These adoptions at first aroused in Misia Petrona a little
rebellion--the only ones of her life; but the centaur soon reduced her
to terrified silence.
"And you dare to complain of me, you weak cow! . . . A woman who has
only given me daughters. You ought to be ashamed of yourself."
The same hand that negligently extracted from his pocket a wad of bills
rolled into a ball, giving them away capriciously without knowing just
how much, also wore a lash hanging from the wrist. It was supposed to be
for his horse, but it was used with equal facility when any of his peons
incurred his wrath.
"I strike because I can," he would say to pacify himself.
One day, the man receiving the blow, took a step backward, hunting for
the knife in his belt.
"You are not going to beat me, Patron. I was not born in these parts.
. . . I come from Corrientes."
The Patron remained with upraised thong. "Is it true that you were not
born here? . . . Then you are right; I cannot beat you. Here are five
dollars for you."
When Desnoyers came on the place, Madariaga was beginning to lose count
of those who were under his dominion in the old Latin sense, and could
take his blows. There were so many that confusion often reigned.
The Frenchman admired the Patron's expert eye for his business. It was
enough for him to contemplate for a few moments a herd of cattle, to
know its exact number.
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