CHAPTER III

THE BATTLE OF THE HORSES

Leave Bahia Camerones -- Horses wild -- Decide on taking one waggon -- Bell-mare -- Names of horses -- Breaking-in of horses -- German _peones_ -- Horses stray -- Gaucho trick -- Watching troop at night -- Four languages -- Signalling by smokes -- Searching for horses -- Favourite words and phrases -- Nag of the baleful eye -- _Cañadon_ of the dry river -- Bad ground -- Flies -- Ostrich eggs -- Shooting guanaco -- River Chico of Chubut -- Puma's visit at night -- Condor -- Lady killed -- Singing in camp -- Stormy night -- Breakdown of waggon -- Guanaco on stony ground -- Long chase -- Guanaco's death.

I will not bore my readers with all the technicalities of our preparations for the real start.

Suffice it to say that our total belongings were stowed upon a waggon and on the backs of four pack-horses. We had in all sixty horses, and eight men. About forty of these horses had been running wild upon the pampa for eight months previous to our acquiring them. During that time they had been lost and had only been recaptured shortly before our arrival in Trelew. The purchase of them was, however, the best speculation I could make under the circumstances, since all the animals were good and sound. Had I bought by small instalments in Trelew, not only would every man within journeying distance have very naturally attempted to palm off upon me the worst and most vicious animals he possessed, but the horses, not being used to one another's company, would have been impossible to keep together at night upon the pampas, as the various sections composing such a _tropilla_ would inevitably have scattered to the four points of the compass.

Patagonian horses, which are descended from those brought over by the Spaniards in the sixteenth century, are never stabled, but are turned out rain and snow in their troops. These troops or _tropillas_ consist of any number from six animals to thirty, and to each is assigned a _madrina_, or bell-mare, which is never ridden, and which is trained to be caught easily. At night she is hobbled, and her troop remain round about her. Naturally a well-trained _madrina_ is one affair, while a badly-trained one is quite another. In my mob of horses I had four troops, two good madrinas and one bad one, while the fourth was a _rosada_, whose sole object in life seemed to be to get away from her own troop and to kick any one who came within ten feet of her.

When you desire to put a strange horse or colt into a troop, it is necessary to couple him to the _madrina_ for some days, after which he will remain with the troop. The _madrina_ should never be driven in hobbles, a mistake that is often made when bringing in the horses of a morning. A horse used to hobbles can travel in them four or five leagues in a single night, so the reason why the mares should not be allowed ever to become used to travelling in hobbles is obvious. The _madrina_ has a bell attached to her neck, and the last sound heard before you sleep is the soft tinkle of these bells and the comfortable sound of feeding horses, unless the troop happens to take it into their head to make off, in which case you will have a long ride upon their tracks in the morning.

The horses throughout the Argentine Republic are known by their colours (for which the Spanish language supplies an extraordinary variety of terms signifying every tint and shade), and to these names they answer. Some of the names are melodious and pretty--_alazan_, which means chestnut, _cruzado_, the name given to a horse that possesses alternate white feet, the off fore and the near hind foot, or the other way round. There is a theory among the Gauchos that a _cruzado_ will never tire. I cannot do better than give a list of the names of the horses of my own _tropilla_, though, of course, there are many others:

_Alazan_, chestnut.

_Asulejo_, bluish-grey and white in patches.

_Bayo_, fawn.

_Blanco_, white.

_Cruzado_, with crossed white feet.

_Gateado_, yellow with black stripe down back.

_Horqueta_, slit-eared.

_Moro_, grey.

_Oscuro_, black.

_Overo_, piebald or skewbald.

_Pangaré_, brown or bay with fawn muzzle.

_Picaso_, black with white blaze and white legs.

_Rosado_, red and white in patches, roan.

_Rosillo_, strawberry.

_Tordillo_, grey.

_Tostado_, toast-coloured.

_Zaino_, brown or dark bay.

