"As to those," said Burbury, "they must have been lighted by the little man whom you entertained at the Fenix. He came into our camp after he left you, as also did his companions. We knew that you would wonder who had lit the smokes. When we saw yours, we at once came to meet you." As we rode along towards our base camp we passed through acres of fire-blackened land and cursed the small man (his name is still a mystery to us) by bell, book, and candle. I had carefully informed him that two fires was our "Come-at-once" signal, and can only suppose that the irresponsible little creature had forgotten. After all, our resentment against the author of our misfortunes was not uncalled for. He had given Scrivenor a fifty-mile ride, had been the direct cause of our losing two guns, had made us abandon three horses, and had given Barckhausen and myself eighty or ninety miles of extra marches, besides compelling us to cross the River de los Antiguos when in flood. We had also to thank him for our miserable night upon the shores of the river. Against all this he had left us a lame hound which we feared could travel no farther.
His companions had in my absence visited our camp and had conversed with Burbury. This conversation, however, left us a much more valuable legacy. One of these men, an Austrian, had informed Burbury that the Indians had told him of a puma which lived farther to the south among the foothills of the Cordillera, and which differed in some essential respects from the grey puma of the plains. He described it as being "of a reddish colour, more fierce than the silver puma, and much smaller!" This was the first time I heard of the animal now named Felis concolor pearsoni, of which I afterwards was fortunate enough to obtain a skin.
When we arrived in camp, which we did late upon that afternoon, we ourselves as well as our horses were pretty well tired out, but a couple of days in the tent, a tin of cocoa, and some ointment for the cuts received from the rocks in the river, soon reinvigorated us, and we were ready to start for the River de los Antiguos, the scene of our petty disasters, once more.
YOUNG GUANACO
CHAPTER XI
SOME HUNTING CAMPS
Second trip to De los Antiguos River—Pass Rosy Camp—Fenix flood gone down—Wounded guanaco takes to water—Mauser and shot-gun retrieved—Losing and seeking in Patagonia—Recover horses at Rest-and-be-Thankful Camp—Visit to River Jeinemeni—Trained horse for hunting—Shooting guanaco—Condors—Cañadon of Jeinemeni—Huemul hunting—Ostriches and their habits—Return to Horsham Camp—Night in camp.
On December 16, the interval having been taken out by me in sleeping off my chill and fatigue, Scrivenor, Jones and I made a start to retrieve the horses abandoned in the Los Antiguos cañadon by Barckhausen and myself. We each took a horse and a spare animal which carried the tent, for the weather was breaking to the westward. It was our intention to ride the fifty miles back on the horses which we had left behind in the Gorge.
On arriving at the Fenix we were delighted to find that its waters had fallen considerably, and that the pebbly bank in mid-stream, at the ford by Rosy Camp, was once more visible. Almost upon our old camping-ground we found, as we rode over the sand-hills by the lake, a pair of guanaco feeding. Jones dismounted and had a couple of shots, neither of which took effect. The animals had, however, not perceived Scrivenor and myself, and came past us upon the shores of the lake, and here Jones and I ran down and met the female, killing her after a long chase, which ended by her trying to swim out into the lake.