With the help of the Indians and four or five canoes, besides the big yawl, rapid progress was made in discharging the schooner’s cargo. The boxes intended for packing with gold, it was decided to leave on board until after the trip to the interior. On the third day, Brent, Fraser, and the four chiefs started on their journey toward the Cordilleras. Mounted on six of the best horses in the herd they set off at a sharp lope soon after daybreak. Brent had a blanket for a saddle, and the others rode bareback. The two white men and one of the Indians carried rifles; the others were contented with the bolas with which all the Indians were armed. It is a peculiar weapon, if weapon it be called. It consists of two heavy balls of metal or stone connected with a strong thong or cord. The Indians are wonderfully expert in using it against all manner of game or human enemies. They bring down a wild horse at an almost incredible distance. The bola goes flying through the air and twists itself about the fore or hind legs of the running animal throwing it violently to the ground. It is sometimes used also with deadly effect as a single or double slung-shot, the wielder holding the cord in the middle. The route for many miles over a faint trail was rough and difficult. The country through which they passed was picturesque almost to grandeur. It was far from being the “bleak and uninhabitable region” which the geographies only a few years ago would have us believe was a truthful description of Patagonia. Late in the day the path became smoother and the landscape more even. They were upon a high table-land, fertile and delightful. But nature’s charms had few attractions for Brent during the last three or four hours of the drive. Riding without a saddle for ten or eleven hours with only a brief halt at midday was no joke to a man who had not been on horseback for six months and who was physically quite out of training. For the others in the party, even Fraser, there seemed to be little fatigue in the trip, and Brent did his best to conceal his feelings. There was something very like a twinkle in the eye of old Casimiro, when they finally halted for the night and the American limped very unsteadily from his horse to the spot chosen for a camp-fire. The chief made no comment at the time. It was a hungry group that did full justice to the supper Cuastro prepared. Some few delicacies from the schooner’s stores had been brought along for the benefit of the two strangers, but the viand which Brent enjoyed most of all was a liberal piece of a tender fillet or steak which was roasted over hot embers. The young man remarked enthusiastically that it was the most appetizing morsel he had tasted for many a day. “Do you know what it was?” asked Fraser with a peculiar smile. “No, why?” replied Brent noticing the odd expression on the face of his friend.