Another case of friendship was struck up between two of the madrinas, but this was an essentially feminine affection, all upon one side. The Rosada would follow the Trelew mare, who was in foal, and would hardly allow her to feed in peace. Mrs. Trelew, as the men nicknamed the round-barrelled old black mare, objected very strongly to the advances of her admirer, and once they had a regular quarrel owing to Mrs. Trelew kicking the Rosada with such force as to nearly break her ribs, which the latter rather resented. The Rosada was a vicious unbacked brute within five yards of whose heels it was unsafe to approach, and she, in common with the long-maned Little Zaino, acquired the execrable habit of attempting to kick any one who on horseback ventured to come near. This is a trick that is very rare even among the most untamable and vicious horses, which, although they will kick a man on foot, will seldom do so when he is mounted.

But perhaps the horse that caused us the most amusement was the Asulejo. He was a sort of uncertain dapple-grey in colour, and to look at him you would say that a more quiet, lazy, say-nothing-to-anybody little bit of old age did not crop the grass in Patagonia. Often and often did we feel sorry for that little animal and lighten his load. One afternoon, as we came along with the waggon, he seemed to be thinking more and more of the past, of the time when he had the power to make his riders sit tight and used to be a creature of some truculence. He had upon his back a light cargo of cooking-pots, and it took the undivided attention of one man to keep him at a walk. We fixed our camp upon an open plateau of coarse grass and thorn beside a lagoon in a shallow hollow. The cargoes were pulled off and the cook of the night made a grateful smoke ascend. I took a shot-gun and went after some geese for the morrow's breakfast. It was, perhaps, an hour and a half later, and a good league from camp, that I heard the neighing of horses, and was surprised to see seventeen of our troop hurrying off, as it were, upon some unknown errand. And well in front of them—could I believe my eyes?—was the horse we knew as the Asulejo, but his eye was brighter and he neighed in the joy of his heart as he trotted friskily along! He was the obvious leader of the revolt. No sooner did he see me than he fell behind, trying to look as though one of the younger animals had lured him from the path of duty, but that pretence did not serve, and after driving him back into camp we put maneas on him, upon which he recognised with the philosophy of age that he could not fight against the inevitable, and so retired into the lee of a thorn-bush, where he lay down to dream, no doubt, of the days when things were different and he had been a scampering three-year-old on the banks of the River Negro.

However, to return to our journey, and our earliest attempt at marching without a waggon. It was first and last one of the most trying days that we experienced. To begin with, the eight fairly well-behaved horses were cargoed up, and then the wild ones were taken in hand. The first of these happened to be the Gateado. His load was flour and tinned beef. He allowed himself to be saddled up with no more than the usual accompaniment of blowing and snorting. He even suffered his cargo to be slung and the noose to be slipped along the cinch until it was in place.

Every horse needs two men to put on his cargo. One ties the knot and hauls while the other takes in the slack. The latter has to hold up his side of the cargo with his shoulder, and to do this must get pretty nearly under the animal.

In our case, although we jettisoned a portion of our belongings—including, I am sorry to say, a number of birds which I had spent my evenings in skinning, and which I truly grieved to leave behind—some of the packs were of necessity rather unwieldy. This, indeed, is almost always the case during the earlier stages of any expedition.

The behaviour of the Gateado was similar to that of many of the cargueros. He waited until his man was well under, and then he came into action with a series of diabolically well-aimed, one-legged kicks. Having after a little got rid of us by this means, he went on to buck all his cargo off, and then stood with his saddle cork-screwed round under his belly. Jones held on to the head-rope, or no doubt the Gateado would have completed his performance by clearing off into the low hills or hummocks which surrounded the place.

Most of the others were, in their separate ways, as bad as the Gateado. Some bucked, some reared, some would not be approached, but all agreed in one thing—all, when cargoed up and ready for the start, solemnly lay down and rolled on their cargoes. If they got them loose, the wretched animals rose again and bucked them within reach of their heels, after which they extricated themselves by kicking.

