I heard months afterwards from a New Zealander, who had been on board the Primero de Mayo with Fritz, that that gentleman was looking forward to a soft job, and had boasted that he would certainly desert us if we marched more than ten miles a day.
Our first march was about three leagues, and we made our camp beside a small shallow lagoon upon which a couple of ashy-headed geese (Bernicla poliocephala) were swimming. I shot them both for the pot.
It was about six o'clock when we camped, and Burbury, who was in charge of the horses, took every possible precaution to prevent their straying, a very likely contingency upon their first night in the open pampa. In spite of the fact that the horses were watched all night, morning found us with but thirty-seven out of the whole number. Soon after daylight Burbury, with some of the men, rode out to recover them. They returned unsuccessful. During the morning a wandering Gaucho came into camp and said he had seen some horses in a cañadon near by. The Welshmen rode out there but came back disappointed, as the horses were not ours. At eleven o'clock next morning I sent three of the men back to Mr. Haddock's, from whose estancia the lost troop had been acquired, the probabilities being that they had headed back for home. But shortly after Burbury and the Germans returned with the horses, which had travelled about nine miles, and were discovered calmly feeding in a cañadon. It was Burbury who discovered them by a smart piece of Gaucho work.
Next night, October 6, we watched the horses in turns. It was a cold night lit by a moon. We had some reason to believe that our Gaucho friend of the day before had not been altogether innocent in connection with the straying of the horses. Such a man will ride quietly through the scattered horses feeding in the gloom and stampede them. He will follow a small mob and drive them into some fold of the hills, such as, no doubt, he knows a dozen of, and hide them there until, after several days, a reward is offered by the owner. The Gaucho will then ride casually into the camp, drink a maté, hear the story, and remark that he is well acquainted with the country round. If asked whether he can give any opinion as to the whereabouts of the lost horses, he says, "Quien sabe?" but suggests they may be in a "cañadon muy limpio," to which horses often stray. In reply to any question as to where the cañadon may lie, he replies, "Over there," and waves his hand half round the compass. He may add that he is looking for seven mares of his own that strayed away last Friday week or he would himself undertake the office of guide. If any hint of payment be given, he goes on to say that, since his mares have been lost so long they may remain lost a little longer, while he guides and aids the travellers in their search, not, of course, for the money's worth, that will not recompense him for the mares, which may wander away altogether out of the province because of his delay in looking for them, but because he would do a kindness to persons for whom he has conceived a liking. So he acts as guide, and, after a decent interval, finds the horses and pouches his reward. It is an excellent trade, as there is no risk and plenty of emolument to recommend it, and, in fact, it is a common enough trick in Patagonia.
I sat most of the night by the fire—except when my turn came to ride round the horses, which we had placed in a small hollow—writing up my diary by the light of the fire, and watching the men ride in and out of the moonlight and the shadows. As the night advanced the cold increased. The moon left us about 3.30 A.M. and it became very dark. As I circled on my beat I passed by a wild cat. Morning found the horses all right. We had, however, to delay a little to allow of our men returning from Haddock's.
On October 7 we fared forth once more upon our way, and the ill-luck that had attended us at this first camp was with us up to the last moment of the three days we spent there, for as the waggon began to move off an alazan fell beneath the front wheel, which passed clean over his near fore leg. Strangely enough, owing to some inequality of the ground, the waggon, although very heavily laden, did not hurt the animal. He was not even cut, and when we got him up he resumed his journey as if nothing had happened, and eventually turned out one of our best horses.
J. B. SCRIVENOR (GEOLOGIST) AND MULA
We now made two or three good marches in succession, but on October 10, in spite of all precautions, the horses belonging to the black mare's troop deserted her.[2] Upon this, finding that until the horses of the different troops became more used to each other, it would be almost impossible to keep them together on the open pampas, where, as a further disadvantage, the grass was poor and sparse, and the horses had to scatter a great deal to feed, I decided to cut across to the Rio Chico of Chubut and march along the river valley, the tall cliffs of which would serve as a barrier to prevent the tropilla straying. Never was such an awful place as these pampas in which to lose anything, or, worse still, to get lost yourself. You ride a hundred yards or so and you are in some deep-mouthed cañadon, lying flush with the pampa, and out of sight of your companions in an instant.