On we ran and clambered to get up with Old Surley and the guanaco, which was still struggling to get away.  He made several desperate springs forward, but he struck out with his heels and spat in vain, for the stanch dog was not to be shaken off.  He was rapidly getting weaker--he struggled less violently--at last over he came, and we saw there was no chance of his escaping.  We stopped, and, like good sportsmen, loaded our rifles in case they might be required.  By the time we got up the guanaco was dead, and Old Surley was standing over him, looking wonderfully proud of his victory.  What was to be done with the game now that we had got it? was the question.  We could not carry it away, for each animal was fully four feet high, and eight or nine long.  We looked about for marks by which we should know the spot where the last killed lay.  We thought that we had found some that we could not mistake, but, still more certainly to recognise it, we piled up all the stones and bushes we could collect on a rock, till we had made a considerable heap, which we thought would be conspicuous at a distance.  We then began to consider that it was time to look about for our companions.  We could nowhere make them out, but we had no doubt as to easily finding the spot where we had left Fleming.  First, however, we had to go and mark the place more distinctly where we had left my guanaco.  It took us as long to descend the mountain as to climb it; for we often came to steep places which we had to make a circuit to avoid.  We reached the edge of a small precipice, where we had a tolerably clear view of the hill-side below us, and of the valley beyond.  In ascending, we had passed on one side of the rock.  We looked about to discover the spot where we had left the guanaco.  There it lay; but not a hundred yards from it we saw another animal approaching it by stealthy steps.  We watched it narrowly.