“As already stated, I had come by appointment to share the day’s hunt. I was invited to partake of breakfast. My host, being a bachelor, was his own cook, and some parched maize and ‘macas,’ with a roasted chinchilla, furnished the repast.
“Fortunately, I carried with me a flask of Catalan brandy; and this, with a cup of water from the icy mountain spring, rendered our meal more palatable I was not without some dry tobacco, and a husk to roll it in, so that we enjoyed our cigar; but what our hunter enjoyed still more was a ‘coceada,’ for he was a regular chewer of ‘coca.’ He carried his pouch of chinchilla skin filled with the dried leaves of the coca plant, and around his neck was suspended the gourd bottle, filled with burnt lime and ashes of the root of the ‘molle’ tree.
“All things arranged, we started forth. It was to be a ‘still’ hunt, and we went afoot, leaving our horses safely tied by the hut. The Indian took with him only one of his dogs—a faithful and trusty one, on which, he could rely.
“We skirted the plain, and struck into a defile in the mountains. It led upwards, among rocky boulders. A cold stream gurgled in its bottom, now and then leaping over low falls, and churned into foam. At times the path was a giddy one, leading along narrow ledges, rendered more perilous by the frozen snow, that lay to the depth of several inches. Our object was to reach the level of a plain still higher, where my companion assured me we should be likely to happen upon a herd of vicuñas.
“As we climbed among the rocks, my eye was attracted by a moving object, higher up. On looking more attentively, several animals were seen, of large size, and reddish-brown colour. I took them at first for deer, as I was thinking of that animal. I saw my mistake in a moment. They were not deer, but creatures quite as nimble. They were bounding from rock to rock, and running along the narrow ledges with the agility of the chamois. These must be the vicuñas, thought I.
“‘No,’ said my companion; ‘guanacos—nothing more.’
“I was anxious to have a shot at them.
“‘Better leave them now,’ suggested the hunter; ‘the report would frighten the vicuñas, if they be in the plain—it is near. I know these guanacos. I know where they will retreat to—a defile close by—we can have a chance at them on our return.’
“I forbore firing, though I certainly deemed the guanacos within shot, but the hunter was thinking of the more precious skin of the vicuñas, and we passed on. I saw the guanacos run for a dark-looking cleft between two mountain spurs.
“‘We shall find them in there,’ muttered my companion, ‘that is their haunt.’