and the advent of the true winter snow, I thought it advisable to strike our tent and push down. We accordingly did so at once, loading up our tents and equipment upon all the animals then with us. When we reached that part of the valley just above the Paso Malo, and the ford in which Zurbriggen had been so nearly drowned, we decided to pitch a small camp, leaving most of our things, as from here we could equally well explore the east head of the valley; and besides, we were much lower and nearer to the Inca, in case of heavy snows. The passage of the Paso Malo was very difficult on this side. The path we had built up upon the face of the sheer smooth stone had to a great extent been worn away by the repeated passage of mules up and down the valley, coming to and from our camps. Some time before, I had given strict orders that nobody should ride across this pass, and that no valuable luggage should be taken on the mules, but carried across by hand. I had always lived in dread that somebody would lose his life on this most dangerous place, for if once anyone fell or slipped down some six or seven feet there would be no hope of recovering him; he would roll down the whole way, and be for ever lost in the river. On this occasion we unloaded all our mules, and carried the luggage carefully across. We then drove the animals down slowly one by one, and watched them as they traversed this perilous spot. Vines, who had come down in front, had mended it to the best of his ability, but it was impossible to do very much, as there was really no place to build up from,-always upon the slope of the smooth and slippery rock. Nothing is more painful than to stand and watch animals crossing a dangerous gulf like this, and to be unable to give them any assistance. They had to be driven straight at it, and allowed to take their time, and we had to trust to their marvellous instinct and intelligence to guide them safely over. The horses all passed safely, for these intelligent animals pause before the dangerous points, and look at them carefully, even stooping down and sniffing at the ground, as if to determine its solidity by that means. The mules, however, came out badly. They would not pay any attention, and came shuffling across the worst places

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with the same confidence and negligence they would have shown had they been walking down the high road. Three of them slipped and fell at the worst places, only just managing to recover themselves in time. One we felt quite sure was lost, but he managed in some miraculous way to slide along and recover himself, and crawl back to the path again, looking merely tired and bored the while.

When we reached Inca, the weather slightly mended. I determined to send Vines over to Chile, to see if he could possibly reach the volcano he had seen smoking from the top of Tupungato. He knew that it could be got at by ascending one of the valleys which start from near Santiago. The question was, however, which valley? The survey of these valleys is exceedingly rough, and they are by no means clearly marked, the positions of the high peaks being naturally the first points that a mountain survey starts from. I have no doubt that the Commission de Limites will bring out a much more correct and detailed map of the country, as they have been through most of these valleys by now. I sent Zurbriggen with Vines in case he should have any climbing to do, while I decided to remain with Lightbody, and to see what more could be done in the Horcones Valley. I told Vines to take José, and as many mules and horses as he wanted for his luggage, and he was to send José back as soon as he reached the railway at Salto del Soldado.

In the following chapter Vines will tell the story of this journey.

THE

CHAPTER XXI

BY STUART VINES

A LOST VOLCANO

HE volcano seen by myself and Zurbriggen from the great spur during the ascent of Tupungato was regarded by FitzGerald as an important discovery of volcanic activity in the vicinity of the city of Santiago, and he therefore desired that Zurbriggen and I should cross over to Chile, make our way to Santiago, and there get information about the valleys to the east, and make transport arrangements. We started from Inca at 2 p.m. on Sunday, 2nd May, crossed the Cumbre and reached Portillo at seven o'clock the same night, where our friend Louis gave us a hearty welcome. The next morning we reached the Transandine Station of the West Coast Cable Co., at Rio Blanco. Here Mr. Tuffield, Manager of the "West Coast," has a charming little bungalow by the roadside, at the junction of the Rio Blanco and Rio Aconcagua. The valley of the Rio Blanco, with its luxuriant vegetation, is particularly beautiful to anyone descending from the arid wastes above. About three miles down the valley is the terminus of the narrow-gauge railway that is intended some day to join hands with the line from Mendoza to Vacas. this day there was no train. We therefore called on Mr. Tuffield to ask him to telephone down for an engine and trolly to come up and take us to Santa Rosa de los Andes. He was away, but his wife immediately telephoned to him, and all arrangements were made. This was not the first time nor the last that we had reason to be grateful to Mr. Tuffield for his great kindness and hospitality to us. Between Juncal and Santa Rosa there is not a single place of any kind where

On