in to think of breakfast, as also to talk
about it. What is it to be, or of what consist, are the questions which
interest them without being easily answered. There are the _algarobia_
beans; but their skillet has been lost along with the kettle, and there
is left them no utensil in which these legumes might be boiled. True,
they can roast them in the ashes; but Gaspar still clings to the hope
that something more toothful may turn up. As the early dawn is the best
time to find wild animals abroad, both birds and quadrupeds--the best
also for approaching them--the gaucho feels pretty confident either one
or other will stray within reach of their guns, bolas, or lazos.

In the end it proves that his confidence has not been misplaced. Just
as the first red rays of the Aurora are reflected from the tops of the
trees around their camp, more faintly lighting up the lower level of the
pampa beyond, Gaspar, peering through a break between the branches of
the _algarobias_, sees a brace of large birds moving about over the
plain. Not soldier-cranes, though creatures with necks and legs quite
as long; for they are _rheas_.

"_Gracios a Dios_!" is the gaucho's gratified exclamation at sight of
them; continuing in low tone and speaking over his shoulder, "A couple
of _avestruz_!"

The others, gliding up to him, and looking through the leaves, also
behold the birds, seeing them from head to foot. For they are out upon
the open ground, striding to and fro, now and then pausing to pick up
some morsel of food, or it may be but a pebble to aid in the digestion
of what they have already eaten. While thus engaged, they are gradually
drawing nearer to the bank of the _riacho_, as also the edge of the
_algarobia_ grove in which the trackers are encamped. Their proximity
to the latter most interests those in the camp, and all three instantly
lay hold of their guns, which luckily have been reloaded, two of them
with ball. Gaspar, foremost of the trio, has got his barrel through the
branches, and, seeing that the _rheas_ are now within bullet-range, is
about to blaze away at the one nearest, which chances to be the cock
bird, when the latter, suddenly elevating its head, and uttering a loud
hiss succeeded by a snort, as from a badly-blown trumpet, turns tail and
makes off over the plain; its mate turning simultaneously, and legging
it alongside. All this to the surprise of the gaucho; who knows that he
has not exposed his person an