LOST 303 



white man's camp or black's resting-place I cared 

 nothing, though the latter might very possibly have 

 ended in a spear or a knobstick. For any fate was 

 better than death by starvation, and I pushed on. It 

 is impossible to describe my joy when, in the fast- 

 darkening night, I saw the white gleam of a long line 

 of fence and heard the bark of some clever dog collect- 

 ing sheep : a far sweeter sound to me than would have 

 been the voice of an archangel singing all the paeans 

 of heaven. Following the fence, I soon came to a 

 shepherd's hut, a woman standing at the door, a small 

 child clinging to her skirts. She made no sign of 

 welcome, but stood gazing fixedly at me I learned 

 afterwards she thought I was a bushranger and I could 

 not speak for the dry ness of my swollen throat. As 

 I rode up I pointed to my mouth, and the truth dawned 

 on her, for she came and helped me off my horse for 

 I could hardly move and brought me milk and, later, 

 some food. My troubles were over." 



It is no joke to be lost in the Andes of South 

 America, as Mr. Reginald Enock found. He tells the 

 following story of the adventure in his book of travel 

 in the Peruvian Andes l : "I had descended a hill, 

 intending to mount and ride homewards a gallop would 

 banish the fit of depression. Rounding the base of it, 

 I came towards the rock around which I had made 

 fast the halter. The mule was gone ! 



Here was a pretty state of things. Five leagues 

 and night at hand ! I rapidly remounted the hill and 

 gazed towards the plain, hoping to see the animal in 

 the gathering dusk, but nothing rewarded my search. 

 I took up the carbine I had removed from the holster 

 1 See Bibliography, 40. 



