Captain Musters, writing in 1871, speaks of hunting these animals under the Cordillera, but their existence in a wild state dates from a far earlier period—in fact, from the time of the first Spanish occupation, when cattle escaped from the Valdez Peninsula, and roaming over the pampas at length reached the high grass and sheltered places of the Cordillera. Finding these entirely to their liking, they have ever since lived and bred in that region; their numbers, no doubt, being from time to time increased by deserters from the unfenced farms on the east coast of Patagonia. It is a strange thing that cattle which escape almost invariably head north-west towards the Cordillera. This fact has been commented on to us by many different Gauchos and cattle-owners up and down the east coast.

The older herds have lost the smooth aspect of domesticated animals and thrown back to the shaggy front, longer horns and rough-haired hide characteristic of wild cattle. As to the special parts of Patagonia in which wild cattle are most plentiful, it would be of little use to give a list of them. Should a herd stray in the plains, the Indians will soon make them change their quarters and return to take refuge among the woods and ravines of the foothills. Inside this forest-land the Indians will never venture, and there the emancipated bull thoroughly enjoys himself. Even the beasts belonging to the farmers lead a wandering life, and at a short distance from the settlements are shy of the approach of man, and have to be rounded up by mounted Gauchos. Those of them that have been inside a corral and regained their liberty are every whit as wild as the wild cattle proper. Being caught with a lasso and branded is by no means an experience calculated to instil any deep confidence in mankind into the mind of a calf.

In the Cordillera the herds are extremely wideawake. When a point is disturbed, they always go higher up into the mountains, and almost invariably leave that particular neighbourhood under cover of the ensuing night. Their climbing powers are extraordinary. Wherever a guanaco can go, a wild bull can follow him. Their tracks are regularly and clearly marked, and they appear to move along precisely the same paths from feeding-place to feeding-place. The snows of winter force them to lower ground, but in my opinion the herds never penetrate very deep into the Cordillera. Precisely how far they go it would be hard to determine, but they seldom ascend to the higher levels, preferring to wander about the outer spurs of the lower hills. There is a spot on the south side of the Lake Rica where they appear to make their way farther into the recesses of the mountains than in any other district.

Patagonia, as the reader will by this time realise, cannot be called a big-game country in the sense of affording any variety of large animals for the benefit of the sportsman. But whoever goes into the Cordillera will find the wild bulls of their forests well worthy of his attention, for they give as excellent sport as any big game in the world. A point which must tell greatly in their favour in the eyes of some people is the fact that the pursuit of them is a pleasure by no means unattended by danger.

The first day on which I attempted to find wild cattle we sighted two herds, one about half way up the hillside and the other higher, almost upon the snow-line. We had gone out rather with the idea of prospecting, having but little hope of being so lucky as to get a shot. Mr. Cattle, Burbury, and myself made up the party, and while Cattle hid in the direction towards which the herd might be expected to break, Burbury and I undertook the stalk. We separated, and I finally got within two hundred yards of a dun-coloured bull; but his position was so bad that it seemed a pity to shoot. The herd ultimately moved into a strip of forest high on the shoulder of the mountain, and we failed to locate it again.

Upon this followed a period when the memory of the shot I might have taken rankled as a thorn in the flesh. The difficulty of finding a herd was very great. We went out several days in succession and failed to catch sight of a single horn. For twelve days we searched from dawn to dark and found nothing. Yet these days, which resulted in a total bag of two huemules, were infinitely more sporting than were those in the neighbourhood of the River de los Antiguos, where a large number of animals might have been secured. On four occasions fresh tracks were found, and in that keen invigorating air the hunting of such a quarry was a sport for the gods.

There is a picturesque sentence in one of Mr. Kipling's writings, in which he speaks of a life "spent on blue water in the morning of the world." Each savage of us has, I suppose, some such ideal existence, and if that be so, mine would be passed in hunting some great horned quarry upon frozen hills in a land where no wind too strong should blow, and where the views of water and of peaks should be in all shades of separate and glorious blue. What a splendid place such a happy hunting-ground would be! Quite different to the happy hunting-grounds of the North American Indian, the Tehuelche or the Eskimo—the latter, by the way, looks forward to a paradise where he will lie for ever upon the sleeping-bench in the warmth and eat decomposed seals' heads! The nomad hunter races kill to eat in any manner or by any means, the romance of sport is in one sense lacking in them; but in my happy hunting-ground there will be Irish elk with mighty spreading horns upon those wondrous hills....

