our Father's loved abode
Our souls arrive in peace.'

We now prepared for rest. The sentries were set, and in a short time all
was peace and silence within our camp. More than once during the night the
collies--dogs brought out by Moncrieff's men--gave an uneasy bark or two,
their slumbers being probably disturbed by the cry of some night bird, or
the passing of a prowling fox.

So, wrapped in our guanaco robes--the benefit of which we felt now--my
brothers and I slept sweetly and deeply till the sun once more rose in the
east.

Soon all was bustle and stir again.

Thus were our days spent on the road, thus our evenings, and eke our
nights. And at the end of some days we were still safe and sound, and
happy. No one sick in the camp; no horse or mule even lame; while we were
all hardening to travel already.

So far, hardly anything had happened to break the even tenour of our
journey. Our progress, however, with so much goods and chattels, and over
such roads, was necessarily slow; yet we never envied the lumbering
diligence that now and then went rattling past us.

We saw many herds of wild horses. Some of these, led by beautiful
stallions, came quite close to us. They appeared to pity our horses
and mules, condemned to the shafts and harness, and compelled to work
their weary lives away day after day. Our beasts were slaves. They were
free--free as the breezes that blew over the pampas and played with
their long manes, as they went thundering over the plains. We had seen
several ostriches, and my brothers and I had enjoyed a wild ride or
two after them. Once we encountered a puma, and once we saw an
armadillo. We had never clapped eyes on a living specimen before, but
there could be no mistaking the gentleman in armour. Not that he gave us
much time for study, however. Probably the creature had been asleep as
we rounded the corner of a gravel bank, but in one moment he became
alive to his danger. Next moment we saw nothing but a rising cloud of
dust and sand; lo! the armadillo was gone to the Antipodes, or somewhere
in that direction--buried alive. Probably the speed with which an
armadillo--there are several different species in the Silver
West--disappears at the scent of any one belonging to the _genus homo_,
is caused by the decided objection he has to be served up as a side-dish.
He is excellent eating--tender as a chicken, juicy as a sucking-pig, but
the honour of being roasted whole and