90 PATAGONIAN EXPEDITIONS : NARRATIVE. 



not stand between me and my needs. In an instant I declared my in- 

 tentions, and shoving by him, walked through the long hall to the room 

 in the rear which I had correctly judged to be the kitchen. In a capacious 

 cupboard occupying a corner of the room, there was an abundance of 

 excellent bread and cold mutton, sufficient for the wants of a dozen 

 hungry men, while in a range at the opposite end of the room there still 

 smouldered remains of the fire by which the morning coffee had been 

 prepared. This only needed replenishing from the pile of dry calafate 

 that lay convenient, to burst forth into flame, imparting such warmth and 

 good cheer to the room as, through contrast with the previous night passed 

 on the cold, wind-swept pampa, made it appear not only comfortable, but 

 even luxurious. Making myself quite at home, after the manner of the 

 frontiersman, I quickly prepared a pot of coffee, meanwhile bathing my 

 head with warm water, until I could safely remove my hat and handker- 

 chiefs without further injury to the wound, which I then cleansed and 

 dressed as best I could. Having refreshed myself sufficiently from the 

 supply of bread and meat and, thoroughly warmed and stimulated by the 

 cheerful fire and delicious coffee, I resumed my journey, not neglecting, 

 however, to leave my card with a brief note for the foreman written on 

 the back thereof, informing that gentleman of my depredations, and that 

 on my return in a few days from Sandy Point I hoped not only to make 

 his acquaintance, but such restitution as should be thought necessary. 



I determined if possible to reach that evening "La Posada de la Reina" 

 (the Queen's Hotel), some forty-five miles distant, where there was a pub- 

 lic hostelry presided over by a fellow countryman from Virginia, one 

 Taylor by name, where, I had been assured, I should meet with a hospit- 

 able reception and be made fairly comfortable. After leaving Ooshii 

 Aike, the trail leads for a distance of some twenty-five miles across a 

 broad, level pampa somewhat lower than that I had passed over since 

 leaving the Rio Chico, but quite as bleak, to Dinnemarcara, an estancia 

 owned by a Spaniard and situated on a small stream, just where it issues 

 from a narrow gorge cut through the low anticline to the west, which forms 

 the easternmost of the foot-hills of the lower Andes. I stopped at this 

 ranch long enough to permit my horse to feed and to partake myself of 

 some refreshments, so that it was late in the afternoon when I started for 

 the Queen's Hotel, some twenty miles farther on. For a considerable 

 distance the trail led along the plain at the foot of the bluff, which was 