We have wandered far away from our subject. I think it may be said that during those twelve blank days every method of hunting wild cattle had a fair trial. Upon the northern slopes of Mount Buenos Aires (which, I must mention, is very far distant from Lake Buenos Aires, being, in fact, surrounded on three sides by the waters of Lake Argentino) there is comparatively little wood, although there is much thick high brush, so that—as in Sardinian moufflon-shooting—one may spy the ground two or three times in the day, and yet fail to discover a herd hidden in the brush or in one of the many water-worn ravines. Nevertheless, this place was the most open ground which we hunted, and was far superior to the Lake Rica side of the mountain, upon which cluster dense forests of antarctic beech, through which it is impossible to see more than twenty or thirty yards, and often not so far.

Once or twice I tried sitting up for bulls at their drinking-places, but never with any success. The fact is, that the forests they range through are so well watered with streams, pantanos and springs, that they have a score of drinking-places to choose from, therefore the chances are twenty to one against getting a shot. But in a district where water is scarce, it seems to me that this plan might meet with success. The best sport was undoubtedly that which we enjoyed towards Punta Bandera, a headland forming the north point of Mount Buenos Aires.

It was here, upon the thirteenth day of my hunting, about an hour and a half before dark, that I perceived a fine point of seventeen upon the hillside in front of me. They were, however, in a spot utterly impossible of approach, in the centre of a bald ridge upon the summit of which they were silhouetted against the black background of the mountain beyond them. Deep gullies cut up the intervening ground, and after advancing as near as might be, I lay down and possessed my soul in patience, waiting until the moment when the herd should choose to move. They had left me time enough and to spare for observing them through the glasses. Three black bulls, a yellow one and a red were the pick of the herd, there were some cows and well-grown calves also, and these last began to proceed very leisurely down a cow-track, which would ultimately lead them on to ground where they might be stalked. I had tied up my horse in a hollow among some bushes of Leña dura. It was a glorious evening and the shadows stood out very distinctly, so much so that from the slightly higher ground I could see with the telescope the movements of the shadows of the bulls. The bases of the mountain were steeped in clear still dusk, there was no wind, and the whole scene lived again fantastically in the smooth waters of the lake. When one is shooting, no matter how intent one may be upon the game, it is natural to observe these things and enjoy them, in a secondary sense possibly, but none the less keenly. Anyway, there was plenty of time to observe, for the herd took it easy, and now and then one of the big bulls would come to a standstill and stare about him. The yellow bull especially took my fancy, the spread of his horns must have been over four feet. At length, however, the last of the herd disappeared into a gully and I hastened forward. About a mile separated me from the point, and this I covered at good speed; the final bit necessitated a crawl, which ended on the edge of a low rocky plateau. Here I peered through some fuchsia-bushes. To my disgust the herd had quickened their pace, and were a little beyond range upon a space of level land beneath me; they lingered here for an uncommonly long time, giving me ample opportunity to study the surrounding cow-tracks and the grass-bare wallows. Meantime the precious light was fading, and the reflections of the snow-peaks were beginning to blur and darken in the mirror of the lake. Ahead of the herd were a number of tracks, which ran parallel with each other for a certain distance, but afterwards branched into different directions. I could see them dimly through the telescope. Should they happen to take the lowest of these, they would be delivered into my hands, for it led immediately under a cliff over which I could get within a few yards of them. This track finally emerged upon the shore of the lake. Under the leadership of a yellow cow, the whole point began presently to descend this very track. As soon as the last of them was out of sight, I rushed on to secure my shot. On the way I spied from behind a boulder on high ground the coveted old yellow bull knee-deep in the lake, drinking. Over the first part, which was high, I had to be very careful, but once this spot was passed, coming to the conclusion that as the light was fading so fast the race would probably be to the swift, I hurried. Alas! a deep gully again blocked my way, and it was necessary to make a détour of about half a mile through breast-high bushes. While passing amongst the brush much care had, of course, to be exercised to avoid the breaking of twigs or branches, as the herd was not far off. When at last I arrived at the cliff above the spot where the herd had disappeared, I could not see the sights of my rifle. I would have given much for two minutes of moonlight, for I could hear the noise of the bulls moving within twenty yards, and the smell of them was distinctly perceptible to my senses, sharpened by months of a natural life. The whole herd had packed pretty close together on the edge of the shingle, but it was already too dark for me to shoot, so I retired after a while, comforting myself with the prospect of following the herd in the morning.

