurs, who wore whipcord breeches and whose shirts shone in the sun. These, too, carried revolvers and were always followed by other armed men.

"Dishonest merchants," growled Manuel. "Became rich supplying our people with bad liquor, cheap goods at high prices and false information about the enemy."

Groups of soldiers were scattered around the station, playing cards or smoking. They had come down from the Indian outposts, happy that their tour of duty in such a dangerous and inhospitable region was over, and that they were on their way home. Although they seemed casual and relaxed, Zepherin noticed that they never strayed out of reach of their long Remingtons.

What interested him most, however -- and caused him the greatest pain -- was the sight of so many of his fellow Indians huddled together, elements of mountain tribes still putting up isolated resistance, or families being transferred from their native territories to the centers. The government was brining them to work in the homes of the Argentineans to expose them to the benefits of civilization. The Indians bitterly resented this. Their families were being broken up, they complained; their children forcibly separated from their parents and sent to the homes of absolute strangers.

"You were too young to understand," Manuel told him. "But years ago the huincas took our children from their homes, forcing the older boys to become soldiers, the younger ones to live in huinca families as servants. We fought against this. What Indian can stand by and see his family torn apart? One father became so angry he seized his youngest child by the feet and swinging it like a club dashed out its brains against a cartwheel."

Dispersed about the station stood several rickety stalls selling food, drinks, leather, silver and woven knickknacks. From one of the food stalls wafted such an appetizing odor that Zepherin stopped.

"Come," said his father.

Zepherin followed him over to the stall and stared at the variety of eatables laid out on the shelves or hanging from the beams. Slices of cooked meat, steak, liver, hearts . . . dainties with which he was familiar. But one item fascinated him. Dangling from a hook it had all the appearances of a snake. But no snake ever smelled like that as it sizzled in the frying pan on the vendor's stove.

On the way to the train they passed a shed constructed from a few planks and longs, across which were scrawled the words: Boliche San Pedro -- St. Peter's Tavern. Several Indians were either doubled over the bar, leaning against the wall of the tavern, or sitting on the ground. Two half-naked Indians sprawled out in the middle of the roadway, dead to the world. Passing huincas, Zepherin noticed, either ignored them or else threw them a contemptuous glance.

Drunkenness in both men and women was something to which he had grown accustomed. He remembered one day at the tolderia how they had laughed at the antics of a drunken man trying to mount his horse. He had leaped with so much energy that he cleared the horse's back and landed on the other side! But he had also seen one poor Indian, after staying drunk for weeks trade a rug of valuable hides for nothing more than a bottle of cheap aguardiente. Often, too, he had helped his mother hide Manuel's weapons to prevent possible tragedy which often followed a drunken brawl. Stories were common of Indians who had lost their cattle and horses and even sold their children for the sake of drink. His father saw the sale of cheap liquor as another huinca trick to destroy the Indians. What he was seeing now made Zepherin wonder if his father might not be right. There were so many things he'd have to learn if he were to help his people!

The sight of these men and the fact that the huincas were in control of everything, filled him with indignation. They had charge of the station, they owned the goods piled on the platform, they were the fine clothes. Only the men who were loading the goods, the men who were carrying the bales of cloth, bundles of hides, bags of corn -- only these were Indians!

As Zepherin approached the platform he finally caught sight of the one thing he had been waiting to see -- the train! It consisted of an engine that drew a score of coaches and wagons. If they were not at all like toldos, as his father said, each was certainly large enough to hold Zepherin's entire family.

He had first heard of trains from his father who had traveled on them during his visits to the capital on behalf of the tribes. "The huincas cannot, like the Indian," his father had explained, "stand the fatigue of riding across the pampas, so they had to invent first the coach drawn by horses and then, since even their horses weren't strong enough, these coaches pulled by great machines." He had described the train as being like so many toldos on wheels -- a description which had sent the children into fits of laughter. A toldo on wheels! The stupid huincas! But when asked how the toldos moved without oxen or horses to pull them, Manuel had dismissed the question as Gualichu, or the evil powers. To cover his confusion, he had hastily described how they moved along rails. Punching one clenched fist in front of the other, and puff-puffing, he had shuffled forward with his feet -- a maneuver which reminded the children so much of a war dance that once again they burst out laughing. Feeling that his dignity was suffering, he had ordered them off to bed.