That morning was, indeed, a study of shifting cargoes. They came off all ways, bucked off, kicked off, rolled on. Some stuck out to port of the horse and some to starboard, a few hung disconsolately beneath the carguero's body. Again and again we did our part, and again and again the horses defeated us by their horrible tricks of lying down and rolling. Meantime the sun had risen, and heat and flies were added to the long tally of the day's disagreeable items. A very heavy wind was also blowing, which made it exceedingly difficult to place the saddle-cloths upon the horses' backs. I have often noticed that, when saddling up a colt or wild horse, it is well to make use each day of the same saddle-cloths, as he grows used to these, and does not fear them, especially if you allow him to bite and smell them.

All would now have gone well had it not been for the fact that the handles of one of the tin boxes upon Horqueta were loose. The moment we let him go he began to buck and the unlucky handles to beat a devil's tattoo upon the body of the tin box. He made off into the troop of cargoed horses, and the noise he brought with him proved too much for their nerves. They scrambled up to their feet and four of them broke away in different directions. Five minutes later we surveyed once more a scene of scattered cartridges, flour, oatmeal, sacks of beans, clothes, skins bumped out with tinned provisions, and I don't know what else. They lay in confusion among the grass and bushes in the valley, and up and down the slopes of the conical mud hills. The Germans were reduced to inarticulate oaths, and the Welshmen looked out of heart.

But to camp upon a failure is the worst of business and of policy, and so the men were laughed into a good humour, and we all went at it once more, the ammunition and our other goods were collected and the cargoes were fixed up yet again.

It was ten minutes past three o'clock by my watch when we rode slowly up the cliff that lay between Waggon Camp and the River Chico of Chubut. We reached the top without mishap, chiefly, I think, because the horses were now fairly exhausted with their exertions. At the top of the rise we stopped and looked back; our broken waggon lay dark and low among the coarse yellow weeds, the afternoon sun, still warm, beat upon the bald hills, and that was the last we saw of our unlucky camp.

The procession moved slowly on, and we did not rest until twilight, by which time we had travelled between twelve and thirteen miles. Our march now lay along the banks of the Chico. The going was soft, and more bushes began to appear on the landscape. That night we celebrated our first carguero journey by serving out cocoa for all hands.

The night we struck the River Chico was a very cold one, the temperature falling 12° below freezing-point. These figures, however, give no idea of the cold, as one of the characteristics of Patagonia is the prevalence of tremendous winds. And when these blow from the direction of the Cordillera, they bring with them chilly memories of the snows over which they have passed. Wind, of course, increased the rigours of the cold, and I remember that during the night on which we felt the cold most severely the temperature did not fall below 35°.

The next morning we got off about 10.30, having less trouble with the cargueros. I went on in front to choose our way, which here passed over very bad ground.

At the midday halt it was found that only part of a haunch of guanaco had been brought on from the last camp. I therefore galloped on ahead with a shot-gun and shot thirteen ducks, of which only six came to hand, as several fell among the reeds in the marshes which fringe the river. Of these six ducks, four were brown pintails (Dafila spinicauda) and two were Chiloe widgeon (Mareca sibilatrix). In the afternoon I exchanged the shot-gun for the rifle, as a few more guanaco-skins would be very handy for various purposes and meat was wanted. About four o'clock, when riding behind the troop, I saw a guanaco among the hills to the east. I was fortunately mounted upon the Cruzado, who had by this time learned to stand to shot and to remain standing when his reins were dropped over his head. He was infinitely the best shooting-horse in the troop, and I used always to ride him when game was wanted, although, owing to his being a large horse, his canter was not suited to riding behind the tropilla. He had come to us with a very bad name for throwing himself back, which is one of the nastiest tricks a horse can possess. But this he soon gave up, and except that he always remained rather hard to catch in the mornings, was what an advertiser would call "a thoroughly confidential horse." I am glad to think that when I left Patagonia he became the property of Burbury.

