164 THROUGH THE HEART OF PATAGONIA 



After riding on, our next spy showed us a young huemul buck 

 beneath us, but as I had already secured a specimen I was only 

 too glad to let him go in peace. 



I am sorry that I cannot give my readers any interesting story 

 of huemul-shooting ; that will be reserved for the pen of some 

 future traveller, who will find the animal wild, because used to man 

 and his ways. As for our experience of them, the interest turns 

 rather on their confidingness and their behaviour towards man as 

 an unknown entity. 



We were riding home, my desire to shoot huemul completely 

 evaporated, when we perceived among the basalt fragments above 

 us the black face of a really magnificent buck. In approaching 

 him I purposely gave him the wind. He had not seen us, but 

 immediately on getting our wind dashed away to a short distance. 

 On my showing myself, he stood quite still, snorted twice or thrice, 

 and was just bounding off when the crack of the Mauser cut short 

 his career. 



There were by this time thirty or forty condors already 

 gathered upon the carcases of the two we heid previously slain. 

 Indeed in no part of Patagonia did we see such numbers of 

 Sa rcoj'/iauip/iMS gryp/ms 3i?, dixwong these hills. I understand that 

 there is in Paris a considerable demand for the feathers of the 

 condor. Here is the place to find them. On our homeward way 

 we saw two huemul does and a pricket. They stayed and 

 stared at us as we rode down the lower levels. When nearing 

 camp a couple of guanacos started over a cliff within ten yards of 

 us, and descended the sheer hillside, giving me an excellent 

 opportunity of observing their extraordinary movements. All the 

 huemules we had shot were so lean as to be practically useless for 

 the pot, so when later on we came in sight of a herd of guanaco, 

 and Jones asked me if he might have a shot, I said yes. He 

 picked out one and bowled it over at three hundred paces with my 

 Mauser. He was very delighted with his success, and said that 

 the Mauser was better than any of the guns in Chubut. 



On the day after, the river, upon which we had been keeping a 

 very careful watch, again began to rise. So we packed up and 

 camped that night in the end of the cahadon near the spot where 



