pine-trees no longer cast their shadows across
the glade--warned us it was time to retire.

'Good night, boys all,' said the hermit; 'I will come again to-morrow.'

He turned and walked away, his _potro_ boots making no sound on the sward.
We watched him till the gloom of the forest seemed to swallow him up.

'What a strange being!' said Archie, with a sigh.

'And what a lonely life to lead!' said Donald.

'Ah!' said Dugald, 'you may sigh as you like, Archie, and say what you
please, I think there is no life so jolly, and I've half a mind to turn
hermit myself.'

We lived in the glen for many weeks. No better or more idyllic
headquarters could possibly have been found or even imagined, while all
around us was a hunter's paradise. We came at last to look upon the
hermit's dell as our home, but we did not bivouac there every night. There
were times when we wandered too far away in pursuit of the guanaco, the
puma, jaguar, or even the ostrich, which we found feeding on plains at no
great distance from our camp.

It was a glorious treat for all of us to find ourselves on these miniature
pampas, across which we could gallop unfettered and free.

Under the tuition of Yambo, our _capataz_, and the other Gauchos, we
became adepts in the use of both bolas and lasso. Away up among the
beetling crags and in the deep, gloomy caverns we had to stalk the
guanacos as the Swiss mountaineer stalks the chamois. Oh, our adventures
among the rocks were sometimes thrilling enough! But here on the plains
another kind of tactics was pursued. I doubt if we could have ridden near
enough to the ostriches to bola them, so our plan was to make _detours_ on
the pampas until we had outflanked, encircled, and altogether puzzled our
quarry. Then riding in a zigzag fashion, gradually we narrowed the ring
till near enough to fire. When nearer still the battue and stampede
commenced, and the scene was then wild and confusing in the extreme. The
frightened whinny or neigh of the guanacos, the hoarse whirr of the flying
ostriches, the shouts of the Gauchos, the bark and yell of dogs, the
whistling noise of lasso or bolas, the sharp ringing of rifle and
revolver--all combined to form a medley, a huntsman's chorus which no one
who has once heard it and taken part in it is likely to forget.

When too far from the camp, then we hobbled our horses at the nearest spot
where grass and water could be found, and after supping on broiled guanaco
steak and o