CHAPTER VIII 



THE KINGDOM OF THE WINDS 



Como No — Wind and driven sand — Laguna La Cancha — Como No's dogs — 

 Cold winds — Lake Buenos Aires and Sierra Nevada — Cross River Fenix — 

 Stony ground — Slceletons of guanaco — Fine scenery — Sliort rest — Colt killed — 

 Base camp made — Boyish dreams — Sunday — Routine at Horsham Camp — 

 Driftwood round lake — Constant wind — My tent-home — Scorpions — Guanacos 

 — Engineers' camp — Cooking-pots — First huemul. 



We now set forth upon the last stage of our journey to Lake 

 Buenos Aires. I had hired one of the Indians to guide us across 

 the high pampa. He was, although dwelling in the tents of the 

 Tehuelches, not a Tehuelche. He called himself a Patagonero, 

 and belonged to one of the tribes of Pampa Indians of the north. 

 His tribe, he told me, were Christians. Before we left the Indian 

 encampment, one of the older ladies belonging to it began to 

 paint her face in horizontal lines of black, whether with a view to 

 capturing our hearts or not I cannot say. 



We left on November 3, and accomplished a very long march 

 in the face of somewhat trying conditions. The Indian rode 

 ahead with his dogs on the look-out for ostriches. A mighty wind 

 from the west, cold with the snow of the Cordillera, blew in our 

 faces, bringing with it showers of sand that stung us sharply. We 

 could hardly persuade the horses to meet the wind, and their hoofs 

 kicked up still more sand for our benefit. We were off shortly 

 after nine o'clock, and about noon I would have given much to say 

 " Camp." When fighting with the elements one goes throuo-h 

 three distinct stages. First, there is the stage exultant, durino- 

 which you feel the joy of battle, and struggle rejoicingly. The 

 second comes when the irresistible tires you down, however 

 strong you are, and forces the sense of your puniness so plainly 

 upon you that you feel a sort of hurt despair, and a half impulse to 



