We rode back into camp very disappointed. Just as Mr. Selous remarks that hunters sometimes spend years in Africa before they come upon their first lion, so many a man is as long in Patagonia before he comes across his first puma. The puma is a very furtive and cowardly animal, and though we saw so few during our months of travel, I have no doubt that many a puma watched our troop passing across the pampa from the safe cover of rocks and bushes. Seeing or not seeing pumas is purely a matter of luck, and the tales concerning pumas having attacked men, which abound in the country, are generally fabrications. A puma with young will attack man if he stumbles upon her and her family, and my friend Mr. Waag told me that on one occasion a puma in the Cordillera had shown evident signs of attack. In the majority of cases, even when wounded, the puma will only snarl and spit, and the Indians, as well as the Gauchos, despatch it with the _bolas_. The puma is a terrible foe to the sheep-farmer, levying heavy toll upon flocks, and often enjoys a long career of sheep-killing before strychnine or the bullet puts an end to its existence. The snow is directly responsible for the death of a great many pumas, for when it is lying on the ground the animals can easily be tracked. At this season the shepherds of the _estancias_ near the coast attempt to clear the ground of their very unwelcome visitors, the weapon most commonly used being the .450 revolver, and the shot is often taken at a distance of less than ten paces. The puma is very easy to kill, especially if the first shot is well placed. It is the first shock which tells in the case of these animals. Great sport could, no doubt, be had with the puma were he hunted with a pack of dogs that would bay him and distract his attention. The average hound of the country is, however, far too wise to pit himself against such an animal, and will often even refuse to acknowledge the scent. That night the lake, as seen from the camp, was wonderfully beautiful. The waters were leaden-grey bounded by faint blue hills, with soft mists of an unearthly green clinging about them. The only sounds to be heard were the wash of the ripple on the shore and plashing of wildfowl. On October 23 we made as early a start as possible, and pursued our way over very level pampa, which had not yet been hardened by the sun of spring. We put up an ostrich (_Rhea darwini_) from _his_ nest, and found three eggs. Presently there appeared in the centre of the pampa, ahead of us, three little huts of earth and three black cattle. Save for one gorge through which the River Senguerr flows, and through which we afterwards took our way, a perfect circle of hills of greatly varying heights surrounded the small settlement. The huts belonged to a Welshman named William Jones, who, with his wife and six children, had trekked out here some six or eight months previously.