THE BATTLE OF THE HORSES 47 



sitting up on his haunches, near the track on the skyline of a low 

 bare ridge. Yesterday we had a very fine puchero or stew, 

 pickled eggs given me by Pedro at Camerones and two plum-duffs 

 made with waggon-grease by Burbury, who is quite a chef at 

 plum-duff. After our meal we had out the concertina and found 

 that Burbury knew 'The Church's One Foundation,' and Jones a 

 melancholy Welsh hymn. 



" The two best of my horses have sore backs. 



" We spent an hour trying to get the waggon up a steep ridge 

 100 feet high, and had to unload and all work at it. Made a long 

 seven leagues and encamped at the foot of a ridge with 200 yards 

 of dead bush between us and the yellow Chico. Going very 

 pebbly, the ground here and there burnt up and arid. It is always 

 in such places that the mirages are most common. 



"■October 15. — Got off 8.40. At 11 unloaded waggon, which 

 was in great danger of turning over. Scrivenor photoed it. At 

 2.20 waggon horses unfit to go farther. Camped by the Chico; 

 shot a yellow-billed teal. 



" October 16. — Out of humour all day, first, because, I found one 

 of the cameras put unprotected into the waggon among the tins of 

 potted meat, &c. Wearily, wearily we wend our way towards the 

 blue distant hills of our desires. Even as in life we wend 

 towards distant ambitions, and, coming up to them, find new ones 

 arise upon the horizon beyond, and so we travel all our days, look- 

 ing longingly ahead. This valley of the Chico is a wild place, 

 conical hillocks of sand have now taken the place of the bush- 

 covered ones. The Chico remains yellow and winds greatly. 

 Purple hills crown the distance. It is all high-coloured and clear- 

 shaded as in a picture. 



" To-day, coming round a bend of the Chico glen, I saw seven 

 guanaco feeding in the valley. They had seen me and begun to 

 move, so I galloped round the ridge, and as I jumped off my 

 horse one passed and halted within seventy yards. The herd 

 made a pretty picture standing on the bare, desert-brown hillside 

 in the tearing wind. I clean missed the buck with the first 

 shot, and only killed him as he ran off, hitting him low behind the 

 shoulder. The wind was blowing hard to-day and full in our faces. 



