Idle Days. 133 
scarcely breathing, I approach the intervening bush 
and peep round it, only to find that he has already 
vanished! A hillock of damp, fresh sand, bearing 
the impress of a tail and a pair of little feet, show 
that he has been busy there, and had sat only a 
moment ago swelling the silky fur of his bosom with 
those deep, mysterious sounds. Cautiously, silently, 
I had approached him, but the subtle .fox and 
the velvet-footed cat would have drawn near 
with still greater silence and caution, yet he 
would have baffled them both. Of all shy 
mammals he is the shyest; in him fear is never 
overcome by curiosity, and days, even weeks, may 
now elapse before I come so near seeing the 
Ctenomys magellanica again. 
It is near sunset, and, hark! as I ramble on I 
hear in the low scrub before me the crested tinam- 
ous (Calodromus elegans), the wild fow]of this region, 
and in size like the English pheasant, just beginning 
their evening call. It is a long, sweetly modulated 
note, somewhat flute-like, and sounding clear and 
far in the quiet evening air. The covey is a large 
one, I conjecture, for many voices are joined in the 
concert. I mark the spot and walk on; but at my 
approach, however quiet and masked with bushes it 
may be, one by one the shy vocalists drop their 
parts. The last to cease repeats his note half a 
dozen times, then the contagion reaches him and he 
too becomes silent. I whistle and he answers; for 
a few minutes we keep up the duet, then, aware of 
the deception, he is silent again. I resume my walk 