The guanacos of the valley of the Chico were very wild owing to the fact that the Tehuelche Indians hunt them there during the months of October and November. This valley was once celebrated for the abundance of its game, but of recent years the herds seem to have moved westwards and northwards. This guanaco was the first we had seen that day.

I crawled up the hill, sinking to my knees at every step into the dry mud. When half-way up I saw the ears of the guanaco appear against the sky-line. I lay down, and he remained still and utterly unconscious of my presence for some minutes. He was watching my companions, who, with the horses, were moving off into dimness down the valley. Presently he ran forward one or two steps and gave out his high-pitched neighing laugh in a sort of strange defiance at our retreating troop. He was a very old buck with dark markings on his face. He was about fifty yards away, and when I fired he reared and fell backwards. I threw out the cartridge, and at the same instant seven guanacos, startled by the report, dashed across the valley and galloped along parallel to me on the other side of the cañadon at about one hundred yards distance. I fired at the second one because it looked fat, and brought it to the ground. The guanacos now turned in great affright and raced past me again, when I dropped two more. This brought them to a standstill, as they had not yet made out where the shots were coming from, and no doubt I might have been able to shoot the entire herd, but we had now enough skins. When I rose the remaining four sprang down into the valley and disappeared up the opposite barranca.

I now went to the top of the hill, where I had fired at the old buck, and found that the bullet had broken his neck. He was, as I had surmised, a very old animal, and bore upon him traces of an encounter with a puma. The skin of his neck was immensely thick and his teeth were worn down. One of the other guanacos, which had fallen upon the far side of the valley, proved to be a year-old doe, so it was unnecessary to take any of the meat of the buck. I now signalled, and Burbury soon joined me to help in cutting up.

When we overtook the horses we found that the hounds, Tom and Bian had killed a cavy (Dolichotis patagonica), so that we had a good stock of meat. The cavy is excellent eating, resembling English hare. I was told that Tom had not covered himself with glory, for, although he proved himself very fast, and turned the hare, it was Bian that killed it. Bian was a rough, yellow lurcher, who stood the rough ground and hard experiences of our journey very much better than Tom, although the latter was a well-bred hound with a pedigree to back his pretensions. Bian belonged to young Jones.

During the day we observed enormous flocks of Chilian widgeon (Mareca sibilatrix) as well as some grey teal (Querquedula versicolor).

On October 22, as we had expected, we arrived at Colohuapi, the farthest settlement in the heart of Patagonia. Near by lie twin lakes Colhué and Musters. About one o'clock, coming over a rise, we saw the Lake. As the sun was shining it was very blue, and upon the far side rose the hills. The mournful whistle of waterfowl in countless flocks was to be heard. A breeze from the north-west was blowing across the lake, and there was that peculiar wet smell in the wind which can only be derived from a passage across wide waters.

This day the Gateado bucked off his cargo of tinned meats and was unfortunate enough to give himself a deep wound in the pastern. Jones tied it up with his handkerchief, and the horse was so lame that we thought it would be necessary to leave him behind at Colohuapi. As it turned out, however, being of a very strong constitution, he improved rapidly, and was with us to the very end of our journeyings.

