Spurring on livestock, on the way to Chile,
three loads lost in a hill.
In some watery ones, when closing the night,
we went to collide them, me with another man.
Far, to the other hand, it was the troop,
the night was dark, heavy the fog.
Of bed to the wait that the moon comes out
in the dry thing we toss farm tool and mattress.
I calculate it would be more than midnight,
when he wakes up us singular rumor;
women's song and tun-tun of boxes,
that the wind brought with different they are.
Without a doubt of party I said in these payments
people will walk, because Saturday is today.
How that will look for the dance?
The Good partner, lets go I said.
We took the mules and on foot we release ourselves;
we already heard close sound the rumor.
In a gulch, bending a corner,
a ranch was presented.
Neither dog, neither you shine, neither fire in the ranch...
More and more close the rumor was heard;
it predicts of screams and of laughter,
and of oaths and of confusion.
To the edge of a hill the moon appeared
patent a gump on her it happened;
traced in the sky it lowered for the edge,
and sharp neigh the airs filled.
Bad women is this the partner said,
that all this uproar is made illusion.
Let pray that here is Salamanca,
and of her it liberates us for always the Lord...