CHAPTER VIII
THE KINGDOM OF THE WINDS
Como No—Wind and driven sand—Laguna La Cancha—Como No's dogs—Cold winds—Lake Buenos Aires and Sierra Nevada—Cross River Fenix—Stony ground—Skeletons of guanaco—Fine scenery—Short rest—Colt killed—Base camp made—Boyish dreams—Sunday—Routine at Horsham Camp—Driftwood round lake—Constant wind—My tent-home—Scorpions—Guanacos—Engineers' camp—Cooking-pots—First huemul.
We now set forth upon the last stage of our journey to Lake Buenos Aires. I had hired one of the Indians to guide us across the high pampa. He was, although dwelling in the tents of the Tehuelches, not a Tehuelche. He called himself a Patagonero, and belonged to one of the tribes of Pampa Indians of the north. His tribe, he told me, were Christians. Before we left the Indian encampment, one of the older ladies belonging to it began to paint her face in horizontal lines of black, whether with a view to capturing our hearts or not I cannot say.
We left on November 3, and accomplished a very long march in the face of somewhat trying conditions. The Indian rode ahead with his dogs on the look-out for ostriches. A mighty wind from the west, cold with the snow of the Cordillera, blew in our faces, bringing with it showers of sand that stung us sharply. We could hardly persuade the horses to meet the wind, and their hoofs kicked up still more sand for our benefit. We were off shortly after nine o'clock, and about noon I would have given much to say "Camp." When fighting with the elements one goes through three distinct stages. First, there is the stage exultant, during which you feel the joy of battle, and struggle rejoicingly. The second comes when the irresistible tires you down, however strong you are, and forces the sense of your puniness so plainly upon you that you feel a sort of hurt despair, and a half impulse to give in before a force so far beyond you. Last of all, you go on enduring until you become, as it were, acclimatised, and inclined to laugh at the despair you experienced a while previously. So it was on this day's march. About noon I said to myself as we were crossing the high pampa above the barranca of the River Chalia—a desolate spot, rough and tussocky, and gambolled over by Titanic winds—"We will camp at four sharp." The decision at the moment was a comfort, but in the end we did not camp until close upon seven o'clock, blind with sand, and our hands bleeding from the cold and the harsh friction of the cargo ropes.
It was as we approached this camp that I saw beside a lagoon of snow-water two American oyster-catchers (Hæmatopus palliatus) which, no doubt, had nested in the vicinity, as, on my going closer, they rose and circled with their darting flight above my head, but I failed to find the nest. There were many guanacos about, and I was not surprised to hear that this lagoon, Laguna La Cancha, was a very favourite encampment of the Indians. The scenery surrounding the pool is peculiarly inhospitable. Some one remarked that it reminded him of Doré's illustrations to the Inferno, adding, "If you were to put heat to it, it would be Hell." Huge rolling downs, bare hills, and no vegetation save a few tussocks and scattered meagre shrubs. The Indian said the winter hits this land very hard, and the whole district is buried under snow, only the high, bald tops of the hills being visible.
The next day was Sunday, but not on this occasion a day of rest. One thought of the bells ringing far away at home and the concourse of people moving along the winter roads. Here was wind, cold, and a march, cargo to be fixed and refixed to the day's end, then a windy camp-fire, and after a short sleep till dawn. Hitherto the toil had been hard, but we were nearing the lake, and looked forward to a time of rest and hunting.
We were rich in meat with the cow, sheep, a Darwin's rhea caught by the Indian's dogs, and three geese. The hounds of the Indian proved themselves to be troublesome thieves. Burbury and I were obliged to sleep beside the meat. Besides being cunning thieves the dogs were cowards. They were to all intents and purposes wild as regarded their habits. Yet good guanaco-hounds represent very sterling value to their owners, whose livelihood they procure. The best at the work I met with in Patagonia were those which belonged to this Indian guide. We called the man Como No because, whatever question was put to him, his invariable reply took the form of "Como no?" or "Why not?" You said perhaps, "It is not far to the next camping-ground, is it?" "Como no?" he would answer. After some three hours at an amble, you would repeat your inquiry. "Is it much farther?" "Como no?" The most impossible queries met with precisely the same response.
ON AHEAD