Our march on this occasion was upwards of twenty-seven miles, and at the end of it I rode ahead to choose a place for a camp. Earlier in the day Burbury, who was riding the Colorado, a half-broken colt that had had only a few gallops, got into difficulties, and I relieved him of a bag which he was carrying. I had tied this bag to my saddle, but just before we camped it came loose, and, thinking I was not going to have any other chance of shooting, I slung it over my rifle, which I was carrying across my shoulder as usual in a sling. I had chosen a valley to camp in and turned round to jog quietly back to meet the troop, when with the tail of my eye I caught sight of an animal which I thought was Tom, but it looked too large, and I turned my head to see it more fully. There, fifteen yards behind my horse, staring at me, switching its tail slowly from side to side, and standing full up, was a fine male puma (F. concolor). I rolled off my horse, which, fortunately, had neither seen nor winded the puma, and began to unsling my rifle. In the middle of the operation, when I already had the hindering bag upon the ground, the puma, which up to that moment had continued to lash its tail and stare at me, turned round and loped off at the cumbrous and uncouth canter habitual to these animals. At one hundred and fifty yards it stopped for an instant, but was off again at once. I attempted to mount my horse with the idea of galloping down the puma, an easy thing to do, as these animals never run far, and are readily blown, but the horse, which happened to be a mule-footed oscuro, known as Mula, became quite unmanageable. I at once coo-ed and was joined by young Humphrey Jones, who in eighteen years' residence in Patagonia had never seen a puma, and as he had strong sporting instincts, was extremely anxious to encounter one. We followed the track of the lion—as the puma is locally called—but after topping the hill it led along a bare slope and was lost in a clump of high dry bush, where it was quite hopeless to find the creature. We rode back into camp very disappointed.

Just as Mr. Selous remarks that hunters sometimes spend years in Africa before they come upon their first lion, so many a man is as long in Patagonia before he comes across his first puma. The puma is a very furtive and cowardly animal, and though we saw so few during our months of travel, I have no doubt that many a puma watched our troop passing across the pampa from the safe cover of rocks and bushes. Seeing or not seeing pumas is purely a matter of luck, and the tales concerning pumas having attacked men, which abound in the country, are generally fabrications. A puma with young will attack man if he stumbles upon her and her family, and my friend Mr. Waag told me that on one occasion a puma in the Cordillera had shown evident signs of attack. In the majority of cases, even when wounded, the puma will only snarl and spit, and the Indians, as well as the Gauchos, despatch it with the bolas.

The puma is a terrible foe to the sheep-farmer, levying heavy toll upon flocks, and often enjoys a long career of sheep-killing before strychnine or the bullet puts an end to its existence.

The snow is directly responsible for the death of a great many pumas, for when it is lying on the ground the animals can easily be tracked. At this season the shepherds of the estancias near the coast attempt to clear the ground of their very unwelcome visitors, the weapon most commonly used being the .450 revolver, and the shot is often taken at a distance of less than ten paces. The puma is very easy to kill, especially if the first shot is well placed. It is the first shock which tells in the case of these animals.

Great sport could, no doubt, be had with the puma were he hunted with a pack of dogs that would bay him and distract his attention. The average hound of the country is, however, far too wise to pit himself against such an animal, and will often even refuse to acknowledge the scent.

That night the lake, as seen from the camp, was wonderfully beautiful. The waters were leaden-grey bounded by faint blue hills, with soft mists of an unearthly green clinging about them. The only sounds to be heard were the wash of the ripple on the shore and plashing of wildfowl.

On October 23 we made as early a start as possible, and pursued our way over very level pampa, which had not yet been hardened by the sun of spring. We put up an ostrich (Rhea darwini) from his nest, and found three eggs. Presently there appeared in the centre of the pampa, ahead of us, three little huts of earth and three black cattle. Save for one gorge through which the River Senguerr flows, and through which we afterwards took our way, a perfect circle of hills of greatly varying heights surrounded the small settlement. The huts belonged to a Welshman named William Jones, who, with his wife and six children, had trekked out here some six or eight months previously.

One of the three huts, which was untenanted, Mr. Jones put at our disposal, and after taking off the cargoes, Burbury and Scrivenor accompanied me across to William Jones' home. Mrs. Jones received us with hospitality and treated us to maté with milk, tea and scones, and we got a sight of ourselves in the looking-glass. The wind of the pampas had removed all the skin from our faces, and we were a good deal unlike the individuals who had started from Trelew some four or five weeks before.

William Jones had brought his wife and family to Colohuapi in a waggon, following the banks of the River Chico from Trelew. His journey had, however, been made late in the year, when the marshes were dry, and his waggon had been more suited to the hardships of the way than was ours.

