To the Gulf of Cortez 



noon, seeing only one little fellow, about the 

 size of a jack rabbit, scuttle off in the brush. 

 Then we decided to go home. This, however, 

 turned out to be a large business. The lofty 

 trees prevented our getting any extended 

 view, and the stony gulches resembled each 

 other to an annoying degree. At last even 

 the water seemed to flow the wrong way. So 

 we gave up the attempt to identify landmarks, 

 and, following our sense of direction and taking 

 our course from the sun, we finally came again 

 to the long meadow, and, traveling down that, 

 we came to camp. Here we violated all rules 

 by shooting at a mark — our excuse was that 

 we had decided to leave the vicinity without 

 further hunting; and, at all events, we spoiled 

 a sardine box, to Oscar's great admiration. 



In order to get a fair day's journey out of a 

 fair day, we had to rise at 4 or 5 o'clock. 

 Oscar once or twice borrowed my watch to 

 wake by, but the result was only that I had to 

 borrow J. B.'s watch to wake Oscar by; so I 

 afterwards retained the timepiece, and got up 

 early enough to start Oscar well on his duties. 



The question of fresh meat had now become 

 important. We left Bajio Largo and drove to 

 Hansen's Laguna, a shallow pond over a mile 



61 



