20O PATAGONIAN EXPEDITIONS : NARRATIVE. 



secured such fossils as I desired, I descended to a convenient spot near 

 the base and was busily engaged in properly labelling and packing my 

 treasures, when my attention was attracted by the peculiar actions of my 

 saddle-horse and pack-mule picketed in the valley close at hand. On 

 looking about to discover the cause of their unusual display of interest, 

 I discovered a fine buck approaching at a distance of some two hundred 

 yards. From the manner in which he held his course directly toward 

 me, it was evident that he had been attracted by my presence on the face 

 of the cliff, and, prompted by curiosity, was intent on discovering the 

 nature of an animal of such unusual appearance and habits. He came 

 slowly and steadily toward me, until arriving almost at the very foot of 

 the cliff and only a few yards distant. I was in need of a supply of fresh 

 meat, and a shot from my revolver served to replenish my stock of that 

 much-needed article. 



I passed several days in Mayer Basin amidst scenes that had grown 

 familiar during my previous visit. During my last night passed in the 

 Basin, through a bit of carelessness I met with an accident that might 

 have resulted far more seriously than it did. Early in the morning I had 

 picketed my horse where both grass and water were plentiful. Then 

 saddling the mule, I started out and passed the day in the surrounding 

 hills. Returning late in the evening, thoroughly tired and with just time 

 enough to prepare a little food before it became quite dark, I noticed the 

 horse still picketed where I had left him in the morning, and remember- 

 ing the excellent quality and inexhaustible supply of grass and water to 

 which he had access, I decided that for once I would forego the usual 

 custom of giving him further attention, believing that he would not 

 suffer where he was until morning. I, therefore, unsaddled and hobbled 

 the mule, got a bite to eat, and retired for the night. What was my sur- 

 prise and chagrin, on awaking the following morning, to find that both 

 mule and horse were gone. A little examination showed that the picket 

 pin had been pulled during the night. I knew that as soon as they found 

 they were at liberty, they had headed for San Julian, their old home on 

 the coast, and distant some three hundred miles. With several hours the 

 start, it was a source of little consolation to me to know that the mule was 

 hobbled, for so accustomed had he become to those implements that they 

 seemed an aid rather than an incumbrance to him. Discouraging as the 

 situation was, it was not entirely hopeless, and I was not long in setting 