The taming of these horses is a business of which an account may not be uninteresting. The methods used are of a very rough description. The colt is caught from the _manada_, or troop of mares in which he was born, with a lasso, a head-stall is put on him and he is tied up to the _palenque_, or centre-post of the corral. Here he is left for twelve hours or so, during which he generally expends his energies in trying to pull the _palenque_ out of the ground. He is then saddled up, generally with an accompaniment of bucking, and the Gaucho who is to tame him climbs upon his back. Another mounted Gaucho is near by to "ride off," which he does by galloping between the colt and any dangerous ground or object. Probably the colt will begin by bucking, but if he does not do so during his first gallop it by no means follows that he will turn out to be free from the fault. Indeed it is quite probable that he may be soft and fat after his easy youth upon the pampas, and not till about the fifth or sixth gallop will he show such vices as are in him. At first he is ridden on the _bocado_, which is a soft strip of hide tied round the lower jaw. This answers to the heavy snaffle which is the first bit a colt has to submit to in England.

The Gauchos of Patagonia are not nearly patient enough with the mouths of their mounts, spoiling many by harsh treatment. Different colours in horses are supposed to indicate different temperaments; thus they say a _Moro_ colt is generally docile, while a _Picaso_ has the reputation of being very much the reverse.

The horses of Northern Patagonia--such as were ours, for they came from the banks of the Rio Negro--are reputed to be more spirited than those bred in the south. But this theory is possibly owing to the fact that the average Gaucho of the north is a better rider than his brother of the south. The horses are, I fancy, much the same.

Many Patagonian horses are what may be called "quick to mount," starting at a canter as soon as their rider's foot touches the stirrup. This also is the fault of the breakers-in. There are few tricks more annoying or, upon a hillside, more dangerous.

After this short description my readers will be able to understand more fully the happenings which I am about to describe.

On October 3 we set out from Mr. Greenshields', and at the moment of starting Fritz Gleditzsch, a German from Dresden, whom I had brought with me from Buenos Aires, and whom I had engaged on the best recommendations, came to me and told me that he could not go farther because he had had no meat to eat upon the previous night. As the meat-shed was situated about two hundred yards from where my men were encamped, and as he had free access to it, I began to understand that Fritz was something of an old soldier. Had I been able to get another man to replace him on the spot I should have done so, but with my large troop of horses I was more or less in the hands of my _peones_, a not uncommon difficulty to overtake the traveller in Patagonia, and one upon which many _peones_ count.

The real reason for Fritz's recalcitrance turned out to be the arrival in my camp of a compatriot and erstwhile companion, Hans Hollesen, who had applied to join the expedition. I took them both along, for, having paid Master Fritz's way from Buenos Aires, I did not relish the notion of obtaining no return for the outlay, and I knew that, once we passed Colohuapi, I should be master of the situation.

I heard months afterwards from a New Zealander, who had been on board the _Primero de Mayo_ with Fritz, that that gentleman was looking forward to a soft job, and had boasted that he would certainly desert us if we marched more than ten miles a day.

Our first march was about three leagues, and we made our camp beside a small shallow lagoon upon which a couple of ashy-headed geese (_Bernicla poliocephala_) were swimming. I shot them both for the pot.

It was about six o'clock when we camped, and Burbury, who was in charge of the horses, took every possible precaution to prevent their straying, a very likely contingency upon their first night in the open pampa. In spite of the fact that the horses were watched all night, morning found us with but thirty-seven out of the whole number. Soon after daylight Burbury, with some of the men, rode out to recover them. They returned unsuccessful. During the morning a wandering Gaucho came into camp and said he had seen some horses in a _cañadon_ near by. The Welshmen rode out there but came back disappointed, as the horses were not ours. At eleven o'clock next morning I sent three of the men back to Mr. Haddock's, from whose _estancia_ the lost troop had been acquired, the probabilities being that they had headed back for home. But shortly after Burbury and the Germans returned with the horses, which had travelled about nine miles, and were discovered calmly feeding in a _cañadon_. It was Burbury who discovered them by a smart piece of Gaucho work.

