THE LAVA FLOW III 



while Billy and I took two of the saddle horses and explored 

 as far as the river or until we found something. Saddling 

 Blackie and Colorado we started to "ride the chuck line" 

 as they say in the West, when one starts out expecting to 

 live on his neighbors as he travels. Our first day brought 

 us to nothing new and we stopped at a small estancia, 

 where we did not meet a very cordial reception from the 

 owner. 



Next morning about ten we rode up to Tom Hall's, 

 who averaged up by the heartiness of his welcome, and 

 soon proved to us that he knew more of the natural history, 

 geology, and Indian lore of the country than any one else 

 we had met. When we told him what we wanted to see, 

 he replied, "that is just the sort of a trip I have wanted 

 to take." We said, "come on." He replied, "all right." 

 Then he caught up two horses, one to ride and the other 

 to carry the pack, which he furnished, consisting of blank- 

 ets, grub for three days, and a few cooking utensils. After 

 lunch we rode five or six leagues across country, until 

 we came to the mile-wide valley of the Deseado River, the 

 stream itself being about three feet wide and a foot deep, 

 and entirely dry in the summer time. Here we turned up 

 the valley until we came to the first of the steep white 

 barrancas which make the walls of the valley here. 



There we camped for the night. It was one of those 

 gorgeous nights made perfect by the contrast with what 

 one usually gets. Soon a roast of lamb was sizzling before 

 our camp fire, after eating which we sat until well into 

 the night while Billy matched tales of the sea and the 

 cow camp against those of Hall's of the mining and sheep 

 camps all over Australia. He had put in twenty years 

 of his life roaming all over that continent. Cheap land 

 (he was squatting) brought him to Patagonia, but he had 

 already made his plans and could see that in two years 

 he would return to Australia with money enough to make 