Yet although I followed, I never found. The herd, as was to be read from the tracks, struck upwards after leaving the lake and entered a wide piece of forest, in which no day was ever long enough to find them. Several times after this we were on the tail of a herd, and again and again lost them in the dense forests. The ground over which one had to move was extremely baulking to success; it was covered with broken sticks, dead trees, and branches, dry, rotten, and ready to snap beneath the smallest pressure. Sometimes after a long stalk one found oneself in a patch of dry dead bushes, the breaking of any bough of which would certainly spoil all chance of success. Again, one could not see more than from twenty to fifty yards ahead, and in thick forests much less. A herd will stand quite still till within thirty yards if you have not perceived them, but the moment your eye catches one of theirs the animal makes off, taking his companions with him.

A bull, if you wound him and he charges, will charge but once, and if he misses you, will pass on. But a cow is quite another affair. She will return to the charge again and again, and will kneel down in order to horn her antagonist. She is at least twice as formidable an antagonist as a bull.

The next time I saw wild cattle was once again upon Punta Bandera, and upon this occasion I had my first shot. It was early in the morning when I made out the point with the glasses, feeding about half-way up a spur of the mountain-side. Determined this time not to be disappointed, a whole day was spent in a series of very careful manœuvres. All went well until I entered a patch of dry dead growth, so thick as to make it impossible to move without giving audible indication of one's presence. While lying among this stuff debating what course to pursue, to my delight a black and white bull, evidently the leader of the herd, rose, grunted once or twice, and, followed by the whole of his companions, began to come towards me. He got to within 150 yards, and there coming upon the edge of the dry stuff among which I lay hidden, turned tail and moved slowly in the opposite direction. To shoot through the undergrowth, which was about five feet high, was, of course, impossible. Yet there was no chance of the animals, while roving in search of pasture, reaching any better position with regard to me, while any movement on my part to approach them must have been through the dead bushes. There was nothing for it then but to stand up and take the chance of a shot. A twig snapped in my rising and the herd charged furiously away. A red bull, which had travelled higher than his fellows upon the slope of the mountain, gave very much the best chance as he raced along nearly broadside on.

He turned a complete somersault to the shot and lay so still that I thought I had killed him. As I went towards him, however, he scrambled to his feet and galloped after the retreating herd, and although upon their tracks for the greater part of the evening, at no point on the way, nor at the spot where he had fallen, did I find any traces of blood. I therefore concluded that he had put his foot in a hole, and that I had missed him clean. Since my return I have heard the end of the history. The red bull was found dead quite close to where I had shot him. He was, I understand, hit through the lungs.

My next excursion was made on much lower ground in the direction of Lake Rica. We had observed some spots to which a herd returned night after night.[24] The success with which the herds can pick their way over bad ground such as this and through trees, and most of all across the giant trunks, decaying and rotten, many of which must have fallen years ago, is extraordinary. Had it not been for the openings broken by the passage of the cattle, we should have been unable to penetrate the denser parts of the woods without axes. In spite of his being such a heavy brute, a bull can always overtake a horse in these spongy swamps, or indeed in most cases over very bad ground.

In the winter, which was now only too quickly coming upon us, wild-cattle shooting becomes, as does the shooting of all game in Patagonia, much easier than it ever is during the rest of the year. The herds descend to the low ground, being driven downwards by degrees while the snows creep day by day lower on the mountain-sides. As they desert the heights the area in which one may expect to meet them naturally becomes smaller, and on the more level country they can be followed with less trouble. The hunting in this big forest was quite different to that on Punta Bandera, the sole method here being to find comparatively fresh tracks and follow them up, there being no possibility among that dense growth of spying animals from a distance.

One day I had entered an extremely wet and boggy strip of forest and came upon new tracks, which I followed in and out among the trees for some hours. At length they led me up another hill into another belt of forest. I remember that under the hill I took a "spell," and at that moment, although I could not see them, the cattle were within one hundred and fifty yards of me. Fortunately I was very quiet and did not light my pipe, but presently went on. Arrived at the top of the hill, I peered through the branches and saw a fine brindled bull just in the act of rising to his feet. One of the outlying cows had winded me and had given the alarm. My bull was off at a gallop, and there was nothing to do but to send the heavy Paradox bullet into the only part of him that was visible as he dashed away. The shot took effect, he staggered but the second barrel brought him down in good earnest. A third hit him in the centre of the forehead, which is a deadly shot indeed, but with a smallbore rifle one must be careful to place one's bullet clear of the shaggy curl. The first shot had, I discovered, gone forward and upward, touching the backbone; the second was a fair behind the shoulder shot. I write this to illustrate the amount of shooting that a wild bull will sometimes take.

There are few higher joys in a sportsman's life than the pipe which he smokes after a successful shot, but the skinning of the quarry that comes later is a very different matter. This is especially the case when the animal has dropped in such a spot that one cannot turn it over owing to its weight.