Next night, October 6, we watched the horses in turns. It was a cold night lit by a moon. We had some reason to believe that our Gaucho friend of the day before had not been altogether innocent in connection with the straying of the horses. Such a man will ride quietly through the scattered horses feeding in the gloom and stampede them. He will follow a small mob and drive them into some fold of the hills, such as, no doubt, he knows a dozen of, and hide them there until, after several days, a reward is offered by the owner. The Gaucho will then ride casually into the camp, drink a _maté_, hear the story, and remark that he is well acquainted with the country round. If asked whether he can give any opinion as to the whereabouts of the lost horses, he says, "_Quien sabe?_" but suggests they may be in a "_cañadon muy limpio_," to which horses often stray. In reply to any question as to where the _cañadon_ may lie, he replies, "Over there," and waves his hand half round the compass. He may add that he is looking for seven mares of his own that strayed away last Friday week or he would himself undertake the office of guide. If any hint of payment be given, he goes on to say that, since his mares have been lost so long they may remain lost a little longer, while he guides and aids the travellers in their search, not, of course, for the money's worth, that will not recompense him for the mares, which may wander away altogether out of the province because of his delay in looking for them, but because he would do a kindness to persons for whom he has conceived a liking. So he acts as guide, and, after a decent interval, finds the horses and pouches his reward. It is an excellent trade, as there is no risk and plenty of emolument to recommend it, and, in fact, it is a common enough trick in Patagonia.

I sat most of the night by the fire--except when my turn came to ride round the horses, which we had placed in a small hollow--writing up my diary by the light of the fire, and watching the men ride in and out of the moonlight and the shadows. As the night advanced the cold increased. The moon left us about 3.30 A.M. and it became very dark. As I circled on my beat I passed by a wild cat. Morning found the horses all right. We had, however, to delay a little to allow of our men returning from Haddock's.

On October 7 we fared forth once more upon our way, and the ill-luck that had attended us at this first camp was with us up to the last moment of the three days we spent there, for as the waggon began to move off an _alazan_ fell beneath the front wheel, which passed clean over his near fore leg. Strangely enough, owing to some inequality of the ground, the waggon, although very heavily laden, did not hurt the animal. He was not even cut, and when we got him up he resumed his journey as if nothing had happened, and eventually turned out one of our best horses.

We now made two or three good marches in succession, but on October 10, in spite of all precautions, the horses belonging to the black mare's troop deserted her.[2] Upon this, finding that until the horses of the different troops became more used to each other, it would be almost impossible to keep them together on the open pampas, where, as a further disadvantage, the grass was poor and sparse, and the horses had to scatter a great deal to feed, I decided to cut across to the Rio Chico of Chubut and march along the river valley, the tall cliffs of which would serve as a barrier to prevent the _tropilla_ straying. Never was such an awful place as these pampas in which to lose anything, or, worse still, to get lost yourself. You ride a hundred yards or so and you are in some deep-mouthed _cañadon_, lying flush with the pampa, and out of sight of your companions in an instant.

On the expedition we spoke four languages--Spanish, English, German and Welsh, but English was more used than the others.

On one occasion we had to light a couple of fires to signal some of the men who were out looking for horses; one of these spread rather much, but was easily put out with a spade. It is strange how small an area burns in that part of the country, even with a high wind to help the flames. The weather was windy and bitterly cold.

