Chapter Twenty One.
The “Murder Tree”—Wild and Exciting Sport—Jill and the Puma—Hostile Indians.
This was to be a memorable day in the history of our adventures, for troubles began that we did not see the end of for many a long month afterwards.
We were now in a splendid hunting district; herds of guanacos had been seen, with innumerable ostriches, besides animals of various kinds.
We had even noticed some wild horses in the distance, but they had evidently sniffed danger from afar, for they speedily drew off, and disappeared to the nor’ard in a cloud of dust.
Very early in the morning we crossed a river. I am unable at this date to give the name of it, but think it must have been some tributary of the now distant Rio Santa Cruz or of the Chico.
We Englishmen were all tolerably good horsemen now, thanks to Jeeka, who had given us lessons, and thanks to our good steeds themselves. They were wonderfully well trained. Peter and Lawlor were the worst riders, and got many a tumble and shaking; but instead of bolting when their riders fell off, the horses simply stood and looked at them, as much as to say: “What fun you can find in tumbling off our backs in that higgledy-piggledy way, we utterly fail to discover.”
An accident of this kind caused the greatest merriment among the Indians. They waved their spears in the air, and shouted with laughter. Even gentle Nadi clapped her hands, and cried “Engleese! Engleese!” She meant, of course, that there was nothing too eccentric for an Englishman to do, for the notion that they had fallen off accidentally never for a moment crossed her thoughts.
We got over the river easily enough, only Peter did not gird up his mantle in the true Patagonian fashion, and so when he reached bank he looked more like a half-drowned pole-cat ferret than anything else on earth. Again Nadi must clap her hands and laugh, and cry “Engleese! Engleese!”