The engine attracted him most -- a flat, barrel-shaped body with tubes and pipes sticking out all over it like the hairs of a caterpillar, and a long upright nose. It was mounted on wheels the size of the wheels of a galera and along its belly were attached the words in letters of brass: Rio Colorado He went up to the engine and patted it. No sooner had he touched it, however, that it shot out a cloud of steam and gave a shriek that made him jump back in terror. "Gualichu!" he cried. Remembering that he should never let a horse frighten him, he approached and again patted it, with again the same result. This time, though, his keen ears caught the sound of muffled laughter. Quickly turning he was just in time to see a man withdraw his head into the cabin. Like any good hunter he waited motionless until at last the man, thinking he had gone, once more leaned out of the cabin. Having been discovered, the man shouted something in Spanish, and made signs to let Zepherin know that he was going to toot for him. Zepherin now understood that it was the man and not the engine who was responsible for the tooting.

Happy at his discovery, he followed his father into one of the coaches, which had long lines of rough wooden compartments on either side. Zepherin chose a seat near the window, tucking his saddlebags beneath his feet.

When the train tooted several times Zepherin smiled; he know who was giving the signal for their departure. But they did not move. The people in the coach grew restless. Suddenly he heard shouting and the sound of men running. Curious to see what was happening, he stuck his head out the window.

An Argentine army officer on horseback was talking to the engineer and pointing. When Zepherin looked in that direction, what he saw moved him to tears. Approaching on foot in a shuffling run and enveloped in a thick could of pampa dust, hurried a group of about a hundred Indians. Several mounted soldiers kept spurring them on with cries, curses and even with blows from long canes. Their uniforms were thick with brown dust and hung about them slovenly. They must have covered a great deal of territory in their roundup.

While the huincas with their conduct angered him, the Indians caught his sympathy. Had they been completely naked they would have presented a nobler sight. How often during the games and tests of strength, had he not been impressed by their magnificent bodies and rippling muscles! But now, covered in tatters, looking more worn-out than the soldiers since they had made the journey on foot, the merited only compassion. They were quickly hustled to the rear of the train and bundled into the freight wagons. He returned to his father to protest. Manuel held up his hand peremptorily: Silence, it said.

At that moment one of the Indians, weak from exhaustion, fell in front of their coach. A soldier wheeled and rode back to where the man lay. Leaning over his horse he brought his long cane down sharply on the man's back. When the man did not move the soldier cursed and raised the cane a second time. But before he could bring it down, Zepherin, with a cry of rage, had jumped from the coach and the next moment was trying to wrest the cane from the soldier. The soldier easily foiled the attempt, and raised the cane to bring it this time down on the shoulders of Zepherin. When Zepherin saw this, he stood astride the Indian, folded his arms across his chest, and glaring defiance, waited for the blow to fall.

"Alto, la ordered the officer as he cantered up to see what was happening. At the order the solder reluctantly lowered the cane and glowered at the boy. Meanwhile the Indians who had been drinking at the tavern and those working around the station had also taken in the scene. Slowly, in twos and threes, they approached. The sight of these fellow Indians coming to their aid reawakened the courage of the conscripts. They straightened up, moved closer together. Aware of the danger, the officer signaled to the soldiers to form ranks behind him. Thus the soldiers confronted the Indians. In between both, still straddling the fallen man, stood Zepherin.

To break the mounting tension the officer addressed him. "Who are you?" he asked.

"I am a Cura," answered Zepherin. "Namuncura."

"Namun -- who?"

"Na-mun-cu-ra," articulated Zepherin. "Son of Manuel, grandson of Calfucura."

This did not impress the officer. "What are you trying to do? Stir up trouble?"

"I am trying to protect one of my people."

"But the soldier was only making him obey. And the government wishes only to help your people by giving them work."

"He had no right to beat one of my people," said Zepherin stubbornly.

A low rumble of approval from the Indians greeted this. The officer, unaccustomed to handling a situation such as this, was wondering whether he should not resort to sterner measures to prevent an outbreak of violence, when suddenly another figure appeared on the scene. Completely disregarding the officer and his soldiers, he turned to the Indians who fell back to let him pass. On reaching the center of the group he began to speak to them. Whatever he said it had the effect of immediately changing the attitude of the Indians who, despite their grumbling, withdrew, and casting more than one angry glace at the soldiers, went their different ways.

When the crowd had dispersed, the officer once again addressed Zepherin who, meanwhile, had raised the stricken man to his feet.

"You, son, where did you say you were going?"

"I am going to the capital."

"What for?"