I extract the following from my diary:

"_October 10, evening._--I write this by the camp-fire. The men take it in turns to cook. Two armadillos (_Dasypus minutus_) have been caught by the Germans. They are strong little beasts; you can hardly pull one, which has half buried itself in the ground, out with both hands. We roast them whole with hot stones and they taste like chicken. Fritz and Hollesen went for the horses this morning and found three of the Trelew troop gone, the Tordillo, the Zaino, and the Blanco, and this although one was _maneado_ and the other two tied together. This is a great hindrance. We got the waggon ready on the interminable pampa and decided to strike down at once for the Rio Chico by way of a large _cañadon_ four and a half leagues long. This will add some days to our journey to Colohuapi. But if we continue losing and searching for horses, shall we ever get there? One day we cover twenty-one miles, the next nothing, because of strayed horses. Nor can you _soga_ them up, for the grass is poor and they must have a large range. Here we are in this huge country looking for horses upon and about a pampa intersected by many _cañadones_, each of which would take an entire week to explore thoroughly. At breakfast I decided to march, sending Jones, who is a good tracker, off to see if he could find the horses where he found them yesterday.

"We have a big buck-jumper, a piebald, which is a strong horse suited to the waggon. It took an hour and a half to get him harnessed, and we started on the back track, for the _cañadon_ we must strike lies a league behind us. Barckhausen was to ride an untamed black horse with the strangest light blue glimmering eyes, which for some reason makes me repeat over and over to myself the lines of Q.:

"His glittering eyes are the salt seas' prize, And his fingers clutch the sand.

"Rather far fetched, but so it always is. One notices how much in camp-life a man gets into the habit of a 'Punch, brothers, punch'--a haunting phrase which he applies to everything. In one case it is some grim and grotesque oath that he mentally lives on, sometimes it is a line of a hymn, sometimes it is a bit of an advertisement. There are few books in the camp, and mine not out yet from the tin box. The Welshmen have a Bible in their own language; Hollesen has a paper of short stories about missing heirs and such like; Scrivenor has 'Pickwick.'

"But to return to Barckhausen. The nag of the baleful eye would not be caught, and had to be chased about the pampa by Hughes and myself. Finally, Jones got a lasso on him, and he danced at the edge of the lagoon with four men at the other end of the lasso. We tied his legs in slip-knots and pulled him over, and when quieter saddled him. He bucked around with the saddle. At length Barckhausen got up and rode him the whole afternoon. It was a terrible job driving the horses, and that even though we were in the _cañadon_.

"On each side of us were bare, bald grass hills, rolling in hummocks and their sides sprinkled with thorn-scrub. In the centre, winding in sharp bends, a dry river bed. Towards evening, after travelling all the afternoon down the _cañadon_ since one o'clock, I rode on and found the bed of the river held water in four places. Near the third of these we camped. Saw an ostrich and a few sentinel guanaco. Caught an armadillo. The scenery here consists of alternations of pampa and _cañadon_, _cañadon_ and pampa, and over all the tearing wind, which seldom drops.

"I have given out two tins of jam and one of Swiss milk, one of coffee and milk and some vegetables. Sometimes we soak our biscuit and bake it. It is very good treated so. I am writing this by the fire at seven o'clock. Coldish.

"Jones has not turned up yet, and must have had to sleep out in nothing save a blanket, poor chap! He was to have cut our tracks and followed them up.

"_October 11._--All our _tropillas_ right this morning, and at 8.30 I rode out of the camp and met Jones, who had found the three strayed horses about a league from the old camp.

"We started and made our way down the empty river-bed, which now broadened and was pebbly, like a Scotch trout-stream. Before we left Mal Espina _estancia_ the foreman told us the road down the _cañadon_ was very clear--'_muy limpio_,' and only four and a half leagues in length, but we have been in it two days and are in it still. About 5, as I was riding ahead with the troop of horses, I came upon the track of wheels in deep scrub. I went back to the waggon and found it on the left bank of the river-bed. Upon one side were thorn-bush and sand, and upon the other a swampy _vega_ of wet grass. Through this the track led, and into this the waggon lumbered, then two of the horses foundered in the black mud and the waggon sank. Of course that put an end to our day's journey, and I sent on Jones to bring back Burbury and the troop. We were in a land of many flies, chiefly sand-flies, which buzzed and stung horribly. Jones had tied up the horses on the Rio Chico and we could not reach them to-night. Fritz found sixteen eggs in an ostrich's nest and Hollesen found one. The one was fine but the sixteen were chickenny.

