120 The Naturalist in La Plata. 
along in the erratic manner usual to that odorifer- 
ous quadruped;” following it at a very short 
distance was an eagle-vulture, evidently bent on mis- 
chief. Every time the bird came near the bushy 
tail rose menacingly ; then the carancho would fall 
behind, and, after a few moments’ hesitation, follow 
on again. At length, growing bolder, it sprung 
forward, seizing the threatening tail with its claw, 
but immediately after “‘ began staggering about with 
dishevelled plumage, tearful eyes, and a profoundly 
woe-begone expression on its vulture face. The 
skunk, after turning and regarding its victim with 
an I-told-you-so look for a few moments, trotted 
unconcernedly off.” 
I was told in Patagonia by a man named Molinos, 
who was frequently employed by the Government as 
guide to expeditions in the desert, that everywhere 
throughout that country the skunk is abundant. 
Some years ago he was sent with two other men to 
find and treat with an Indian chief whose where- 
abouts were not known. Far in the interior Molinos 
was overtaken by a severe winter, his horses died of 
thirst and fatigue, and during the three bitterest 
months of the year he kept himself and his followers 
alive by eating the flesh of skunks, the only wild 
animal that never failed them. No doubt, on those 
vast sterile plains where the skunk abounds, and 
goes about by day and by night careless of enemies, 
the terrible nature of its defensive weapon is the 
first lesson experience teaches to every young eagle, 
fox, wild cat, and puma. 
Dogs kill skunks when made to do so, but it is 
not a sport they delight in. One moonlight night, 
