east of the Uruguay river is called; and yet in this
district exist conditions of soil, climate, and vegetation precisely
similar to those on its western side. The Uruguay river seems to have
formed a bar to their migration eastward; a circumstance all the more
remarkable, since they have passed over the Parana, a much broader
stream, and are common throughout the province of Entre Rios, as it name
imports, lying between the two.

Nothing of all this occupies the thoughts of the three trackers, as they
approach the particular _biscachera_ which has presented itself to their
view, athwart their path. Of such things they neither think, speak, nor
care. Instead, they are but dissatisfied to see it there; knowing it
will give them some trouble to get to the other side of it, besides
greatly retarding their progress. If they ride right across it at all,
they must needs go at a snail's pace, and with the utmost
circumspection. A single false step made by any of their horses might
be the dislocation of a joint, or the breaking of a leg. On the pampa
such incidents are far from rare; for the burrows of the _biscachas_ are
carried like galleries underground, and therefore dangerous to any heavy
quadruped so unfortunate as to sink through the surface turf. In short,
to ride across a _biscachera_ would be on a par with passing on
horseback through a rabbit warren.

"_Caspita_!" is the vexed exclamation of the gaucho, as he reins up in
front of the obstruction, with other angry words appended, on seeing
that it extends right and left far as the verge of vision, while forward
it appears to have a breadth of at least half a league.

"We can't gallop across that," he adds, "nor yet go at even a decent
walk. We must crawl for it, _muchachos_, or ride all the way round.
And there's no knowing how far round the thing might force us; leagues
likely. It looks the biggest _biscachera_ I ever set eyes on.
_Carra-i-i_!"

The final ejaculation is drawled out with a prolonged and bitter
emphasis, as he again glances right and left, but sees no end either
way.

"Ill luck it is," he continues, after completing his reconnaissance.
"Satan's own luck our coming upon this. A whole country covered with
traps! Well, it won't help us any making a mouth about it; and I think
our best way will be to strike straight across."

"I think so too," says Cypriano, impatient to proceed.

"Let us on into it, then. But, _hijos mios_; have a car