"We all turned to, unloaded the waggon and pulled it out with some toil from the marsh, and before dinner loaded it up again.

"By evening we reached the _cañadon_ of the Rio Chico and camped upon the banks.

"_October 12._--With an effort got away by nine o'clock. I rode on down the _cañadon_, as we had no meat and some was wanted. We appear to be now entering a good game country. Saw five ostriches. I rode the big Tostado. He loped lazily across stony ridges, which crawl to the foot of the purple hills that are on the other side of the Chico. Two herds of guanaco fled while I was on the horizon. I cantered a long way, it seemed very far, over the rolling ridges of pebble and thorn-bush. Mirages smoked and danced on the horizon. I came at length to the waggon-track which runs through the wild gorge of the Chico, and is only used about once or twice a year. I rode down this track, and at the side found a single ostrich egg. Shortly after I sighted the horses, which Jones had tied up here and there. I left my belt and the egg, and went back into the scrub to seek for that game which I could not find. Saw one guanaco, but it had seen me first, and would not let me approach within a quarter of a mile. Sighted the horses and waggon far away on the high ground and rode to meet them. Put them in a new troop and got away again at one o'clock. Found that if I could not shoot a guanaco we must open our reserve of tinned meat, and I did not wish to begin upon it so soon. Rode on ahead of the troop revolving these matters. My horse was extra lazy. I was thinking of the ostriches I had observed when I saw over a ridge to the left the ears of a guanaco. There was a dry nullah-bed which curved in beneath the ridge. It was pebbly and sparsely set with thorn. I lay down and crawled until I came to some water, and then I looked again. I could see the first guanaco, an old buck, peering with his long neck swaying, and looking at the Tostado which I had tied up. To tie up your horse in view is the most successful thing you can do in this country of long-necked game, and of game which is so often pursued with dogs and on horseback. Sometimes the most ordinary game takes, from the circumstances surrounding its pursuit, a reflected interest not its own. So it was in this case; nor, indeed, is the guanaco always an easy quarry, in fact it is a shy animal in the districts where it is hunted by Indians.[3] I crawled along, just a thorn-bush, and that a lean one, between me and detection. I had set my hopes on a low green belt of poison-scrub, and this I attained at last. From it I saw a foot of the big buck's neck and the heads and ears of six more. I had made up my mind to take a fine bead shot, but he gave me no chance of doing so. I had only time to snap him as he saw me. The bullet smashed his neck. As the others ran away I put two shots out of four into one, and killed it as it entered the scrub of thick, thorny, califate bushes that lived hardily there in the valley. I went on after shooting the guanaco and left Fritz and Hughes to cut up the meat. We made a league and a half through the gorge of the Chico when up came Fritz and said the waggon was broken down by, so he explained, a "horse falling on the pole" within a hundred yards of where I had shot the guanaco. This was a disaster indeed. Here were we just doing a good march when this wretched breakdown occurred. We turned the troop and went back only to find the waggon, a league away, coming merrily towards us. They said it could go no farther, but after repairs it achieved a league and a half more.

"Passing along we agreed it was a good country for lions (_F. c. puma_, locally called lions). We encamped beneath a high cliff, sixty feet of moss-grown basaltic rock beside the muddy river, where it winds through the marshes. In the night the dogs began to bark, for a lion came into camp. We could hear it moving by the dead camp-fire among the pots and pans. Burbury fired his revolver in its direction; he was sleeping on the outside of the tent. This morning we have found the lion's lair, twenty yards up in the rock above our camp. Fritz said last night, 'And if you hear me cry out, it is the lion, he zomp on me.'

"Fritz is very jocular sometimes: 'Aha, my little horse, he zomp!' and 'Mine little bitch, you go and catch a guanaco.' To-night he was roasting an ostrich egg and it exploded and shot him all over with yellow yolk. He remarked, 'He is goot, this egg, but he smell a bit of skunk.'

