every respect. It has even windows in the sides and
real doorways, and is furnished inside with real sofas and Indian-made
chairs, to say nothing of hammocks and tables and a stove. This caravan is
drawn by four beautiful horses, and will be our sitting-room and
dining-room by day, and the ladies' boudoir and bedroom for some time to
come.

Away we rattle westwards, dozens of soldiers, half-bred Chilians, Gauchos,
and a crowd of dark-eyed but dirty children, giving us a ringing cheer as
we start.

What a cavalcade it is, to be sure! Waggons, drays, carts, mules, and
horses. All our imported Scotchmen are riding, and glorious fellows they
look. Each has a rifle slung across his shoulder, belts and sheath knives,
and broad sombrero hat. The giant Moncrieff himself is riding, and looks
to me the bravest of the brave. I and each of my brothers have undertaken
to drive a cart or waggon, and we feel men from hat to boots, and as proud
all over as a cock with silver spurs.

We soon leave behind us those tall, mysterious-looking poplar trees. So
tall are they that, although when we turned out not a breath of wind was
blowing on the surface of the ground, away aloft their summits were waving
gently to and fro, with a whispering sound, as if they were talking to
unseen spirits in the sky.

We leave even the _estancias_ behind. We are out now on the lonesome
rolling plain. Here and there are woods; away, far away, behind us are the
jagged summits of the everlasting hills. By and by the diligence, a
strange-looking rattle-trap of a coach--a ghost of a coach, I might call
it--goes rattling and swaying past us. Its occupants raise a feeble cheer,
to which we respond with a three times three; for we seem to like to hear
our voices.

After this we feel more alone than ever. On and on and on we jog. The road
is broad and fairly good; our waggons have broad wheels; this retards our
speed, but adds to our comfort and that of the mules and horses.

Before very long we reach a broad river, and in we plunge, the horsemen
leading the van, with the water up to their saddle-girths. I give the
reins of my team to my attendant Gaucho, and, running forward, jump on
board the caravan to keep the ladies company while we fight the ford. But
the ladies are in no way afraid; they are enjoying themselves in the front
of the carriage, which is open. Old Jenny is in an easy-chair and buried
to the nose in her guanaco robe. She is muttering somethin