2 8 THROUGH THE HEART OF PATAGONIA 



them scores of square leagues in extent, the guanaco grows com- 

 paratively tame, becoming used to the passing of mounted 

 shepherds ; but in other parts of Patagonia, noticeably in the 

 valley of the River Chico of Chubut, through which we passed 

 later, they are very wild, allowing no human being to approach 

 within half a mile. This is owing to the Indians, who hunt them 

 perpetually in that district. 



Once in camp in Patagonia life is very enjoyable, though 

 perhaps the enjoyment varies with the amount of game to be seen. 

 Up at sunrise, when the sun pokes its big bald lemon-coloured 

 head out of the bed-clothes of the sky. Then some early camp- 

 man stirs and rises, and waddles down to the wet grey ashes of 

 yesternight's fire, and soon a weak trail of smoke goes rocketing 

 away in the wind. The big pot is put on and breakfast is made 

 and eaten. Then the cargo is packed, and the horses are rounded 

 up by a Gaucho or two, riding bareback. We saddle up and the 

 caravan moves off on its leagues-long march. 



Marches vary from fifteen miles to forty, and when the after- 

 noon sun waxes less strong the horses are off-saddled and turned 

 loose, the waggons unpacked and the camp-fires lighted. Mat6 

 eternally, a roast, tea afterwards and a pipe, and then the sleeping- 

 bags. Matd or yerba, I must explain, is the great drink of the 

 pampas, and is most invigorating. A cup or tin is half filled with 

 the yellow powdery leaves, to which is added a little cold water, 

 followed by hot. It is drunk through a bombilla or tube, the maker 

 of the decoction taking the first pull, and afterwards it passes from 

 hand to hand, and I must add from mouth to mouth, round the 

 circle. It is the greatest insult to refuse to partake, and when the 

 originator of the brew happens to be an old and rather unappetising 

 Tehuelche lady, the effort to take your turn and look pleased is 

 often something of an ordeal. 



Day after day went by in much the same manner, but few remem- 

 brances remain with me more vividly than the pampa fox and cavy 

 hunting which we enjoyed during those early times of our expedi- 

 tion. Four lurchers of sorts and my big greyhound, Tom, trotted 

 behind our horses, and when game was sighted we went after it at 

 full gallop. In that keen air nothing can be more exhilarating than 



