bolas — if it was only to put an end to the jokes of Donagan.
They had gone about a hundred yards into the thicket when Gordon, calling Baxter by a gesture, pointed to a group of animals playing about on the grass.
"Goats?" asked Baxter, in a whisper.
"Yes, or rather animals that look like goats," said Gordon. "Try and get one — "
"Alive?"
"Yes, alive; it is lucky Donagan isn't with us. He would have shot one before now, and put the others to flight ! Let us get nearer quietly, and don't let them see us."
There were six of these goats, and they had not yet taken alarm. One of them, a mother probably, suspecting some danger, was sniffing the air and looking about, ready to clear off with the herd.
Suddenly a whistling was heard, the bolas came spinning from the hand of Baxter, who was not twenty yards away from the group. Well aimed and thrown, it wound round one of the goats, while the others disappeared in the thicket. Gordon and Baxter ran towards the goat which was vainly trying to escape from the bolas. She was seized so that it was impossible for her to get away, and two kids, that instinct had kept near the mother, were also taken prisoners.
"Hurrah I" exclaimed Baxter. "Hurrah! Are they goats?"
"No," answered Gordon, "I think they are vicugnas."
"And will they give milk?"
"Oh, yes."
"Then hurrah for the vicugnas."
Gordon was right. Although the vicugnas resemble goats, their paws are longer, their fleece is short and fine as silk, their head is small and has no horns. They chiefly inhabit the pampas of America, and even the country round the Straits of Magellan.
We can easily imagine how Gordon and Baxter were welcomed when they returned to the camp, one leading
