d areas in South America. Yet it is less than a hundred miles
from Cuzco, the chief city in the Peruvian Andes, and the site of a
university for more than three centuries. That Uilcapampa could so
long defy investigation and exploration shows better than anything
else how wisely Manco had selected his refuge. It is indeed a veritable
labyrinth of snow-clad peaks, unknown glaciers, and trackless canyons.

Looking west, we saw in front of us a great wilderness of deep green
valleys and forest-clad slopes. We supposed from our maps that we were
now looking down into the basin of the Apurimac. As a matter of fact,
we were on the rim of the valley of the hitherto uncharted Pampaconas,
a branch of the Cosireni, one of the affluents of the Urubamba. Instead
of being the Apurimac Basin, what we saw was another unexplored region
which drained into the Urubamba!

At the time, however, we did not know where we were, but understood
from Condore that somewhere far down in the montana below us was
Conservidayoc, the sequestered domain of Saavedra and his savage
Indians. It seemed less likely than ever that the Incas could have
built a town so far away from the climate and food to which they were
accustomed. The "road" was now so bad that only with the greatest
difficulty could we coax our sure-footed mules to follow it. Once we
had to dismount, as the path led down a long, steep, rocky stairway
of ancient origin. At last, rounding a hill, we came in sight of a
lonesome little hut perched on a shoulder of the mountain. In front of
it, seated in the sun on mats, were two women shelling corn. As soon as
they saw the gobernador approaching, they stopped their work and began
to prepare lunch. It was about eleven o'clock and they did not need to
be told that Senor Condore and his friends had not had anything but a
cup of coffee since the night before. In order to meet the emergency
of unexpected guests they killed four or five squealing cuys (guinea
pigs), usually to be found scurrying about the mud floor of the huts
of mountain Indians. Before long the savory odor of roast cuy, well
basted, and cooked-to-a-turn on primitive spits, whetted our appetites.

In the eastern United States one sees guinea pigs only as pets or
laboratory victims; never as an article of food. In spite of the
celebrated dogma that "Pigs is Pigs," this form of "pork" has never
found its way to our kitchens, even though these "pigs" live on a
very clean, vegetable