She is a weak cow!" The fame of his vast territories and his wealth in stock reached even to Buenos Aires.

Every one knew of Madariaga by name, although very few had seen him.

When he went to the Capital, he passed unnoticed because of his country aspect--the same leggings that he was used to wearing in the fields, his poncho wrapped around him like a muffler above which rose the aggressive points of a necktie, a tormenting ornament imposed by his daughters, who in vain arranged it with loving hands that he might look a little more respectable.
One day he entered the office of the richest merchant of the capital.
"Sir, I know that you need some young bulls for the European market, and I have come to sell you a few." The man of affairs looked haughtily at the poor cowboy.

He might explain his errand to one of the employees, he could not waste his time on such small matters.

But the malicious grin on the rustic's face awoke his curiosity.
"And how many are you able to sell, my good man ?" "About thirty thousand, sir." It was not necessary to hear more.