While I was still engaged in watching the cattle, I saw something brown move on a knoll above me and about four hundred yards distant. A huemul doe had appeared upon it. She was not frightened, and was entirely unaware of my proximity. Soon she was joined by a buck, a four-pointer with nice clean horns. There were now two sporting interests in the landscape, the greater and the less. The cattle had turned and were moving relentlessly upwards over bare ground where a stalk was out of the question. I turned my attention therefore again upon the huemules, from whom I found myself separated by two deep gullies.

In an hour's time the cattle had diminished to mere specks upon the side of the mountain, and a strong wind having arisen, which blew from the huemules towards me, I thought I might safely try a shot at the buck. It knocked him clean head over heels. He proved to be in fine coat, and I at once set to work to skin him. By the time I had finished it had grown quite dark. As for the herd, they were too clever for me. I never sighted them again, but that big yellow bull I shall often see in dreams. Perhaps I may be permitted to meet with him when I attain to the happy hunting-ground of my desires.

Apart from the rifle, there are other ways of hunting wild cattle, but in the practice of these open ground is naturally a necessity. Boleadores will rarely stay on a bull, but the lasso is an efficient weapon, and on horseback a Mauser pistol will take a lot of beating. In the last instance the hunter gallops level with his quarry and trusts to his horse to carry him clear of danger in case of accident. As a rule, wild cattle avoid open ground, and if they chance to be away from the cover of the forest keep a sharp watch. Their hides are worth about £1 more or less when sold in the settlements, a value which is enough to turn every man's hand against them, were there any men in those districts whose hands might be so turned. But the wild cow will long continue to breed in her chosen solitudes, and indeed she is well able to take care of herself. From all I saw of wild cattle, they yield the palm as a sporting animal to few others in the world.

CHAPTER XVII
ON THE FIRST ATTITUDE OF WILD ANIMALS TOWARDS MAN

Opportunities for observation rare—Migration of guanaco limited—Guanaco and man—Upright and crawling attitudes—Will allow approach with horses—Tame near farms—Easily domesticated—Curious—Shyness of ostrich—Huemul curious and confiding—Instances—Easily rendered timid—Puma cowardly—Attacks upon man—Tame cubs—Cordillera wolf—Very fearless—Instances—Pampa-fox also fearless, but in less degree—Résumé of evidence.

It will be conceded that few subjects have more interest than the attitude assumed by wild animals towards man on first acquaintance with him. I think it may be claimed that we had exceptional opportunities for the study of this very important question. In most other districts into which white men have passed for the first time, they have usually been preceded by aborigines, who have made that declaration of war which must invariably be given forth between men and feræ naturæ. But in Patagonia, when the beat of the Tehuelches is left behind, there are many places to which one may penetrate where the animals have never before seen man. We here come to a question which is as old as the world—what were the original relations existing between man and beast? On man's side we know the position; on that of the wild animal we can rarely obtain evidence at first hand, especially in these latter days, when the earth is overrun and populated in almost every habitable region.

It will be seen from the description given of Patagonia that some of its remoter portions offer a unique field for observing the effect of man's appearance on the behaviour of animals that have had no previous knowledge of him. These places present some of the few localities left untouched by the presence of human beings. The value of any evidence still obtainable as to the bearing of wild creatures when brought into contact with human beings for the first time can therefore hardly be over-estimated. The chances of observing details of conduct and the spontaneous attitude of animals under these conditions have unfortunately become exceedingly rare and are daily growing rarer. Soon there will be no spot where such facts can be collected. Knowing this, I made every effort to gather all the data possible.

Large herds of guanaco patrol the country in all directions; how far they are local in their habits it is not easy to decide, but I was informed by several people that such and such a marked guanaco had been in such a district since such and such a winter, therefore I am led to conclude that the guanaco are more or less local in their movements. In the summer they are to be found on the high pampa, and in the winter the herds descend to the lower ground. But all the evidence that I could gather pointed to the fact that this periodic migration is limited in extent, and that certain herds belong, as it were, to certain districts and live and die within a comparatively small area.

During peculiarly hard winters, however, they will gather in very large herds and travel a good distance to the low grounds, where water and some pasture are still to be procured.