"_October 13._--Mending waggon, no wood. At ten o'clock waggon mended but needed a rest in the sun till the hide of guanaco we had bound it with should dry. So I decided to take to-day as our Sunday and march to-morrow. Burbury is making a plum-duff. Served out tobacco this morning.

"Mock Sunday and at rest, a time for dreaming. Away at home the trees are browning. How one's heart turns to them and dreams of them! The men born out here wonder how we can look forward to the happiness of going home, perhaps for the sight of some village church hidden in English lanes and fields. Half the charm of this life we are living out here lies in thinking of our return to the land that gives us all comfort and a silent welcome of green springs. Went out to-day after the lion and found tracks, but the ground was too hard for following them up. He lives in a valley of grey dead bush. As we went away from the dead guanaco yesterday, a condor (_Sarcorhamphus_ _gryphus_) appeared and dropped on the carcase almost before we left it.

"_October 14, Sunday._--We got away at nine o'clock and came fast. The muddy narrow Chico flowing through a land which looks as if it led over the edge of the world. It reminds one of a flowering wilderness. Last night we tied up the dogs, and dear old Tom howled till I had to get up and correct him. When up I let poor little Lady loose, the last service I was ever destined to do for her, for to-day the waggon went over her belly, and she lies dead on the track a few leagues back. She was six months old, always cheerful, and wagging her whip of a tail, always up to the march. Half an hour before she died I saw her hunting a young fox, her first. She had brown eyes and I had got fonder of her than I knew. Tom used to drive her from her food, biting her, and from the softest bed, and I am now glad to think I sometimes made him give way to her. Just before Lady's death, I shot a cavy (_Dolichotis patagonica_) with the Mauser. He gave me a nice shot sitting up on his haunches, near the track on the skyline of a low bare ridge. Yesterday we had a very fine _puchero_ or stew, pickled eggs given me by Pedro at Camerones and two plum-duffs made with waggon-grease by Burbury, who is quite a _chef_ at plum-duff. After our meal we had out the concertina and found that Burbury knew 'The Church's One Foundation,' and Jones a melancholy Welsh hymn.

"The two best of my horses have sore backs.

"We spent an hour trying to get the waggon up a steep ridge 100 feet high, and had to unload and all work at it. Made a long seven leagues and encamped at the foot of a ridge with 200 yards of dead bush between us and the yellow Chico. Going very pebbly, the ground here and there burnt up and arid. It is always in such places that the mirages are most common.

"_October 15._--Got off 8.40. At 11 unloaded waggon, which was in great danger of turning over. Scrivenor photoed it. At 2.20 waggon horses unfit to go farther. Camped by the Chico; shot a yellow-billed teal.

"_October 16._--Out of humour all day, first, because, I found one of the cameras put unprotected into the waggon among the tins of potted meat, &c. Wearily, wearily we wend our way towards the blue distant hills of our desires. Even as in life we wend towards distant ambitions, and, coming up to them, find new ones arise upon the horizon beyond, and so we travel all our days, looking longingly ahead. This valley of the Chico is a wild place, conical hillocks of sand have now taken the place of the bush-covered ones. The Chico remains yellow and winds greatly. Purple hills crown the distance. It is all high-coloured and clear-shaded as in a picture.

"To-day, coming round a bend of the Chico glen, I saw seven guanaco feeding in the valley. They had seen me and begun to move, so I galloped round the ridge, and as I jumped off my horse one passed and halted within seventy yards. The herd made a pretty picture standing on the bare, desert-brown hillside in the tearing wind. I clean missed the buck with the first shot, and only killed him as he ran off, hitting him low behind the shoulder. The wind was blowing hard to-day and full in our faces.

