200 THROUGH THE HEART OF PATAGONIA 



which led us into more than one difficult place. We rode on 

 league after league over the worst sort of ground, including the 

 descent of two or three really bad barrancas. Bernardo, who 

 acted as guide, became shy after awhile of telling us that Lake 

 Viedma lay only two leagues ahead. As the day wore on we 

 rather pressed the question, and he grew correspondingly coy in 

 his replies. 



One of the barrancas led us into a sort of maze of conical mud 

 hills, confusedly huddled together. Through them lay a tangle ot 

 guanaco-tracks, which mostly ended on the tops of the hills. The 

 troop followed these tracks in various directions, and you were 

 surprised at all points by the startled faces of the horses glaring 

 down at you over unexpected bluffs. The going was very heavy, 

 and deep holes betrayed the horses' feet. Altogether it was some 

 time before the troop was put through. 



Late in the evening we reached the shores of Lake Viedma, 

 and found the launch. She was lying behind a bare and very low 

 promontory. The Commission which had used her three years 

 previously had packed her up with care in canvas and raised her 

 on rollers. But I was sorry to find that needless and wanton damage 

 had been inflicted upon her by some roving passers-by. They had 

 torn off the canvas covering and appropriated many important 

 tools, including quite a number that could have been of no possible 

 use to any save a party meaning to use the launch herself. A few 

 of these missing details we picked up in the adjacent bushes, 

 where the irresponsible unknowns had thrown them. 



As to the condition of the boat, her three-years sojourn on an 

 isolated beach had not improved it. Her boiler was in rather a 

 bad state with rust, and one of her plates was cracked. Orio-inally 

 built for a pleasure-launch, the Argentine Commission had raised 

 her gunwales and decked her in; without these alterations she could 

 not have lived in the rough waters of the lakes of Patagonia. 



The evening and the surrounding scenery were equally grey 

 and depressing, but with an ostrich, and a guanaco I had shot 

 in the morning, we made ourselves very comfortable round the 

 fire, while we talked over our contemplated voyage down the 