The guanacos that we met with on the basalt plateau to the south of Lake Buenos Aires probably visit the shores of the lake during the winter time. In the inverse order of things no travellers ever cross the basalt plateau in summer, nor do they visit the lake in winter; we may therefore conclude that the guanaco were in that region unacquainted with man. The following is taken from my diary while we were crossing the plateau:

"December 28.—To-day we saw great numbers of guanaco, many of which have in all probability never before beheld a human being. They were about as tame as English park deer, allowing us to approach on foot to within seventy or eighty yards, and, in the case of the old bucks, to within fifty yards. The females were, of course, much shyer. It was a beautiful sight to watch the great herd leaping up and down the hillside and dashing through the outcrop of black fragments of basalt. The bucks almost invariably kept between us and their females. On some occasions, when I came suddenly round a hill upon a herd, the old buck would gallop up between me and the herd and stalk along, uttering his peculiar neighing cry. There were numbers of young guanacos among these herds. These very quickly attain considerable speed, and at a fortnight old give the hounds some trouble to overtake them. Young guanacos, when cut off from the herd, can be approached by man. This morning I succeeded in galloping between one and the herd to which it belonged. He allowed me, on horseback, to come within six yards, but on a dog appearing in the distance he at once dashed away. Young guanacos, when separated from the herd, will follow a troop of horses, running fearlessly beside the riders."

"I saw two herds of guanacos, which were certainly unacquainted with man. They were extremely wild, not allowing me to approach within six hundred yards. I to-day hunted these guanacos with the idea of observing whether they would take to the water, or perhaps pass into the forest, which was plentiful in patches. They did neither, but kept to the bare cliffs on the edge of the peninsula, and when driven away from the cliffs at one end simply sought the shelter of the cliffs at the other."

Again, on the tableland between the River de los Antiguos and the River Jeinemeni the guanacos were extraordinarily tame. Only one traveller had been there before us (Mr. Waag). The guanacos permitted us to advance to within two hundred yards, and one, which was lying down, allowed me to come within sixty paces walking upright. At this distance I determined to see what effect the crawling attitude would produce, and for this purpose I retreated and again approached, this time on my hands and knees. I was still one hundred and fifty yards from the animal when he got up, and I had not proceeded many steps nearer before he bounded away. From this instance it may be deduced that while the herd evidently understood and feared the approach of predatory enemies in a crouching attitude, man upright in his natural position inspired relatively little fear but rather curiosity, for the guanaco remained lying down and staring at me as long as I appeared walking towards him.

On yet another occasion in the cañadon of the River Katarina, the first sight that a herd, seventeen strong, had of us, was when we were on board the launch. They raced up to the bank of the river and stared at us, only darting off ten or twelve paces when the irrepressible Bernardo saluted them with a whistle. Shortly afterwards we anchored and went ashore, but the guanacos would not allow us on foot to approach within half a mile, although when we were hidden they returned to the neighbourhood of the launch without fear. In the evening they retired far up the valley, where I again saw them upon the following day. They were very timid, and I could get no nearer to them than three hundred yards, although I made one or two attempts to do so.

There was one point which was distinctly noticeable, and which these observations bear out. Guanacos, unacquainted with man, will allow him to approach in the first instance much closer if he happens to be accompanied by a troop of horses, as was the case with us in our experience of the herds on the basalt plateau. In fact, guanacos will reconnoitre a troop of horses, even though there may be men among them, at a very much shorter distance than they will venture upon with regard to a camp or a group of men without horses.

Districts where the Indians hunt the guanaco may be passed over as having no bearing on the subject in hand. There the herds are, of course, extremely wild and hard of approach. But it is interesting to note that near the coast, where there are numbers of guanaco, they are comparatively tame. Shepherds on horseback from the farms pass and repass within sight of the herds, who grow accustomed to the experience and become easy of access to within one hundred yards.[25]

One day in the October of 1900, when at the farm of Mr. Greenshields at Bahia Camerones, I took a long ride through the cañadones where the shepherds were wont to pass. Again and again the guanaco herds allowed me to ride up close to them, and I invariably found that a single animal was shyer of approach than a herd.

Guanacos are very easily domesticated, and in time become obtrusively playful and affectionate. It is a favourite trick with them to come behind their human friends rearing and striking them in the back with their knees, which results in a more or less painful fall.

Curiosity is a largely developed mental characteristic in the feræ naturæ of Patagonia. The first and overwhelming impulse of nearly all the wild creatures (the ostrich, Rhea darwini, excepted) appeared to be to investigate the aspect and actions of man. Upon the coast-farms the guanaco, grown blasé by familiarity, will not take any interest in man's movements unless he indulges in some unusual and fantastic antics, such as lying on his back and kicking his legs in the air. Then an otherwise indifferent herd will gather and watch the proceedings with much attention.

As far as my experience goes, no wild creature, save the ostrich, on first beholding man, straightway travels out of sight. All the others, according to whether they naturally are shy or the reverse, retire to a more or less remote distance, and from there watch the doings of the intruder upon their solitudes.

