THE GORGE OF THE RIVER DE LOS ANTIGUOS 147 



shoot the buck, for we were in need of food. Leaving the meat, 

 after tying a handkerchief above it to scare away the condors, we 

 hastened back to fetch the extra horses. We had had scanty diet 

 for some days, and the thought of a full meal put strength into us. 

 We were not long in bringing up the remainder of our troop, but 

 when returning we saw three condors drop suspiciously near the dead 

 huemul. By the time we arrived there was hardly an ounce of meat 

 left on the bones, and only the quarter, which we had hidden in the 

 bushes, remained, even that being a good deal torn and mangled. 



Such as it was, however, we made the best of it, and after 

 cutting away the damaged parts, found enough for a meal. It 

 turned out to be the driest, stringiest, worst meat I have ever for 

 my sins been forced to eat* 



As night fell, the Gorge — it became the Gorge to us — assumed 

 a more and more sinister aspect. Of all the scenes I had up 

 to that time beheld in Patagonia, this was the most repellent 

 and inhospitable. The little torrent (which was destined to play 

 us such a trick), the high iron-grey bluffs and escarpments, the 

 soaring condors, the scavenger caranchos, and the black shadows 

 of the Cordillera, made up a picture that was both grand and 

 menacing. 



Next day I shot a guanaco. Very much easier work than it 

 had been on the pampas. A guanaco would remain lying down 

 until you were within a long shot, and one actually watched us 

 and neighed while we discussed our porridge. Man had never, 

 I fancy, molested them before. 



We advanced for a good distance up the river over terribly bad 

 ground, all boulders and steep cliffs, and then we attempted to ford 

 to the other side. The two black horses, however, seemed to 

 have conceived a horror of the river and could not be induced to 

 cross. They simply made us very wet, and we had to go forward 

 on foot. We were now within easy distance of the end of the 

 Gorge, and had joined the route of Von Plaatenf from the 

 south. 



* This was a very lean buck ; a fat doe is excellent. 



\ Louis von Plaaten Hallermund, of the Argentine Boundary Commission, almost 

 reached Lake Buenos Aires from Lake Puerrydon about two years previously. 

 Mr. Waag had completed the journey, but we did not know this. 



