40 THROUGH THE HEART OF PATAGONIA 



On one occasion we had to light a couple of fires to signal some 

 of the men who were out looking for horses; one of these spread 

 rather much, but was easily put out with a spade. It is strange 

 how small an area burns in that part of the country, even with 

 a high wind to helji the flames. The weather was windy and 

 bitterly cold. 



I extract the following from my diary : 



'"October lo, evening. — I write this by the camp-fire. The 

 men take it in turns to cook. Two armadillos {Dasypus niinntus) 

 have been cau^^ht by the Germans. They are strong little beasts ; 

 you can hardly pull one, which has half buried itself in the 

 ground, out with both hands. We roast them whole with hot 

 stones and they taste like chicken. Fritz and Hollesen went 

 for the horses this morning and found three of the Trelew troop 

 gone, the Tordillo, the Zaino, and the Blanco, and this although 

 one was maneado and the other two tied together. This is a great 

 hindrance. We got the waggon ready on the interminable pampa 

 and decided to strike down at once for the Rio Chico by way of a 

 \2s<g'^ canadon four and a half leagues long. This will add some days 

 to our journey to Colohuapi, But if we continue losing and search- 

 ing for horses, shall w^e ever get there .'* One day we cover twenty- 

 one miles, the next nothing, because of strayed horses. Nor can 

 you soga them up, for the grass is poor and they must have a large 

 range. Here we are in this huge country looking for horses upon 

 and about a pampa intersected by many caiiadones, each of which 

 would take an entire week to explore thoroughly. At breakfast I 

 decided to march, sending Jones, who is a good tracker, off to see 

 if he could find the horses where he found them yesterday. 



" We have a big buck-jumper, a piebald, which is a strong horse 

 suited to the waooon. It took an hour and a half to (jet him 

 harnessed, and we started on the back track, for the cahadon 

 w^e must strike lies a league behind us. Barckhausen was to 

 ride an untamed black horse with the strangest light blue glim- 

 mering eyes, which for some reason makes me repeat over and 

 over to myself the lines of O. : 



" His glittering eyes are the salt seas' prize. 

 And his fingers clutch the sand. 