Of Patagonian game the least hunted is the deer of the Andes (Xenelaphus bisulcus). We came in contact with these animals both near Lake Buenos Aires and Lake Argentino. At the former place, my friend, Mr. Waag, had marched through the Gorge of the River de los Antiguos, where most of my observations were made. As he was working very hard on his geographical surveys at the time, he did not shoot much, and I think it more than probable that man was an unknown factor of existence to the huemules of that region before we came upon the scene.

My observations of huemules consistently show that their first attitude towards man is one of curiosity and confidence. I instance some cases to bear out this assertion.

On December 9, 1900, I had just shot a guanaco upon the western shore of the River de los Antiguos, when a huemul buck about a year old, no doubt startled by the noise, dashed past me within twenty yards, and, catching sight of me, stopped quite still and fixed his eyes upon me. As I remained motionless, he advanced several paces and again halted, looking at me. I was sitting upon the body of the guanaco I had killed, the wind happening to be blowing from the deer towards me. We kept these respective positions for about five minutes. I then lit my pipe. At the scraping of the match he retreated a little, but gathering courage soon paused again. I rose slowly to my feet and advanced steadily towards him. He waited until I was quite close before he sprang away and disappeared from sight up the barranca.

Again in May 1901, being then in the cañadon of the River Katarina near Lake Argentino, I saw from the boat what I took to be the horns of a huemul against the background of the low forest. I landed and crossed the swamp in the direction of the thicket. Here, coming into an open space, I saw the buck to whom the horns belonged. Behind him the head and shoulders of a doe were visible projecting from a bush. I continued to walk on till I came within something like one hundred yards, when I sat down behind a fragment of rock and hid myself from their view. The sun was, I remember, but a hands-breadth above the Cordillera, and I made up my mind that I would not move until its lower rim had dipped beneath the snow-peaks. At the time I had set for myself I peered round the edge of the rock very carefully—as slowly as one peers when one is observing the movements of a gaggle of Scotch grey-lags. Imagine my surprise when there, not ten yards away, appeared the face of the doe, her gaze fixed upon mine! On seeing me thus suddenly she ran back to the shelter of the undergrowth from which she had originally emerged, and from which the buck during the interval had not stirred. The shades of evening were fast falling, and I was obliged to make an end of my watching for lack of light.

But undoubtedly the most remarkable example of the natural tameness of the huemul occurred on May 9. I was in the same cañadon, and on this occasion had the luck to secure a photograph of the doe as she went away. It was about noon that I, being on my way up the cañadon in a northerly direction, heard a stick break in a thicket near by, and a moment afterwards a huemul buck came into view. Fortunately I had not caught his eye, and he remained looking out from a patch of bushes, wondering, I suppose, what strange animal this could be that was coming towards him. Pretending that I had not observed him, I threw myself down among the high grass and waited for developments. The buck snorted twice or thrice and advanced to within thirty yards of where I lay. He stood upon the side of a hummock, flanked by his two hinds. They were shortly joined by a third, which came up out of the hollow behind them. I lay perfectly still. The buck halted, but the hinds came on till within a few feet of me. The buck now approached on the right; he was a four-pointer. The does had winded me. Two of them were mature, the third a half-grown hind. Before five minutes were over the hinds had come so near as to be almost touching me. Presently the half-grown hind sniffed my boot and started back, taking the other three with her. They drew nearer a second time, the buck coming within a yard of me, and dropping his horns as though to turn me over. I did not quite like the action, as it might have meant more than a mere push, and therefore raised myself gently to a sitting position. The deer retreated about thirty yards, and there stood, not taking their eyes from me for a considerable time. Seeing that no further approach of the deer was likely, I finally got up and went my way. The does followed me for fifty yards or so, the buck remaining stationary, and then all four bounded off into the woods whence they had come.

In spite of this original confidingness exhibited by the huemul to man when unknown, he appears to be readily rendered wild and timid. Burbury saw some of these animals near the Engineers' camp above Lake Buenos Aires. They had probably been hunted by Mr. Waag's party and were excessively wild, flying on the farthest glimpse of man. This observation was confirmed by Humphrey Jones, who told me that the huemules living in the woods near the Welsh colony of The 16th October are wilder than any other creature, and that to shoot one is a feather in the caps of the local hunters. I cannot say whether they are easily tamed when in captivity, for I came across no instance of a huemul kept by man.

So far, then, my observations on the huemul.