"A windy night, the sand of the river-bed driving and filling everything. Presently we shall crawl into our sleeping-bags and, with our feet to the wind, bid any weather defiance. A pipe is a mighty ally. Here am I in the little 4 ft. tent which Burbury and Scrivenor have pitched to sleep in, wrapped in a poncho a-reek with the smoke of Indian camp-fires, enjoying a pipe and writing this, and as it grows too dark to write and the wind roars and bellows louder down the river-bed, I shall sit here watching the red glow of my pipe and dreaming.

"_October 17, 9 o'clock._--A month hence from to-day will be my birthday. Where shall we be? At the Lake Buenos Aires, I hope. Several horses this morning have sore backs, and Burbury, excellent fellow, has been doctoring them.

"How the face of this country changes with the weather! Bleak and windy even in warm sunlight, though fine and bracing; in evil weather it wears an aspect of forlornness. The farther you penetrate into Patagonia the more its vast emptiness weighs on you and overwhelms you.

"_Eleven o'clock._--Where shall we be a month hence? Where, indeed? To-day we had a great disappointment, and I hardly know how to write of it. The natural difficulties of the country are very great, but with care, in spite of boulders and hard-going, it seemed as if I could get my waggon up to the foothills, and I looked forward to bringing back many specimens in it. But after 300 and odd miles of travel a particularly hummocky valley proved too much for its endurance. When the horses tried to move it this morning it broke up altogether, and here it lies!

"Total day's march, 200 yards. Burbury and Jones have ridden on towards Colohuapi, where there are some pioneers' huts, to try and get wood and bolts. What is to be done? I do not know. Take to _cargueros_? We could bring back no specimens to speak of in that case. One must wait and see what Burbury can get from the people at Colohuapi. The camp is in a valley and is surrounded by bare mud cones 100 feet in height, a few bushes shiver in the throat of the upper end of the gorge. In the gorge and round our camp-fire spreads a growth of rank lean weed, full of yellow flowers, and a few small wind-polished stones lie at the base of one of the ant-heaplike hills.

"'Oh, the dreary, dreary moorland! Oh, the weary, weary shore' (of the Chico)! I took my gun down to the river and shot five widgeon (_Mareca sibilatrix_) and six martinetas (_Calodromas elegans_).

"Late in the evening Scrivenor and I went up over the ridge of bare hills rather with the idea of shooting, if possible, a condor we had seen poised high up. Sight at back came off Scrivenor's Mauser.[4] We went on and saw a herd of guanaco, one much nearer than the rest, and we crawled towards him. The stones were a penance. The only cover was thorn, and little of that up there on the high pampa above the valley where our camp is. At two hundred yards I shot and hit him, but he went on, and presently swayed his neck and lay down. I crawled up and had a shot at his neck. Thereafter followed periods of cantering in a rickety way, followed by periods of lying down, and at last we went round over a rise and crawled down on him. I thought he was dead but for the shadow of his neck, and I crawled on with but one cartridge left in my gun. As I neared him, up he got and I fired again and hit him. He was growing very weak. Scrivenor shouted that he had no revolver, and so here were we with only our knives. I followed the guanaco and Scrivenor went round. I was upon him first but my knife was weak. Scrivenor, startled from his usual calm, and with a shout, leaped at the guanaco and caught him round the neck. So we bore him to earth and slew him. I examined him for wounds and found four. Two of the shots were vital, yet he had led us a chase of two and a half miles, and we had to carry the meat back to camp. Arrived there, and preparing a meal by the fire, in came Burbury and Jones. They had met a Gaucho trekking to Colohuapi, who told them that Colohuapi was yet twenty-five leagues away and that there were no bolts or wood to be had there. I went to bed and smoked, feeling pretty sad. There is but one thing to do. We must jettison some of the cargo and sew up the rest in the skins of guanacos, and go forward with pack-horses."

FOOTNOTES:

[2] When a mare is in foal--as was the case with the black mare--her troop will often desert her and wander away, but when the foal is born the horses become very much attached to it.

[3] Darwin describes the guanaco as "generally wild and extremely wary."

[4] This happened in the case of two Mausers I had with me. One came off at the third shot from the mere recoil--a serious business.