was ready in an open space, camp-stools stood around it, beds, blankets, sheets and pillows galore were in each tent, and the smell of roasting meat in the distance rose pleasantly upon the air.  The place looked as if the party had been accustomed to camp there regularly once a week, so well was everything arranged.  Nothing had been forgotten which could add comfort, for all hands had been working hard, and each peon, too, had done his share; in fact, the sight would have rejoiced the soul of the most ardent, red-tied Socialist, for surely never did a community carry out more thoroughly the principle of “each one working for the happiness of others.”  True, there was no trade union to limit their exertions, but that was an omission for which we may be thankful.

As the dusk quickly deepened, the peons gathered round their fire, over which the meat was cooking, a little distance from the camp site; the lamps were lit and hung from poles, and the party looked with satisfaction on their handiwork.  It would have made an interesting, and not unpicturesque illustration, if one could have obtained a photo of the “Primera Vista” camp that evening.

But it was at this time, just when all seemed smiling and happy, that the travellers were to go through their first real trial, for here the discovery was made of a serious loss.  It was spoken of in whispers at first, but gradually the whispers increased to a murmur as the loss became generally known; yet neither man nor woman quailed, and none could have told from their outward bearing the bitter struggle they were inwardly facing.  A cynical traveller once said, after noting the innumerable number of statues in the land, “South America has evidently produced a phenomenal number of heroes,” but we are inclined to think their tale has not been told if those who bore their trouble so bravely that night are to be “unhonoured and unsung.”  Think what it meant, you who may read this, in years to come, in civilised places, comfortably seated in your armchairs, conveniently near the cellaret, and,—­honour our brave!  They had at least two days to face (with no prospect of obtaining supplies anywhere) and they discovered, here, that the case of whisky was lost, left behind, vanished—­they knew not what, only that it had disappeared!

Theirs not to reason why,
Theirs not to moan or sigh,
E’en though their throats were dry,

                Noble “Tacuruers”!

True, the comforting thought that they still had a bottle and a-half of the precious drink with them may have helped them to keep their spirits up with the hope of pouring spirits down, but a bottle and a-half is not much amongst so many thirsty souls for three days, and, we repeat, that great courage and bravery was shown by the equanimity with which the party bore the news of their loss.

A minor loss was that the dinner napkins were not forthcoming, but that surprised no one, for they were in the charge of The Kid, and, of course, she had forgotten them at Lucero.  We believe she said something about their being “left to be washed” there, but no one listened to her, and we used glass cloths instead.