16 HUNTING CAMPS. 



moving away across the mesa. I run along under the 

 cliff to a bush, which I have marked as the handiest ; 

 when 1 reach it I slowly raise my head to reconnoitre. 

 The guanaco are grouped together about two hundred 

 yards off. I pick out a good buck standing alone ; a yeld 

 doe would be better for my purpose, but I never could 

 bring myself to shoot at one as long as there was a buck 

 to take its place, and after waiting a moment to get my 

 breath, I press the trigger. The buck gives a convulsive 

 start and dashes forward as an animal often will when 

 shot through the heart. 



Knowing he will need no second bullet, I transfer my 

 attention to the rest. At first, not having located the 

 shot, they bunch together in alarm, and then one breaks 

 away on the left. As soon as he is clear, I swing my 

 sight on to him but do not fire, for I recollect that it is 

 already late in the afternoon, and by morning the foxes 

 will have spoilt the meat, for I cannot carry more than 

 one animal to camp. The herd break in all directions, 

 a yearling and a doe come straight at me, I rise and 

 they swerve, a buck crashes down the barranca within 

 fifty yards, the remainder of the herd are scattered to 

 the four winds, leaving me to reflect on having once 

 more proved the truth of the Greek saying, that 

 " to-day the gods are with the hunted, to-morrow with 

 the hunter." 



By the time I have cut up the dead buck, the 

 evening is beginning to draw on. I make an unsightly 

 but eminently welcome pack of the meat and skin 

 which the cruzado permits me to cargo up, and then we 

 set out determinedly for camp. On our way there, no 

 events of any interest occur, and it is just turning dusk 

 when, rounding a scarp of the barranca, I see the smoke 



