138 THROUGH THE HEART OF PATAGONIA 



camp, or the greater beasts their lair." The netted lakes, the gaunt 

 Cordillera, the limitless pampa and the unceasing wind — that 

 is all. Canadon follows canadon, pampa succeeds pampa, you 

 have the Atlantic to the east of you and the Andes to the west of 

 you, and between, in all the va,st country, beside the Indian trail, 

 the only paths are game-tracks ! 



On December 2 we were again short of meat, therefore Jones 

 and I went hunting. These early mornings upon the high ground 

 above the lake will never, I think, be forgotten by any of us who 

 shared them. It was a vivid and pulsating life, and the hunting 

 was carried on under conditions unique to Patagonia. 



In the slight depression through which the River Fenix winds, 

 herds of guanaco were to be found, each point containing any 

 number between half a dozen to forty head. On the morning I 

 write of we were not long in finding our game. A large herd, 

 including several guanaco chicos, were to be seen from the heights 

 dotted about upon the faded greenish grass of the valley beneath 

 us. The sun, newly risen, had just begun to suck up the balls of 

 white mist that rolled up and down the cuplike hollows, and as 

 the light strengthened it brought out the gold and white colouring 

 of the guanacos feeding in the valley. The horse I was riding 

 had done no work for three weeks, and was fit to gallop for his 

 life. 



The herds were in a place quite inaccessible to stalking, but it 

 was certain that they would break for the hills to the south. 

 Immediately they saw us they took to flight in the direction we 

 expected, and we dashed away to cut them off The Patagonian 

 horse soon begins to take an interest of his own in galloping- 

 game. We arrived within two hundred yards of where the herds 

 had begun to straggle in a long line up the bare side of a range of 

 round bald-headed hummocks, but we were not in time to get a 

 shot before they disappeared over the sky-line. When we reached 

 the top of the hills the guanacos were, of course, nowhere to be 

 seen, but after an hour's tracking we again located them among 

 the hummocks in a depression filled with dry thorn. This time 

 we separated and Jones showed himself at the far end of the gorge, 

 while I made a circuit and lay down upon the top of a hill towards 



