14 HUNTING CAMPS. 



whereas in sterile Patagonia no farmer could make a 

 living on less than five square leagues. 



The landscape through which I ride in the afternoon 

 is much the same as that I had passed over in the 

 morning, and it is not until I again come in sight of 

 the river that I see any game. As I descend the 

 barranca cliff of the canadon, I discover a herd of eight 

 guanaco on the top of the cliff on the opposite bank ; 

 they are a long way off, but are sharply visible against 

 the sky. I am just wondering whether they are worth 

 a swim across the stream, which is not very wide, when 

 suddenly two other guanaco appear on my side of the 

 water. As I am about to dismount, they gallop wildly, 

 with the extraordinary galvanic contortions peculiar to 

 these creatures when descending a steep place, down the 

 barranca and out into the marsh grass by the river. I 

 now see a chance of cutting them off, as in front of them 

 the river turns in a loop ; my horse is comparatively fresh, 

 and I am on hard ground, as I think. 



The cruzado enters into the spirit of the game, and in 

 an instant we are flying along the cliff. The guanacos 

 start at the same moment and make off straight down 

 the valley. Inside half a mile they will be stopped by 

 the loop of the river, when they must either plunge into 

 the water or break back and cross my front at close 

 range. They travel three parts of the distance before 

 they perceive the trap, then double instantly and break 

 back. I have but three hundred yards to go, they have 

 a similar distance. I shall have time to dismount and 

 get a steady shot as they cross broadside. My eyes are 

 fixed on the leading buck, a big, black-faced fellow ; 

 the cruzado has seen them too, and knows exactly what 

 is expected of him. He has a turn for speed and my 



