to open up the river for trade, and there is no reason why this should not be done at some future date.  The Calchaqui goes under different names at various places.  It rises on the great swamps on the North-East of the Santa Fe Land Company’s territory, and flows through a chain of lakes and canadas until it runs into the huge laguna “Del Palmar,” and thence along what used to be the Eastern boundary of the Santa Fe Land Company’s lands, until it joins the Salado.

The Calchaqui must drain at least 150,000 acres of land, and the Rio Concha has a watershed of about 60 or 70 thousand acres.  It is not known what the area of the watershed of the Salado is, but it must be immense; therefore it can be understood that the meeting-place of the waters of these three rivers is an interesting spot geographically, and we were all glad to have seen it.  On our arrival at the Water Meet we had our first introduction to the native “asado,” and we all hoped it would not be the last.  The peons collected (apparently from nowhere), in less time than it takes to write about, sticks and odds and ends for a fire, over the ashes of which they broiled the meat, holding it over the heat on long skewers of wood.  The meat was brought to us cooked, still on these skewers, and each one cut off, or had cut off for them by The Jehu, the portion he or she preferred, and a very hearty and merry meal was made by all.  The resulting silence of repletion was only broken by a murmur from The Saint of “My heart is full,” which sentiment, anatomically amended, was echoed by all.

[Illustration:  Expanse of Alfalfa.]

When active exertion was once more possible everyone repaired to the banks of the Waters Meet, and a spot being found where there were no dead fish lying about, the ladies (under the tutorship of Our Guest and The Jehu) indulged in a little rifle-shooting at bottles.  We fear that we cannot record any marvellous marksmanship on their part, for the bottles were still bobbing about on the water when the ladies’ party retraced their steps to the “camp.”  A cup of tea was suggested before the returning drive, and it was thought possible (though not probable) that The Kid might be useful on this occasion.  However any hopes in this direction were speedily dispelled when (after a great deal of noise and talk) she appeared with a thick black liquid, which proved absolutely undrinkable.  True it was poured from a tea-pot, but anything less like “tea” as one usually meets it at 5 o’clock, could scarcely be imagined, and the air seemed full of the unspoken query, “Has everyone a use in this world?” The drive back to the estancia house was as pleasant as that of the morning, and there we found the Chinaman (who, owing to the strenuous exertions of The Chaperon, now appeared with considerably less hair, and obviously a more swollen head), had gauged correctly the incompetency of The Kid, in the brewing of his native beverage, and consequently had prepared a beverage which might