d to be a beast of burden, the llama is accustomed to
the presence of strangers and is not any more timid of them than our
horses and cows. The alpaca, however, requiring better and scarcer
forage--short, tender grass and plenty of water--frequents the most
remote and lofty of the mountain pastures, is handled only when the
fleece is removed, seldom sees any one except the peaceful shepherds,
and is extremely shy of strangers, although not nearly as timid as its
distant cousin the vicuna. I shall never forget the first time I ever
saw some alpacas. They looked for all the world like the "woolly-dogs"
of our toys shops--woolly along the neck right up to the eyes and
woolly along the legs right down to the invisible wheels! There was
something inexpressibly comic about these long-legged animals. They
look like toys on wheels, but actually they can gallop like cows.

The llama, with far less hair on head, neck, and legs, is also amusing,
but in a different way. His expression is haughty and supercilious
in the extreme. He usually looks as though his presence near one is
due to circumstances over which he really had no control. Pride of
race and excessive haughtiness lead him to carry his head so high
and his neck so stiffly erect that he can be corralled, with others
of his kind, by a single rope passed around the necks of the entire
group. Yet he can be bought for ten dollars.

On the pasture lands of Ajochiucha there were many ewes and lambs,
both of llamas and alpacas. Even the shepherds were mostly children,
more timid than their charges. They crouched inconspicuously behind
rocks and shrubs, endeavoring to escape our notice. About five o'clock
in the afternoon, on a dry pampa, we found the ruins of one of the
largest known Inca storehouses, Chichipampa, an interesting reminder
of the days when benevolent despots ruled the Andes and, like the
Pharaohs of old, provided against possible famine. The locality is
not occupied, yet near by are populous valleys.

As soon as we left our camp the next morning, we came abruptly to the
edge of the Lampa Valley. This was another of the mile-deep canyons
so characteristic of this region. Our pack mules grunted and groaned
as they picked their way down the corkscrew trail. It overhangs the
mud-colored Indian town of Colta, a rather scattered collection of
a hundred or more huts. Here again, as in the Cotahuasi Valley, are
hundreds of ancient terraces, extending for thousands of fe