One calm cold day, Ritchie and Jill returned from the river to say that they had seen a most wondrous sight. A huge animal with terrible teeth and eyes, shaped somewhat like a tiger, had rushed up out of one of the deepest, darkest pots or pools and attacked a native dog which was standing near.
The fight had been sharp and fierce, but before assistance could be rendered, the beast, whatever it was, had conquered the dog and dragged him down under water.
“Gol de Rio. Gol de Rio,” said Jeeka, who had heard the account. “Not go near. He all same as one Gualichu. Bad man! So, so.”
“Bad man here, or bad man there,” said Ritchie, “I mean to have a shot at him.”
We backed Ritchie in his wish, but as there was evidently no chance of getting Jeeka to come with us, we determined to set out ourselves next day.
We did, and waited four hours in ambush. But all in vain. The Gol de Rio, or water-lion, never showed face.
“He is gorging on the poor dog,” said Ritchie. “Let us give him a rest for a day or two.”
“I’ve a plan,” said Jill. “Let us tether the guanaco lamb to the bank, and stand by with our guns.”
The lamb was a poor forsaken little beast we had found half-dead beneath a tree, and taken home and tried to rear.
The plan was feasible. We went very early next morning and tied the wee thing up to a bush near the bank. It seemed to know there was danger as if by instinct, for it struggled and cried most plaintively and pitifully.