1 78 THROUGH THE HEART OF PATAGONIA 



On the I ith we hit civiHsation after a march of over forty miles, 

 the last part of which lay across a travesia. Civilisation took the 

 form of an undersized drinking-shop perched on the rim of the 



SANTA CRUZ 



bare pampa. How we had longed for civilisation — and now we 

 had found it ! I sat writing in a room with pink fly-blown walls 

 and green fittings of the grimiest. Four Gauchos of the lower 

 sort were playing cards for beans and shrieking over their game. 

 The little innkeeper, a small, dark, aquiline, black-bearded Argen- 

 tine, in a dirty white vest and a black neck-rag, held rule 

 inside. Any camp is better than these antennae of civilisation, 

 that seem to have touched and always to bear onwards with them 

 things unclean and repulsive. Jones' homely face was good to 

 see, when he came in and said, " I should like to be away from 

 here." 



I realised suddenly how I loved the camp and the cold clean 

 hills, when I heard the raucous music of that unlovely place. It 



