for a very long time,
as although the main building still has a roof, the whole place has a
very deserted look about it; but, nevertheless, it still affords a
covering for weary travellers like ourselves, and we soon began to
select the most comfortable looking corners for our beds. There was an
old Indian there who earns a meagre existence by selling forage to
passing travellers for their beasts of burden; and he was also utilised
by us for getting a fire ready and boiling water for a welcome cup of
warm tea.

One thousand feet above our heads, as it seemed, we could see Llane,
another of these quaint, Indian hamlets, but the appearance of the
exceedingly precipitate track up to it did not excite us in any desire
to make the ascent. After partaking of some food, we got under our
blankets in the usual way at sunset to once more sleep the sleep of the
contented traveller. By 6.15 next morning we were again in the saddle
and under way--the road was now even narrower than before, about two
feet wide only--winding round and round the mountain side, ascending all
the time, and in some parts far too steep for comfortable riding. From
now onwards the journey was over tracks, not roads, and many of the
ascents and descents were so steep that it was quite out of the question
to attempt to negotiate them on muleback. We, accordingly, with
philosophic patience had just to accept the inevitable, and get off and
lead our animals over these now really dangerous parts. Some of the
precipices down to the river bed were now much deeper, and had we slid
over, we might have experienced considerable inconvenience at the
bottom, and a greater difficulty in getting up again. The roads became
worse and worse, and really they could be given no other name than
"goat-tracks," but the mule is a wonderful beast, and let him have his
head (on no account attempt to guide him), there is not much fear of any
serious trouble. Our sleeping place for the night was to be at an old
ruin of a house at a bare, but more level, opening in the mountains,
called Tolapampa, and before reaching this we had to negotiate much the
worst pass on the whole route. This is called the "tornillo" (screw),
and it is a real corkscrew path, cut out of the mountain side at an
angle of about 50 deg., and about 450 feet of a climb.

Riding was of course impossible, and we scrambled more than walked until
we safely got over the top, very tired and puffed out. The mules with
th