On December 9, 1900, I had just shot a guanaco upon the western shore of the River de los Antiguos, when a huemul buck about a year old, no doubt startled by the noise, dashed past me within twenty yards, and, catching sight of me, stopped quite still and fixed his eyes upon me. As I remained motionless, he advanced several paces and again halted, looking at me. I was sitting upon the body of the guanaco I had killed, the wind happening to be blowing from the deer towards me. We kept these respective positions for about five minutes. I then lit my pipe. At the scraping of the match he retreated a little, but gathering courage soon paused again. I rose slowly to my feet and advanced steadily towards him. He waited until I was quite close before he sprang away and disappeared from sight up the barranca.
Again in May 1901, being then in the cañadon of the River Katarina near Lake Argentino, I saw from the boat what I took to be the horns of a huemul against the background of the low forest. I landed and crossed the swamp in the direction of the thicket. Here, coming into an open space, I saw the buck to whom the horns belonged. Behind him the head and shoulders of a doe were visible projecting from a bush. I continued to walk on till I came within something like one hundred yards, when I sat down behind a fragment of rock and hid myself from their view. The sun was, I remember, but a hands-breadth above the Cordillera, and I made up my mind that I would not move until its lower rim had dipped beneath the snow-peaks. At the time I had set for myself I peered round the edge of the rock very carefully—as slowly as one peers when one is observing the movements of a gaggle of Scotch grey-lags. Imagine my surprise when there, not ten yards away, appeared the face of the doe, her gaze fixed upon mine! On seeing me thus suddenly she ran back to the shelter of the undergrowth from which she had originally emerged, and from which the buck during the interval had not stirred. The shades of evening were fast falling, and I was obliged to make an end of my watching for lack of light.
But undoubtedly the most remarkable example of the natural tameness of the huemul occurred on May 9. I was in the same cañadon, and on this occasion had the luck to secure a photograph of the doe as she went away. It was about noon that I, being on my way up the cañadon in a northerly direction, heard a stick break in a thicket near by, and a moment afterwards a huemul buck came into view. Fortunately I had not caught his eye, and he remained looking out from a patch of bushes, wondering, I suppose, what strange animal this could be that was coming towards him. Pretending that I had not observed him, I threw myself down among the high grass and waited for developments. The buck snorted twice or thrice and advanced to within thirty yards of where I lay. He stood upon the side of a hummock, flanked by his two hinds. They were shortly joined by a third, which came up out of the hollow behind them. I lay perfectly still. The buck halted, but the hinds came on till within a few feet of me. The buck now approached on the right; he was a four-pointer. The does had winded me. Two of them were mature, the third a half-grown hind. Before five minutes were over the hinds had come so near as to be almost touching me. Presently the half-grown hind sniffed my boot and started back, taking the other three with her. They drew nearer a second time, the buck coming within a yard of me, and dropping his horns as though to turn me over. I did not quite like the action, as it might have meant more than a mere push, and therefore raised myself gently to a sitting position. The deer retreated about thirty yards, and there stood, not taking their eyes from me for a considerable time. Seeing that no further approach of the deer was likely, I finally got up and went my way. The does followed me for fifty yards or so, the buck remaining stationary, and then all four bounded off into the woods whence they had come.
In spite of this original confidingness exhibited by the huemul to man when unknown, he appears to be readily rendered wild and timid. Burbury saw some of these animals near the Engineers' camp above Lake Buenos Aires. They had probably been hunted by Mr. Waag's party and were excessively wild, flying on the farthest glimpse of man. This observation was confirmed by Humphrey Jones, who told me that the huemules living in the woods near the Welsh colony of The 16th October are wilder than any other creature, and that to shoot one is a feather in the caps of the local hunters. I cannot say whether they are easily tamed when in captivity, for I came across no instance of a huemul kept by man.
So far, then, my observations on the huemul.
Concerning the puma, I have never heard of any man being attacked near the settlements by this animal, and, indeed, authentic instances of its acting as the assailant are very few and far between. All those of which I gathered reliable evidence occurred in remote places, distant from the beat of man. Mr. Waag told me of a puma which did not retreat from his party in the Cordillera, but gave manifest signs of anger and a readiness to attack. Another case is that of Dr. Francisco P. Moreno, who, upon the banks of the River Leona, a river which flows between Lake Argentino and Lake Viedma, and is seldom visited, was attacked by a puma. He was, he informs me, walking wrapped in the skin of a guanaco, and he fancies the animal may have mistaken him for a guanaco. It sprang upon his shoulders and tore him under the chin with its claws, but was luckily beaten off by his companion and killed. This puma was found to be in milk, a fact which, arguing the presence of her young near at hand, probably accounted for the unusual outbreak of fierceness. The young were searched for but not discovered.
A third instance is that of Mr. Arenberg, one of the Argentine Boundary Commissioners, who was mauled by a puma in the neighbourhood of Lake Buenos Aires, at a spot probably hitherto unvisited by man. He was seriously wounded in the face. As a rule, the puma is a cowardly animal, and is frequently killed by the Indians with a bolas.[26]
THE HUEMUL DOE WHICH TOUCHED THE AUTHOR. PHOTOGRAPHED WITH SMALL CAMERA AS SHE RETIRED