CHAPTER XV

BY STUART VINES

HEADING FOR TUPUNGATO

ANNIERS stocked with provisions and equipment for

PAN

an attack on Tupungato had long been lying at Vacas. But as far as the weather was concerned it seemed probable that they would remain undisturbed for some time to come. Almost the last week in March had come before the boisterous gales and unsettled weather gave way once more to clear skies and bright sunshine.

I galloped down to Vacas on the evening of 24th March, Zurbriggen had gone down the night before, and Lanti had been sent for from the Vacas Valley, where he was in camp with Gosse.

At the posada there was a scene of unusual animation. The change in the weather had brought a crowd of travellers from Mendoza, eager to seize this opportunity of getting over into Chile. With their arrival the Villa Longa Express Company had sprung into life, the patio was crowded with arrieros, the corral with mules and horses.

Inside the crowded comedor I espied Gosse and Zurbriggen, both busily engaged in worrying a very tough steak, as if their lives depended on it. I sat down and joined in the struggle, and of course the conversation turned on the weather. Fiorini, our host, gave out that the change foretold an unusually fine autumn, and shepherds and arrieros agreed with him, but they were equally unanimous in assuring us that Tupungato had a private climate of its own, and that we need not think for one moment Tupungato was about to shake off the storm clouds that surrounded it because of clear skies elsewhere.

Reports of a similar kind had reached me from Mendoza. While Zurbriggen was having his injured shoulder cured there, he had listened with a smile to these stories of the stormy and inaccessible mountain. Amongst other doleful presages, odds had been freely offered against any of us ever making the ascent. Thereupon the tough old Alpinist had promptly made a "book," and now there seemed every possibility of several fresh entries being made in it. being made in it. In fact, a most unusual interest was taken in our movements, and many were the suggestions and warnings offered. One aged gaucho, with a twinkle in his eye, opined that what we were after was gold. He then held the company's attention by telling us that not far from the top of Tupungato was a lake of great depth,the extinct crater, I mentally decided,―around whose shores were immense caves; and that somewhere thereabouts lay a vast quantity of gold, though whether it was on the shores or in the caves, or at the bottom of the lake itself, I could not make out. Only one man had ever climbed to it, and on returning for the means of securing his wealth, had been murdered. His murderers, it seems, had then made an expedition to the mountain, lost their way, and with poetic justice perished in the snow. He added that he himself was the only man who knew the secret road to this untold treasure; but I did not understand why he was still a humble shepherd at Vacas, instead of a millionaire in Buenos Aires. It was necessary, however, to leave these fascinating legends to make transport arrangements for the

morrow.

Fiorini, the inn-keeper, had supplied us with four mules under the charge of an arriero, who rejoiced in the auspicious name of Fortunato-a man, he informed us, who knew more of the Tupungato Valley and its difficulties than any other muleteer. He also gave him a character for punctuality and promptness which he did not in the least deserve, though he has since perforce become acquainted with these virtues.

We calculated on a three days' journey with pack-mules to the base of Tupungato. It lay some thirty-five miles to the south as the crow flies, but the roughness of the valleys

FORTUNATO EXPOSTULATES

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and the tortuous windings to avoid obstacles would no doubt nearly double the distance. Zurbriggen had already penetrated some way up the valley, and his tale of swollen rivers and unfordable torrents was not precisely encouraging. For every reason, therefore, it was necessary to start early on the morrow. Fortunato declared that every arrangement in his power had been made. So-influenced by Fiorini's glowing testimony to his punctuality—we told him to be ready to start at six, and retired to rest. Gosse and I found beds prepared for us in one of the mud-floored hovels, dignified by the name of bedrooms. The young hunter had enjoyed great sport up the Vacas Valley, which, according to his account, swarmed with guanaco, condors, and foxes, and, until we fell asleep, he regaled me with amusing stories of the chase.

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At daybreak Zurbriggen, Lanti, and I stood in the patio surrounded by panniers, rücksacks, and bundles of tents, but no Fortunato and no mules. It would take us half an hour to catch the mules, but Fortunato, with his lasso, could perform the same feat in five minutes, if so minded. So Zurbriggen went in search of him. He found him taking a tender farewell of his wife, broke in upon the affecting scene, and bustled him back to the corral.

As soon as we had the mules in the patio and commenced to pack, Fortunato was again found wanting. For he asked me in a dazed sort of way if the señor really meant to go up the Tupungato Valley. On my replying in the affirmative, he said that in that case the mules would all want reshoeing. If the señor would confine himself to civilised routes, well and good but, caramba! in the Tupungato Valley! And the man turned with a shrug of his shoulders and a look of disgust on his face. Only half-shod as they were, he protested, they would go lame in a few hours over the rough ground and sharp rocks. We reserved our remarks for the evening, when he would be far away from the posada, and would find it less easy to throw up the task. On examining the animals, we found that there were only a dozen shoes among the four, and