stop and gaze earnestly up at the heights to right or left. There was hardly a spot on either side of the valley that he did not carefully examine all the way from our camp in the morning to Tupungato; and very careful examination is needed, as anybody who has stalked deer in the Highlands will easily believe, for guanaco, even in great herds, are difficult to see, especially when at a great height. So we worked our way, choosing the best route, now on one side of the river, now on the other, often forced to wade in the riverbed itself. At last we found ourselves about a hundred feet above it on an old guanaco track. This was doubtless good enough for the guanaco, but another story for laden mules and horses. I rode on ahead, and, having passed the difficulty, came down again into the river-bed, where I halted and awaited the caravan. Our course next lay along the bed of the stream, which again widened out, and, to our astonishment, we saw, far in the distance, a great bank of green grass leading down to the water's edge-an ideal spot for a night's camp after a hard day. It was getting dark, and we made all haste to reach this pleasant resting-place. But the banks were steep, and springs above had rendered the grass at the river's edge far too wet and sodden for camping, so we determined to ascend the bank and see what we could find above. This move was disastrous; the whole place was a swamp; the mules began to plunge violently, and Fortunato had his work cut out for him to get them down again. Two mules fell and had to be unloaded as they lay. I was fortunate in striking a drier route. Looking back, I saw Fortunato and his pony frantically struggling in a bog. The animal-only a young one, but as clever on its feet as a monkey-recovered itself for a moment, and then fell sideways down the bank. Fortunato was equal to the occasion. As soon as he felt his horse falling, he threw himself down the bank clear of the horse, and it was well he did so, for the animal did not recover itself till it had turned completely over several times. Fortunato had fallen head foremost into the bog, and had to be dragged out by Lanti.

The party reached the terrace above quite worn out, and

some of its members far from dry or clean. We looked around once more for a camping-ground. Instead of the usual arid waste, we were surprised to see that the springs had created a small oasis-two small ponds at the foot of the hills surrounded by coarse grass.

A

CHAPTER XVI

BY STUART VINES

THE FIRST ATTACK ON TUPUNGATO

S we approached the camping-ground in the dusk of the long and trying day I have described, we saw that a little tragedy of animal life was about to be enacted. On the water were a few ducks, and at the far side, creeping down between the rocks, we spied a very large dog-fox intent on supping. Our approach was unnoticed both by the hunter and prey. But where was Paramillo? There was no need to ask. He had taken in the whole situation long before, and was intent on stalking the stalker. The ducks, now scared, rose and flew away. Alarmed at this, Reynard looked up, caught sight of Paramillo, and in a moment turned and made straight up the mountain side with a good sixty yards' start, the dog in full pursuit. We watched for a minute, thinking that Reynard was running to earth and the chase would soon be over, but there was fine sport coming. The path up the steep mountain side suited Paramillo excellently, for he gained at every yard; so the fox changed its course, and sweeping round, began to descend. Fortunato loosened his bolas and handled them affectionately.

It was a splendid contest of speed. They swept down the mountain side at a tremendous pace, and no sooner had they reached the valley some two hundred yards from us than Fortunato clapped spurs to his horse and galloped full tilt over the rocks after them, swinging his bolas and shouting at the top of his voice to the hound. A jingle of spurs, and the whole field was swinging recklessly down the wide terrace towards the river. For weary riders and tired steeds, over