It was impossible to explore the country as thoroughly as we should have liked on account of the almost incessant rain. When the downpour did stop, which was at dusk, flocks of large, white-bellied night-hawks appeared and circled above the grass, catching insects. They were beautiful creatures, and always came back to the same restricted areas to feed on small black beetles that flew up in great numbers from the grass. As darkness settled over the Chaco the flocks suddenly dispersed and they disappeared singly in all directions. We found them spending the days in open places--out in the hot sun or rain. The railroad-track, or small plots where there was not even grass, were the favorite sleeping-sites chosen, and sometimes two or three were found together. After a week we returned over the route we had come to a station called General Pinedo. This was a new settlement and several dozen board huts were being constructed on both sides of the track. Here there were seemingly limitless stretches of fine pampas with occasional small clumps of red quebracho-woods. Numbers of cattle grazed in the rich grass, and this place was much more attractive than the one we had just left. As might be supposed, the fauna was typical of the open country and included an abundance of short-eared and burrowing owls. The latter sat on fence-posts or on the mounds near their burrows all day long; at night they became very active and flew back and forth over the fields grabbing up beetles and small rodents with their feet. Their long, tremulous screeches pierced the darkness all night long. On Sunday all the men congregated at the two rum-shops and tested their capacities for strong drink. Often the day ended in a series of brawls when knives and machetes were plied freely--once with fatal result to one of the _compadres_. I asked one of the guards what would be done with the murderer, who had promptly been arrested. He said that if he could give two hundred _pesos_ to the _commisario_ and ten to each of the guards, the matter would be dropped. Later I was told that the matter had been “fixed up” satisfactorily, but of course could not verify this. June 14 found us in the village of Lavalle, in the heart of Argentina’s desert regions. When the train from Tucuman pulled out, leaving ourselves and our belongings on the station platform, we at once began to regret that we had come at all. The place looked decidedly uninviting. There was only the small cluster of adobe hovels, while all around stretched the cheerless waste of sandy desert. That there could be any considerable amount of wild life in the region seemed impossible; but, as we soon discovered to our unbounded delight, it was only one of the instances where first impressions are deceptive.