That evening, as we rode into Rosy Camp, we saw a number of flamingos upon the lagoon, and shot an upland goose. The following morning I woke up in the grey of the dawn to see a Cordillera wolf nosing among the ashes of our camp-fire. I shot it, to the great delight of the small man, from whom after breakfast we parted. We had not advanced a mile before the little demon was again sending up a smoke to heaven. Burbury, who met him afterwards, said he believed that he carried a cargo of nothing but matches in order to be able to indulge to the utmost his passion for destroying the country through which he happened to be passing.
On December 7 we arrived above the River de los Antiguos, and, as we were about to descend the barranca, saw two columns of smoke rising some two miles off. Two columns of smoke close together were our danger-signal, and meant "Something very wrong, come at once." I was morally certain that they were the work of the small man, whom we had nicknamed "the Snipe," especially as the smokes were lit at a distance from the position of Horsham Camp, and if anything serious had happened, it seemed most probable that the two men left in charge there would have lit their signal-fires on the hill close behind the camp, instead of riding to some distance for that purpose. However, there was nothing for it but to send Scrivenor back, with instructions to show a smoke upon the shore of the lake behind an island in our view if my presence were really required.
While he returned to Horsham Camp, Barckhausen and I rode on towards the cañadon of the River de los Antiguos.
CHAPTER X
THE GORGE OF THE RIVER DE LOS ANTIGUOS
Descent into Gorge of the River de los Antiguos—Rest-and-be-Thankful Camp—First huemul—Greed of condors—Aspect of Gorge—Tameness of guanaco—Join Van Plaaten's route—Stinging flies—Signal-smokes—De los Antiguos in flood—Difficulty of crossing—Attempt to swim over—Washed away—Loss of rifle and gun—Return to western bank—Cold night—Start next morning—Upper ford impassable—Scanty diet—Fording torrent—Long ride to Horsham Camp—Fire-blackened landscape—News of red puma.
Barckhausen and I continued along the south shore of the lake until we struck the River de los Antiguos, a small but rapid torrent flowing through a huge frowning gorge, between very steep barrancas. Farther to the west a second river, the River Jeinemeni, runs for some distance almost parallel with it and discharges itself into the lake some little distance beyond the mouth of the Antiguos. Between these two rivers lies a tableland, which I was anxious to visit. We, therefore, looked for a favourable place to descend into the valley of the River de los Antiguos, and presently discovered a spot where the cliffs were rather less perpendicular. The barranca, which was about one hundred and fifty feet in height, being composed of sliding sand and stones, covered with a high growth of bushes, presented a troublesome route for the horses. They had been tied together by their headstalls, the only way in which it was possible to drive them. It was now necessary to dismount and take them down singly. Two of them, Mula and Luna, refused to face the slope, and had to be urged on by persuasions from behind. When Mula at last consented to begin the descent, he lost his head and slid down the barranca, almost carrying Barckhausen, who was pulling at his cabresto from below, with him.
When we all arrived safely at the bottom, we found the bed of the river was formed of large boulders, and progress was consequently very slow. After a time we forded across, the water barely reaching to the horses' knees, but flowing so rapidly as to bring down good-sized tree-trunks with it. We made a camp in a bare place backed by a deep green forest. After our meal, which consisted of half an emergency ration each, a couple of two-ounce dumplings and some tea, we climbed the western barranca, and discovered an open space in the forest, where the grass rose to our middles, and we were greeted by the wet smell of earth, to which we had long been strangers on the dry stretches of the pampas. We called the spot Rest-and-be-thankful Camp, and at once moved the horses up to it, and on the way Fritz, who happened to be in an obstinate mood, lay down among the stones. Little did we think at the time how often we were destined to climb up and down that weary barranca.
LAKE BUENOS AIRES FROM THE CAÑADON OF THE RIVER DE LOS ANTIGUOS