ing on horseback. He immediately dismounted, and
watching them intently, said, "They don't ride like Christians, and
nobody can leave the fort." The three hunters joined company, and
likewise dismounted from their horses. At last one mounted again
and rode over the hill out of sight. My companion said, "We must
now get on our horses: load your pistol;" and he looked to his own
sword. I asked, "Are they Indians?"--"Quien sabe? (who knows?) if
there are no more than three, it does not signify." It then struck
me, that the one man had gone over the hill to fetch the rest of
his tribe. I suggested this; but all the answer I could extort was,
"Quien sabe?" His head and eye never for a minute ceased scanning
slowly the distant horizon. I thought his uncommon coolness too
good a joke, and asked him why he did not return home. I was
startled when he answered, "We are returning, but in a line so as
to pass near a swamp, into which we can gallop the horses as far as
they can go, and then trust to our own legs; so that there is no
danger." I did not feel quite so confident of this, and wanted to
increase our pace. He said, "No, not until they do." When any
little inequality concealed us, we galloped; but when in sight,
continued walking. At last we reached a valley, and turning to the
left, galloped quickly to the foot of a hill; he gave me his horse
to hold, made the dogs lie down, and then crawled on his hands and
knees to reconnoitre. He remained in this position for some time,
and at last, bursting out in laughter, exclaimed, "Mugeres!"
(women!) He knew them to be the wife and sister-in-law of the
major's son, hunting for ostrich's eggs.

I have described this man's conduct, because he acted under the
full impression that they were Indians. As soon, however, as the
absurd mistake was found out, he gave me a hundred reasons why they
could not have been Indians; but all these were forgotten at the
time. We then rode on in peace and quietness to a low point called
Punta Alta, whence we could see nearly the whole of the great
harbour of Bahia Blanca.

The wide expanse of water is choked up by numerous great mudbanks,
which the inhabitants call Cangrejales, or crabberies, from the
number of small crabs. The mud is so soft that it is impossible to
walk over them, even for the shortest distance. Many of the banks
have their surfaces covered with long rushes, the tops of which
alone are visible at high water. On one occasion, when