Two other Welshmen with their wives lived higher up the valley, and the full strength of the colony was made up by a Swede named Oscar, who acted as comisario, and an Argentine who had settled on the other side of the river. To the last-named gentleman Burbury paid a visit on the following day.

Now set in another era of preparation. We purchased sheepskins and laid in a stock of mutton, and on the 25th once more made a start. Before taking leave of Colohuapi I should like to record my appreciation of the great kindness which the settlers there extended to us especially Mr. and Mrs. William Jones, the latter of whom was thoughtful enough to bake us a large loaf to speed us on our way. On the eve of our departure we gave a small dinner, at which the menu was as follows: Mutton puchero, made with desiccated potatoes and cabbage; stewed apple-rings and milk; lime-juice tablets; chocolate food; and two tins of sardines. I was very sorry not to be able to add a bowl of punch to the feast, but the fact was I had with me but three bottles of brandy, and those for purely medicinal purposes.

The country round about Colohuapi is very suited for cattle-breeding, but, of course, the chief difficulty encountered by the colonists are those connected with transporting their produce to the market, as the district is not yet in any way opened up. But I hope and believe that a prosperous future lies before the young settlement, and much of the good to come should certainly fall to the lot of the Welshmen William and Walter Jones, whose pioneer efforts deserve great reward. At present it is a hard life that the colonists are obliged to lead, divided as they are by more than a couple of hundred miles from their nearest white neighbours. One could not help being struck by the solitary aspect of the two or three small huts, set as they are at present on the edge of the hill-encircled empty plain.

Just as we were off from Colohuapi, the comisario rode up and proceeded to make the necessary examination of our horses. In this connection very strict laws obtain throughout the northern provinces of the Argentine Republic. In a country where horse-breeding is carried on upon so extensive a scale, and where, besides, the animals are allowed to wander freely upon the wide spaces of the pampas, a strong check must be placed upon any infringement of the law of property. A strict system of registration and surveillance as to brands upon horses must be kept in force, and is, in fact, one of the first steps towards security.

The brand, which I had registered in Trelew, and which was invented by Burbury, represented the rising sun. It was an excellent brand, as it had not much "fire" about it, and was very different to any other mark we came across. Another point to be considered in choosing it was that it would be a difficult one to fake. Our branding took place at Bahia Camerones, Mr. Greenshields being good enough to allow us to use his corral for the purpose. Our half-wild horses did not permit us to operate upon them without a struggle. A few days after the operation the burns caused by the iron had quite healed.

CHAPTER V
THE RIVER VALLEYS

Arbitrary distribution of animals in Patagonia—Trouble with Gauchos—Indian guide—Germans turned back—Cañadon of River Senguerr—Bad weather—Old Zaino again causes damage—Loss of clothes, ammunition, &c., in the river—Shooting upland geese—River Mayo—Hailstorm—A day's sport in Patagonia—Shooting a wild cow—Was it a wild cow?—Musters' account of wild cattle—First meeting with Tehuelche Indians.

In consequence of the visit of the comisario we were somewhat late in starting from Colohuapi, but nevertheless made a good march of about fifteen miles, and camped in the valley, after driving the two horses past a bend of the river that would prevent them from attempting to break back towards their pasture at Colohuapi. The day was very warm indeed and the night rather cold, the thermometer at midday and at night being respectively 74° F. and 37° F.

We were now upon the banks of the River Senguerr, the Senguel of Captain Musters.

The extraordinary tameness of the upland geese in the neighbourhood of Colohuapi was very remarkable; they allowed one to approach within eighty yards before bestirring themselves. After the first day's march beyond Colohuapi we never saw again any specimen of the Patagonian cavy (Dolichotis patagonica), although round the shores of the lakes Musters and Colhué these animals abound. It is strange that the habitat of the cavy should be so sharply defined, considering that there appears to be no apparent reason, such as alteration of the nature of the ground or vegetation, to account for the fact. The armadillo (Dasypus minutus), which is found in numbers on the north bank of the River Santa Cruz, is entirely absent from the south bank, nor, to my knowledge, has a single specimen ever been secured there. This instance of the distribution of the armadillo agrees with other facts of the same kind which are common to Patagonia. The rivers running from west to east across the continent mark the limit of the distribution of some of the mammals. Thus I am assured the jaguar (Felis onca) is not to-day found south of the River Negro. And the puma does not exist in Tierra del Fuego, the dividing water in this latter instance being the Straits of Magellan. The guanaco, however, is distributed throughout the whole of Patagonia and also in Tierra del Fuego. I met with this animal deep inside the Cordillera, and indeed once, with consecutive shots, I killed a huemul and a guanaco.

