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Outside Magazine, August 2004

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El Último Vaquero Habla Español (The Last Cowboy Speaks Spanish)

By Nick Reding


	"THIS IS NOT A LIFE": NICANOR MOVES THE HERD. (Joshua Paul)

ONE NIGHT DURING THE TIME I spent with René and Nicanor, René made bistec a la pobre, "poor man's steak," a delicacy among gauchos. First, he cut slices off the ewe hanging from the tent pole. Then he seasoned a corner of the stovetop with a piece of fat and laid down a few slices. When they were nearly done, he seasoned a new spot and fried eggs there, then put the eggs on the meat.

When he'd finished eating, René looked off toward the black body of the mountains, rimmed by the palest moonlight against the sky. In the middle of the blackness, there was a tiny pinpoint of light.

"Oye?" he said: "Hey?"

Nicanor looked, too—the light was getting closer.

In Patagonia, more gauchos believe in witches, ghosts, and the devil than believe in God, and they often debate the different ways that spirits show themselves to people. Witches and ghosts appear as wavering points of light, they'll tell you, while the devil travels alone at night, a gaucho wearing all black and riding a black stallion. Where his face should be, there is only polished black rock. If you dare to look, you will see only your reflection.

Suddenly there was the sound of hooves on the rocks. René rose and picked up the rifle, checking the breech in the firelight to make sure it was loaded.

A minute later, a man and woman came into view, each leading a horse. The man had on a big, white cowboy hat, white chaps, and a shiny white shirt with leather cufflets—a clown to the gaucho devil. The woman was dressed in a riding skirt, ornate blue-and-white boots, and a suede vest. The man held a small flashlight; aside from that modern touch, they looked as if they'd ust escaped from Buffalo Bill's Wild West Show.

"Ask them if they're lost," René said to me in Spanish, relaxing to let the rifle lean against his shoulder. I did.

"Obviously," called the man. But he didn't stop walking, and he didn't say anything else. He and the woman were miles from the nearest road. We watched them for a long time, until the flashlight beam no longer showed on the trail.

"First people we've seen in two weeks," said Nicanor.

"Cowboys," said René, mesmerized. "But at first I'd have sworn they were ghosts."

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