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coast, and my desire was to arrive there as soon as possible in 

 order to have plenty of time to carry out my projects before winter 

 made travelling of any kind impossible. Once we reached the 

 River Belgrano our difficulties would be over, that we knew ; but 

 in order to attain this end we had to pass through a region some- 

 what waterless and stony 

 lying on the verge of the 

 basalt wilderness, into which 

 we had strayed. 



To get away from this 

 basalt region was, of course, 

 our first desire. Could we. 

 but find the I ndian trail, which 

 we were sure must be at no 

 great distance, and which 

 stretches, leading one from 

 camp to camp, all the way 



from Lake Buenos Aires to Punta Arenas, with a branch in the 

 direction of Santa Cruz, our troubles would be at an end. Owing, 

 however, to the lessening number of Indians, the track is now only 

 clearly visible for half a mile at a time in the neighbourhood of 

 fords and other difficult places. 



To return to our search. Burbury and I had started early. 

 The going at first was over basalt clinker, fearful for the horses' 

 feet, but presently we came to a low round hillock of pebble — a 

 hopeful sight, for I had been half afraid we might be deep in the 

 basalt wilderness. Following on we discovered other pebbly 

 hillocks, on one of which I found a single horse-track, stamped 

 when the ground was soft some time previously. After a while, 

 as we rounded a slope, we saw a bit of green camp. We were 

 bearing a little west of south, and there we struck the full Indian 

 trail — that wonderful trail, v\hich runs league after league, worn 

 by the footsteps of generations upon generations of Indians as 

 they migrated up and down the length of the country with their 

 women and children, their guanaco-skin tents and their few 

 possessions. 



The trail is much like a guanaco-track, or rather like several 