About this time it became apparent that neither Fritz nor Hollesen, the German Gauchos, were very much in love with the hard work and hardships which they conceived lay before them. It was a favourite trick of theirs to fall out of the troop on the plea of fixing a cargo, and then, as soon as we were lost to sight, to sit down and smoke their pipes; in fact, they had determined to take things easy. On the evening of our leaving Colohuapi Hollesen asked me for some cartridges for his revolver, saying that when working under the Argentine Boundary Commission he had had a quarrel with an Indian concerning the Indian's wife, and that he feared meeting him, for the man had sworn to be revenged.

During the night the dogs ate about ten kilos of mutton which we had brought with us from Colohuapi, although it was wrapped up in a tent, so the next morning we were forced to breakfast upon an old gander, that made a very tough and tasteless puchero. Our next march was about six leagues, and that evening an Indian rode into our camp and offered to guide us across the pampa to Lake Buenos Aires. He was a Tehuelche, and he told us that some of his tribe were encamped in the valley of the River Mayo at its junction with the River Chalia. All the following day, leaving the river and guided by the Indian, we rode across bare stony pampa devoid of game, and in the evening, after passing three lagoons, we made our camp round a spring of water. As, owing to the depredations of the dogs, we had no fresh food, I took the gun and attempted to stalk a couple of upland geese.

In the morning, finding I was of the same mind, the Germans again informed me of their wish to turn back. I therefore gave them food to last them upon their journey to civilisation, as well as the worst buck-jumper of the troop, and told them to leave the camp as soon as possible. Fritz, after some further talk and after remarking to Hollesen in German that they had better have stayed after all, climbed on to the horse and rode away.

The Germans at the outset had been admirable workers, apart from their cunning, which tinged most of their conduct. Yet perhaps, if they had gone on with us, we might have paid for Hollesen's misdoings with the Indians, by getting into trouble with the tribe who had saved his life and whom he had so scurvily requited. As it happened, a few days later we came upon the very tribe with whom he had had to do.

I will now take some extracts from my diary:

"October 28.—The Germans left us this morning. I think we shall be all the better without them. Immediately on their departure I determined to march to the cañadon or valley of the River Senguerr, giving up the route suggested by the Indian, as it was likely that the horses would stray upon the pampa. It was necessary to decrease the weight of some of our cargo, which we at once set about doing. The reason for this was that, having so few men, each pair of us would have to look after six cargueros, or pack-horses, and we were consequently obliged to lessen their number.

"While we were getting ready a thin rain and a yelling wind came down the cañadon as we started to catch the horses. The salt marsh over which the Germans had gone lay behind us, and ahead were shallow lagoons around which the tussocks whistled in the wind. But I think we none of us noticed the inclemency of the weather, we were soaked to the skin as we worked, and in an hour and a half—a record as to time in cargoing up even with the aid of the men who had gone—we had loaded the last carguero of the twelve, and with extra ropes hanging to the saddles, a brandy bottle protruding from each of the pockets of Barckhausen and with Jones perched high and stirrupless upon a sack of beans, we set off."

Providentially, not a single cargo shifted, although we covered something like fourteen miles. I should have mentioned that one of the reasons which weighed with me in again seeking the cañadon of the River Senguerr was the fact that four of the horses had strayed in the night. It was our intention to camp as soon as we reached a suitable place in the valley and to scour the country for the lost horses. This, however, turned out not to be necessary, as we came right upon the truants grazing in the mouth of a small rift in the cliff of the cañadon. One of them cantered out with a neigh to meet the troop upon the hillside.

