48 THROUGH THE HEART OF PATAGONIA 



" A windy night, the sand of the river-bed driving and filling 

 everything. Presently we shall crawl into our sleeping-bags and, 

 with our feet to the wind, bid any weather defiance. A pipe is a 

 mighty ally. Here am I in the little 4 ft. tent which Burbury and 

 Scrivenor have pitched to sleep in, wrapped in a poncho a-reek 

 with the smoke of Indian camp-fires, enjoying a pipe and writing 

 this, and as it grows too dark to write and the wind roars and 

 bellows louder down the river-bed, I shall sit here watching the red 

 glow of my pipe and dreaming. 



" October 17, 9 d clock. — A month hence from to-day will be my 

 birthday. Where shall we be.-* At the lake Buenos Aires, I 

 hope. Several horses this morning have sore backs, and Burbury, 

 excellent fellow, has been doctoring them. 



" How the face of this country changes with the weather ! 

 Bleak and windy even in warm sunlight, though fine and bracing ; 

 in evil weather it wears an aspect of forlornness. The farther you 

 penetrate into Patagonia the more its vast emptiness weighs on 

 you and overwhelms you. 



' ' Eleven d clock. — Where shall we be a month hence ? Where, 

 indeed ? To-day we had a great disappointment, and I hardly know 

 how to write of it. The natural difficulties of the country are very 

 great, but with care, in spite of boulders and hard-going, it seemed 

 as if I could get my waggon up to the foothills, and I looked 

 forward to bringing back many specimens in it. But after 300 

 and odd miles of travel a particularly hummocky valley proved too 

 much for its endurance. When the horses tried to move it this 

 morning it broke up altogether, and here it lies ! 



" Total day's march, 200 yards. Burbury and Jones have ridden 

 on towards Colohuapi, where there are some pioneers' huts, to try 

 and get wood and bolts. What is to be done ? I do not know. Take 

 to cargueros ? We could bring back no specimens to speak of in 

 that case. One must wait and see what Burbury can get from the 

 people at Colohuapi. The camp is in a valley and is surrounded 

 by bare mud cones 100 feet in height, a few bushes shiver in the 

 throat of the upper end of the gorge. In the gorge and round our 

 camp-fire spreads a growth of rank lean weed, full of yellow flowers, 

 and a few small wind-polished stones lie at the base of one of the 

 ant-heaplike hills. 



