THE PAMPAS OF PATAGONIA. 15 



little trick seems likely to succeed, when I suddenly find 

 myself first in the air and next in a calif ate bush ; indeed 

 for a second or so, I am not sure where I am. Then I 

 crawl out with a bleeding nose, but no more serious 

 damage, to find the cruzado, looking curiously fore- 

 shortened, still struggling to extricate himself from a 

 pit of soft, whitish clay, into which his front legs have 

 sunk to the shoulders. Meantime the guanaco have 

 bounded past, up the barranca and out of sight. 



After clearing the cruzado and myself as well as I 

 can from the marks of the adhesive clay and a much 

 more lengthy proceeding freeing the barrel of my rifle 

 from mud and slime, I notice that it is growing late and 

 turn towards camp. Both my horse and I have been 

 considerably sobered by the rather crumpling fall, and 

 now jog along at a pace which precludes the likelihood 

 of further mishaps. For a couple of miles we travel 

 thus quietly upon our way, flushing a large number of 

 snipe and two or three companies of Chilian widgeon ; 

 then, leaving the river, I once more ride up the barranca 

 to spy the tableland. 



It is a fortunate move, for while I am still fifty 

 feet from the top, I hear the challenging neigh of a 

 guanaco buck. I leap off, pull the reins over the 

 cruzado 's head, and see that thoroughly reliable animal 

 at once turn his attention to tearing up mouthfuls of 

 grass. Sure that, notwithstanding his uncomfortable 

 position upon a hillside sloping some thirty degrees, he 

 will not move many paces away until I return, I creep 

 upwards until I can look over the edge of the cliff. 

 About three hundred yards ahead a herd of some thirty 

 guanaco are standing. The wind, though it might be more 

 favourable, will probably serve, and the guanaco are now 



