128 IDLE DAYS IN PATAGONIA 



and I all the seeking, I give it up and ramble on. 

 Then, perhaps, the measured, deep, percussive 

 tones of the subterranean Ctenomys, well named 

 oculto in the vernacular, resound within a dozen 

 yards of my feet. So near and loud do they sound, 

 I am convinced the shy little rodent has ventured 

 for a moment to visit the sunshine. I might pos- 

 sibly even catch a momentary glimpse of him, 

 sitting, trembling at the slightest sound, turning 

 his restless bright black eyes this way and that to 

 make sure that no insidious foe is lurking near. 

 For while the mole's eyes have dwindled to mere 

 specks, a dark subterranean life has had a con- 

 trary effect on the oculto' s orbs, and made them 

 large, although not so large as in some cave- 

 rodents. On tiptoe, scarcely breathing, I ap- 

 proach the intervening bush and peep round it, 

 only to find that he has already vanished! A 

 hillock of damp, fresh sand, bearing the impress 

 of a tail and a pair of little feet, show that he 

 has been busy there, and had sat only a moment 

 ago swelling the silky fur of his bosom with those 

 deep, mysterious sounds. Cautiously, silently, I 

 had approached him, but the subtle fox and the 

 velvet-footed cat would have drawn near with 

 still greater silence and caution, yet he would 

 have baffled them both. Of all shy mammals he is 

 the shyest ; in him fear is never overcome by curi- 

 osity, and days, even weeks, may now elapse be- 

 fore I come so near seeing the Ctenomys magel- 

 lanica again. 