It rained so heavily in the night that we put up the tent and were glad of its warm shelter. Morning came with pearl-grey mists in the valley. We worked like slaves, and our hands became very sore with the new cargo-ropes.

Presently we climbed on to a steep slope on the cliffs, where directly below us the river ran with a current of about three knots. The passage along this slope was very difficult, and we were driving the horses with infinite care. The face of the cliff was scarred with the traces of a landslip. One of the horses, the Old Zaino, so called not because of any weight of years, but on account of the gravity of his demeanour, climbed up and up, in spite of all our efforts, among the shifting earth and loose stones until he was some hundred feet above the main body of the troop. He was a tall, ewe-necked animal, and always bore an exasperating expression of insulted dignity. He was carrying a cargo of flour.

When he had, in his own opinion, managed to get sufficiently ahead of his companions, he stopped dead and looked down upon us with a baleful eye as we toiled beneath him. Then suddenly, but methodically, he began to descend towards us in a succession of devastating bucks. No cargo, tied with ropes, could withstand such treatment. The cinch gave way, and he and his pack arrived simultaneously in the middle of the troop.

A salvage-party was at once despatched to attempt the rescue of such of our goods as were still swimming, while the rest of us collected the horses and returned with a sufficiency of ropes to enable us to get down the cliff, for upon the ragged edge left by the landslip and overhanging the river some of our things had lodged. We felt that we were for the time being out of luck. We had not long lost the waggon, and now followed the losing of important stores and the yet more important ammunition. We knotted together eight of the cargo-ropes, and while Scrivenor and I were doing this, Barckhausen retrieved one of the boxes of ammunition, and told us that there were a couple more farther down, and out of reach, he feared, which had stuck in the soft earth of the landslip. However, with the aid of the rope I managed to bring both up to safe ground.

"When this was done it was found that we had another place, almost as difficult as that upon which we had come to grief, to surmount. This time, however, Burbury led a horse in front, and the others followed meekly in his track. We had wasted several hours in negotiating the first barranca, and it was soon time to camp. As we had no meat, I went to see if I could not kill some geese (Chloephaga magellanica), which I had observed upon a neck of land, that stretched out into the river. There were five geese, and I was lucky enough to kill two, both females, which are very much more tender than the males. On one side of the camp was a chain of small lagoons, evidently formed by the overflow of the river, and in one of these I saw a flock of brown pintails. These were easily stalked behind the rushes, and the discharge of two barrels of the 12-bore left five upon the water. At dark a storm of rain blew up.

"October 30.—This cargoing work is very wearisome, and has got upon our nerves. Even in one's sleep one sees the reeling, writhing mass of kicking and struggling cargueros on the white and ragged-sided barranca.[6] Got off at 10.30 and reached the River Mayo, a very small stream here, flowing through a wide valley lined by bare steep cliffs 200 feet or so in height. We are all becoming quite expert with the cargoes; Burbury and Barckhausen, and Jones and I work in pairs. The newness has now worn off the ropes, and hauling on them does not any longer cut our hands. Still an occasional cargo shifts, and the horse, wildly refusing to be caught, gallops away kicking at his cargo. Thus did the Alazan to-day, scattering Mauser ammunition among the bushes, and kicking the spout from our last kettle, so that we can only fill it half full.

"There is comparatively little game in this bit of country, few guanaco, and those very wild because of the Indians, whose beat we are now approaching. When there is rain, which fortunately is not often, we have to carry our change of clothing upon our saddles to dry them. To-day Jones was very much loaded up with his extra breeches and top boots, that were wet, a gun-cover, fifty rounds of ammunition dropped by the Alazan, two ducks, a telescope, and a water-bottle!