Concerning the puma, I have never heard of any man being attacked near the settlements by this animal, and, indeed, authentic instances of its acting as the assailant are very few and far between. All those of which I gathered reliable evidence occurred in remote places, distant from the beat of man. Mr. Waag told me of a puma which did not retreat from his party in the Cordillera, but gave manifest signs of anger and a readiness to attack. Another case is that of Dr. Francisco P. Moreno, who, upon the banks of the River Leona, a river which flows between Lake Argentino and Lake Viedma, and is seldom visited, was attacked by a puma. He was, he informs me, walking wrapped in the skin of a guanaco, and he fancies the animal may have mistaken him for a guanaco. It sprang upon his shoulders and tore him under the chin with its claws, but was luckily beaten off by his companion and killed. This puma was found to be in milk, a fact which, arguing the presence of her young near at hand, probably accounted for the unusual outbreak of fierceness. The young were searched for but not discovered.

A third instance is that of Mr. Arenberg, one of the Argentine Boundary Commissioners, who was mauled by a puma in the neighbourhood of Lake Buenos Aires, at a spot probably hitherto unvisited by man. He was seriously wounded in the face. As a rule, the puma is a cowardly animal, and is frequently killed by the Indians with a bolas.[26]

Although, during the whole of our journey, we were constantly coming upon evidences of the presence of pumas round and about our camps, it was not until we had entered the Cordillera that they actually reconnoitred the camp. In a forest near Lake Argentino, one moonlight night, two pumas circled round our camp, and for upwards of half an hour kept uttering their peculiar cry. Pumas often stampeded our horses and left plain tracks near the camp, but in spite of this they killed no animal, not even a dog, belonging to us.

Puma cubs in captivity become very tame. One settler whom I met had two cubs about a year old. They were attached to their new home, and though they would follow a horse for two hundred yards or so, they invariably returned after a short distance to the shanty of their owner. Another puma cub had been kept by Mr. Cattle at Lake Argentino. This cub was wont to fight battles royal with the hounds, but in the cold of winter would lie among them for warmth. All these cubs were those of Felis concolor puma. So long as they were well fed they were docile, but when hungry their fierce nature reasserted itself. Mr. Cattle had finally to shoot the cub that belonged to him. Mr. Waring, however, still had his at the time of my departure. I heard these two killed a colt in the month of May

The study of the Cordillera wolf (Canis magellanicus) from the present point of view is exceptionally interesting. To this animal man is practically unknown, and it manifested the most utter fearlessness, when brought into contact with human beings, during our expedition. This wolf will advance within five or six yards of a man in open daylight; it will walk over him when asleep in camp. They haunted our camps about Lake Buenos Aires, lurking about all the night through and eating everything that came within their reach; then, instead of departing when daylight came, they usually remained crouching near by, and put in an appearance during breakfast-time with an absolute disregard or ignorance of probable danger from the neighbourhood of man.

On the River Fenix one of these wolves came into Rosy Camp during the night, stole a duck and a goose, and further gnawed my rifle-slings within a few feet of where I was sleeping. We only discovered our loss at dawn, and while we were still discussing it, I perceived the animal itself lying under a bush close at hand calmly watching us. Deprived of breakfast, I had no thought of mercy, and shot her with a Mauser. She was an old female. That night her mate paid us a visit, and frightened the horses, who seem to fear the large Cordillera wolf almost as much as the puma. I was rather crippled at the time with an injury to my knee, and was sitting by the fire. I happened to look up and caught sight of the wolf standing within a few yards of me. He quietly returned my look but made no movement to run away. In a moment or two I got up and limped across to fetch my gun, the wolf watching me with interest, but without the smallest sign of apprehension. As a matter of fact, he came a few steps nearer to me, still gazing at me fixedly. He also joined the majority in a very short space of time. We could not afford to have such desperate thieves about our camp. At another place in the same neighbourhood a wolf, coming in to investigate our camp, was attacked by my big deerhound Tom. The wolf made no attempt to escape but met his foe with a fearful bite, and in the end we had to go to Tom's assistance before the wolf could be killed.

To sum up the relative confidingness of the animals I met with, I propose to take the distance within which they will allow man to approach as a sort of scale:

Guanaco. The evidence is contradictory, but it may be taken that these animals will allow a man to proceed towards them to within eighty yards; at any rate, in most cases. But if a man remain stationary, they will be inclined to approach him a little nearer.

Huemules will allow man to approach within fifteen yards. If he remain perfectly still, they will go almost up to him.

Puma (Felis concolor puma). If unacquainted with man, will occasionally attack him.

Cordillera wolf. Utterly fearless of man. Will, if approached too closely, show signs of taking the offensive. Will stand over his kill until the human intruder is within a foot or so.

