and
blood is worth more than dry bones."

"Ponsonby is a botanist," Stephen corrected, grimly, while his inward
thought was that the dry bones were Simeon's own; and then, ashamed of
the disloyal--though unspoken--sneer, he went back to Deena and began
talking volubly of his last letter from her husband.

They had both had letters from Simeon, now safely arrived in the
Straits of Magellan. He had written to Deena when they first cast
anchor off the Fuegian shore. He described to her the visits of the
Indians in their great canoes, containing their entire families and
possessions, and the never-dying fire of hemlock on a clay hearth in
the middle of the boat; how they would sell their only garment--a fur
cloak---for tobacco and rum, and how friendly they seemed to be, in
spite of all the stories of cannibalism told by early voyagers.

In the midst of this earnest conversation, Mrs. Star rose to go,
escorted by the grand duke, and Stephen, following with Deena, was
able to let his enthusiasm rise above a whisper when they gained the
corridor.

"Didn't he tell you that they were all going guanaco hunting?"

"_Simeon!_" in a tone of incredulity.

"Greatest fun in the world, I am told," pursued French; "something
like stag hunting, only more exciting--done with the bolas. You whirl
it round your head and let it fly, and it wraps itself round a beast's
legs and bowls him over before he knows what hit him."

"Does it kill him?" asked Deena, shrinking from the miseries of the
hunted.

"Only knocks him over," explained Stephen. "You finish him with your
knife."

"Sport is a cruel thing," she said, shuddering. "I am glad Simeon
cannot even ride."

"Can't ride!" repeated Stephen. "Indeed, I can tell you he means to.
He says the Indians have offered him the best mount they have. They
considered him a medicine man, on account of his root-digging
propensities, and treated him as the high cockalorum of the whole
ship's company."

"Surely he is joking," she said. "Simeon is making game of you."

"Simeon!" he echoed, mimicking her incredulous tone.

"A joke would be no stranger to him than a horse," she said, smiling.

They had reached the entrance, and Deena stood shaking with suppressed
laughter. "Fancy! Simeon!" she repeated.

"And why not Simeon, pray?" asked Stephen, slightly nettled.

A vision of Simeon with his gold-rimmed spectacles and stooped figure
mounted on horseback in the midst of a party of Indians,