22 IDLE DAYS IN PATAGONIA 



would rub his hands and be all eagerness to get 

 at the new patient to try his surgical skill on him. 

 Now he had to give two or three days to all these 

 wood and metal friends of his, to give a fresh edge 

 to his chisels, and play the dentist to his saws ; to 

 spread them all out and count and stroke them 

 lovingly, as a breeder pats his beasties, and feed 

 and anoint them with oil to make them shine and 

 look glad. This was preliminary to the packing 

 for transportation, which was also a rather slow 

 process. 



Leaving my friend at his delightful task I ram- 

 bled about the neighborhood taking stock of the 

 birds. It was a dreary and desolate spot, with 

 a few old gaunt and half-dead red willows for 

 only trees. The reeds and rushes standing in the 

 black stagnant pools were yellow and dead; and 

 dead also were the tussocks of coarse tow-colored 

 grass, while the soil beneath was white as ashes 

 and cracked everywhere with the hot suns and 

 long drought. Only the river close by was always 

 cool and green and beautiful. 



At length, one hot afternoon, we were sitting 

 on our rugs on the clay floor of the hut, talking 

 of our journey on the morrow, and of the better 

 fare and other delights we should find at the end 

 of the day at the house of an English settler we 

 were going to visit. While talking I took up his 

 revolver to examine it for the first time, and he 

 had just begun to tell me that it was a revolver 

 with a peculiar character of its own, and with 