Pampa fox. Will allow approach to within twenty yards.

I have already described the attitude of all these animals towards man in the more settled districts, with the one exception of the Cordillera wolf. Concerning this animal no data, so far as I know, exists, as his range does not, in my experience—I am here open to correction—extend beyond the foothills of the Cordillera.

The whole of my personal knowledge as to the behaviour of animals toward man on first meeting with him leads me to believe that none but extremely broad rules can be laid down on the subject. It would be very difficult to prophesy the precise attitude likely to be adopted by any individual animal under this condition, for the evidence concerning animals of the same species varies so largely. I am, therefore, driven to believe that the conduct of any given animal depends on its own special turn of character; that it is, in fact, a matter of individual temperament. In the case of a group of animals, the note of the behaviour of the whole group would be given by either the leader of the herd, or would depend on the first instinctive action of that one of the group which was the first to perceive the strange object.

But, having stated the evidence which I gathered, it will be better to leave others to draw their own conclusions.

CHAPTER XVIII[27]
THE LARGER MAMMALS OF PATAGONIA

Little known of natural history of Patagonia—Distribution of principal mammals—Huemul—Range—Habits—Horns—Not timid in remote districts—Curiosity—Common puma—Immense numbers—Destructive habits—Method of attack—Silent—Expert in hiding lair—Pearson's puma—Points of difference—Characteristics—Guanaco—Wide range—Large herds—Quantities of bones at drinking-places—Hard winters—Habits—Lack of affection for young—Patagonian cavy—Arbitrary limit of range—Weight—Habits—Armadillo.

In commencing this chapter I may remark that, as far as English publications are concerned, I have found nothing bearing on the zoology of South-eastern Patagonia of later date than the book of Captain Musters, published in 1871, and no work whatever dealing with the mammals of the Cordillera.

Captain Musters traversed the country with a tribe of Tehuelche Indians, and only at one point touched the Cordillera. His book is essentially a book treating of these interesting Indians, and he does little more than refer now and then to the zoology of the land through which he passed.

Every one is, of course, familiar with the volumes to which the voyages of the Adventure and the Beagle gave rise, but it must be remembered that the most westerly point attained by the boat-party from the Beagle, which ascended the Santa Cruz River, was Mystery Plain. In no English work whatever has any mention been made of the huemul (Xenelaphus bisulcus), a deer peculiar to the Southern Cordillera, nor have we any account of the habits of the puma, or, I should rather say, the pumas of Patagonia. During the time we spent in Patagonia we covered a considerable portion of the country, and passed some five or six months within the Cordillera, or in their immediate neighbourhood, so that we had ample opportunity for making some interesting observations.

To begin with, I should like to say a few words concerning the distribution, broadly speaking, of the principal mammals of Patagonia.

Patagonia is divided practically into sections by its eastward-flowing rivers. To-day the jaguar (Felis onca) does not, I am informed, range south of the River Colorado, although specimens were killed in the vicinity of the River Negro fifteen years ago. The River Deseado forms the southern limit of the distribution of the Patagonian cavy (Dolichotis patagonica). The armadillo (Dasypus minutus) is never found south of the River Santa Cruz. During four months which I spent south of that river I did not see one, but when for three days we crossed to the north bank we met with four and killed one. Dasypus minutus is very common in the neighbourhood of Bahia Camerones. The range of the huemul (Xenelaphus bisulcus) is confined to the Cordillera or their close proximity, according to my experience, while Felis concolor puma, and the guanaco may be said to cover the entire country as regards the plains, and I have seen the animals or their traces in various parts of the Cordillera.

So much for general distribution.

1. Huemul (Xenelaphus bisulcus).

(Huemul or Guemal of the Argentines and Chilians; Ciervo of the Gauchos of Southern Patagonia; Shóan of the Tehuelches.)

In the neighbourhood of Lake Buenos Aires this beautiful deer first came under my observation. On the south side of the River de los Antiguos I saw a buck (which I shot), two does and a pricket. I was told by my Gaucho, Humphrey Jones, that the huemul is found in the forests as far north as the Welsh colony of The 16th October, about lat. 43°; on the south its range extends to the Straits of Magellan. The easterly limit of their present habitat may be said to be the foothills of the Andes. Dr. F. P. Moreno, however, states that these animals have been seen in the hills in the vicinity of Port Desire, on the Atlantic Coast: I do not think that they are any longer to be found there. As far as my personal observations go, I never came across a specimen farther east than a couple of miles from the shore of Lake Buenos Aires upon its north-eastern side. The Indians said that these deer were at one time more numerous in that region.