"October 31.—Soon after we started a big cloud blew out of the south and brought with it a heavy hailstorm, which whistled before a driving wind. The horses would not face it, but huddled together in the centre of the valley. We encamped early as we needed meat. Jones and I left the camp here among the sand-dunes in the valley and went a-hunting. We rode up a cañadon, in the centre of which our horses foundered in some very bad ground. Getting out of this we struck a stretch of desolate pampa, across which we cut towards the big cañadon of the Mayo in order to explore the route which we must follow upon the morrow. To my surprise we presently came to a clear stream, flowing through another wide cañadon, which joined the Mayo from a south-westerly direction. Can this be the River Genguel? The Indian guide told us that it would take us a month to get from here to Lake Buenos Aires. If it is the Genguel, however, we should arrive at the lake in ten marches—a very different matter. It would be as well to halt to-morrow for the day, so that an observation may be taken to determine this point, and also to enable us to go hunting, as we have but one duck in the camp, and, since our losses at the Senguerr barranca, it is more than ever necessary to save our stock of tinned provisions.

"To-day the Old Zaino, this time fortunately not carrying a cargo, again attempted to repeat his trick of the Senguerr barranca, but was circumvented by Burbury and Barckhausen.

"November 1.—To-day Scrivenor shot the sun 70° 56´ W. long, and 45° 39´ S. lat. So the river we saw yesterday is the Genguel, which is excellent. Jones and I went out to shoot for the pot. As there were no guanaco in the neighbourhood, he took the Paradox and I my 12-bore, and we confined ourselves to following some flocks of upland geese which we had observed in the valley. I will describe the day's sport at length, as it was very typical of Patagonian wild-fowl shooting in a fairly good district.

"We rode our horses, of course, I taking the Cruzado and Jones 'J.V.E.' a small brown animal, so called because he bears that brand upon his flank. The first geese we came upon were a party of five standing upon an island in the Mayo. As it was impossible to stalk these birds we tried driving, and I sent Humphrey Jones, who, by the way, was a very keen sportsman, to attempt to drive them over me, where I had taken up my quarters in some bushes upstream above them on the bank. Jones meantime made a large circle and galloped up towards them. When he was within about 200 yards they rose, and honking indignantly made straight up in my direction, flying, however, a little too wide. They went down again about a quarter of a mile away, and we repeated our tactics, I remaining where I was. I could not help thinking how much time was saved by Jones being on horseback. Had he been on foot it would have taken him a long time in that bare valley to fetch a circle big enough. As it was, in five minutes the birds were again on the wing, and this time they gave me a chance and I brought down two; one, however, falling on the other side of the river, had to be abandoned."

Any one who travels through Patagonia cannot fail to be struck by the enormous quantities of upland geese (Chloephaga magellanica) which abound in the vicinity of the rivers and lagoons. At this time a great many of the birds are paired, but at a latter date in the valley of the Coyly we once made a camp round which the country in all directions was covered by thousands of these geese. After our shot Jones rejoined me and we proceeded to the edge of a small lagoon, where he told me he had seen some ducks. On approaching it I examined the birds through my telescope and discovered them to be brown pintails (Dafila spinicauda). I held the horses while Jones enjoyed the stalk, which ended in his killing two of the birds, to retrieve which it was necessary to wade into pretty deep water.

We now rode towards the valley of the Genguel, and there flushed innumerable snipe, at which we did not shoot, as we could not afford to waste ammunition on so small a bird. We next descried a flock of nineteen geese, which were peculiarly wideawake and would not allow us to approach for a long time, and presently we deserted their pursuit in favour of that of a single old gander that was standing upon the shingle beside the river. I got up quite close to this bird and had a rising shot at him as he flew across the stream. I killed him quite dead, but it seemed impossible to retrieve him, and we were rather disconsolately watching his body drift away when it struck us that Jones, who was very clever with the lasso, might manage to recover it at a point where the current brought it within reach of our side. We therefore galloped parallel to the bird along the bank, and after one or two ineffectual efforts, Jones succeeded in getting the lasso round him, and so dragged him in.