"To learn things to help my people."

"Bully for you!" After a moment's hesitation the officer reached into his pocket and drew out a small purse. "Here," he said handing it to Zepherin, "you may need this."

Confused by the sudden change of attitude on the part of the enemy, Zepherin, too, hesitate. Finally, shrugging his shoulders, he accepted the gift.

"By the way, son," continued the officer, "who's the old man who has such a hold over the others?"

"My father. Manuel Namuncura."

"Manuel Namuncura?" Shaking his head, the officer spurred his horse. "So long, son. Buena suerte en al capital," he said. "Get everybody on the train!" he called out to his men. Half-turning in the saddle he caught the boy's eye, and added: "And treat those men a little better."

Meanwhile Manuel, utterly dejected, waited in a far corner of the platform.

"You need not be so sad, Papa," said Zepherin, "because they treated some of our people roughly. You heard the officer give the order to treat them better. He said the government was trying to help our people. . . " Zepherin went on in this vein until it occurred to him that his father was not interested in what he was saying.

"Papa," he tried to explain, "that officer was much too young to have heard about you. All the important men in the capital know you. When that officer gets back to Buenos Aires those people will soon tell him who you are." Grunting something Zepherin did not understand, Manuel led the way back to their places in the coach.

As the train pulled out of Zapala and picked up speed, Zepherin had the novel sensation of being borne swiftly along a smooth river. The pampa brush and the clumps of Rondon trees flashed past him! The fastest horse he had ever ridden could never equal it! It was all so strange and frightening that he sat very close to his father. Gradually he again edged toward the open window; and, ignoring the steam, smoke and flying sand that stung his face, gave himself up to enjoying the panorama that rushed past.

The sight of other groups of Indians being herded into the wagons at every stop made him blaze with indignation. Such scenes were searing reminders of the reasons why he had come to the great city; why he had to learn the secrets of the whites.

When Manuel told him that the train would arrive in Buenos Aires next morning, he grew pensive, giving Zepherin the impression that he was far removed from his surroundings. Suddenly he roused himself.

"Come here," he said. Zepherin moved closer. "Zepherin, you are beginning a new way of life. Until now, you have been living as a boy. Tomorrow you will begin to live like a man. We Indians become men very quickly. If we did not we could not survive. Also, until now, you have lived like an Indian; tomorrow you will have to live like a huinca. But no matter how long you live among the huincas, nor how much you like their ways, never forget that you are an Araucano, a Cura." The cacique's face hardened, his eyes glistened. "No matter what the huincas offer you, no matter how they try to make you one of them, promise me that when the time comes you will return to your own people."

Zepherin bowed his head. "I promise."

Next morning the train drew into the station of the Southern Railroad. The hiss of escaping steam, the screech of brakes, the jangle and jar of clashing coaches and the clang of bells made the boy feel that he was rushing into another world where all was noise and clamor, where unfamiliar people in unfamiliar dress were running confusedly hither and thither. His head began to spin and he seized the frame of the coach window to steady himself.

Suddenly above the racket he heard one familiar sound. "Gualichu!" His father, who all morning had withdrawn into his brooding self, bounded to his feet and pushing Zepherin roughly from the window, leaned out. His keen eyes caught sight of a group of about fifty Indians -- some shod, some barefoot, all dressed in a motley garb of leftover coats, shawls and ponchos. At the sight of that leonine head they broke out into a frenzy and rushed to him. At first he did not say a word; he simply looked at each of them in turn. Then pushing out his formidable chest, he boomed in his deep resonant voice, "Gualichu!" Once again, albeit for a brief moment and in such incongruous surroundings, he was their gran cacique!

Although they would have willingly carried him the length and breadth of Buenos Aires they had engaged a carriage as more fitting to his dignity. They bundled him and Zepherin into it and escorted it on foot all the way to the section of the city where they had their homes. TO others it may have seemed little more than a slum, but to the Indians, accustomed to nothing more than toldos and lean-tos, the dwellings looked both solid and comfortable.

When Manuel stepped down from the carriage, he again became the center of attraction. One old Indian, however, his wrinkled face a forest of gray stubble, noticed Zepherin.

"What is a child like you going to do in this great city?" he asked.

Zepherin straightened up. "I am here to help my people."

Puckering his mouth sourly, the old man shook his head. "We need far more help than any child can give," he said. Then he went to join the others, added forelornly, "You, too, like the rest of us, will be eaten by the huinca tiger."