cipitous, and you
seem at the mercy of the furious tide, while jutting rocks above seem
just ready to be loosened by some convulsion, and to crush you with
their merciless weight: meantime, your horse stands unmoved by the peril
before or above him, apparently deaf to the noise of the torrent, and
quietly surveys the rapids, as if to select the safest point to cross.
Disturb him not. He takes his time, and places one foot and then another
in the torrent. As he reaches the main current, he trembles, not with
fear, but with the effort to keep himself from being swept against the
rocks. He may be able to keep his footing and to walk across, though
panting and shaking at every step; or the stream may be so deep that he
is forced to swim. If so, he bears up _manfully_ (if one may say so)
against the rushing force, and at last scrambles up the least steep peak
of the opposite bank, bearing you more dizzy than he is. But the bank
itself is only the foot of a ridge as precipitous as that which you
descended to reach the stream. Quietly, patiently, surely the horse
ascends. A sudden misstep or unwary slip among the loose stones of the
path would send you far backward into the torrent which you have just
escaped. This very seldom happens, for the horses and mules have been
well trained for the service. In all the perils, the horse or mule is a
safer guide than you. Give him a free rein, and he will bear you up the
hardest, roughest, steepest places.

You are now high among the Andes, far above every sign of tropical
vegetation; and, although hourly you are approaching the equatorial
line, yet hourly also it is growing colder. Look up! A snowy peak rises
directly before you, and seems to challenge you with its refulgent,
inaccessible majesty. The sight at first almost appals, but fascinates.
The feeling of fear soon surrenders to absorbing enjoyment of the
sublimity of the scene. The more you look, the more you desire to look.
There stands the mountain, a single glance at which repays all the
fatigue and danger of the road;--there it stands, as high above the
Pacific Ocean as if Vesuvius should be piled upon itself again, and
again, and yet again. Clear snow covers it with a robe of dazzling
light.

The snowy peak, though it seems so near in the pure atmosphere, is a
weary distance off. As you advance slowly and laboriously upward, the
wind blows almost like a hurricane. You can hardly breast its force. It
grows colder and colde