ANDINE PONIES

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photographs when the sun is at impossible angles, and allign on peaks that are hidden behind other peaks. When one cannot see, one has to remember routes; to keep in one's head, more or less, all the various parts of the equipment, men and provisions, and what everybody is supposed to be doing. In fact, it is necessary to be a general compendium of knowledge, and a universal gazetteer of the locality.

Having fetched the field-glasses, we started out again, and were soon introduced by our arriero to a true Andine ford. The river which flows down the Vacas Valley is a large and deep torrent, fed in great part by the masses of snow in the valley at this season of the year. Early in the morning we found it in fairly easy condition, but later on in the day, when we had to cross and recross the river, to keep upon a path that could be followed by the mules, we had great difficulty. This was also my first experience of riding in what seemed impossible places. Later on we grew so accustomed to it that we thought no more of setting our horses at shocking slopes, or of galloping among huge rocks and boulders, than we should have thought of riding in a hansom down Piccadilly. During our stay we had innumerable falls, and though we were rolled over in almost every conceivable place and position, we were fortunately never hurt. An Andine pony is a delightful beast. He is exceedingly clever in keeping his feet and finding the way, and when he does fall he always manages to arrange not to hurt you. He is as gentle and nice-tempered as need be, and will follow you round camp like a dog, sometimes putting his head in at the tent to see what he can procure in the way of food. These ponies are always ready to do their best, and go on until they collapse from fatigue-an equine virtue of which we unfortunately had experience after the winter months came. They are always gay and bright, ready to gallop, and if there is pasturage about will remain by you during the night.

The Vacas Valley, perhaps one of the most fertile in the whole of these ranges, yet struck us then as the most desolate spot imaginable; nothing but great vistas of yellow sand, with here and there a stunted bush, and a little grass

peering through the crevices of the stones and rocks. This vegetation, however, was really profuse in comparison with the Horcones Valley, which was the scene of so much of our labour in the following year.

Great mountains rose on either side of us, but we could see nothing, as we turned in and out along this valley, that resembled in any way even a buttress of Aconcagua. We cross-examined our mule-driver, but he was very reticent upon the subject. He told us he believed that there was once a man who had been up in these parts, and who had come back and told his wife's uncle that he had seen a high spur which might possibly be a part of the mountain, but he could not say for certain. His impression could be pretty well summed up in the fact that there was always a peak behind, reminding one of the White Queen's remarks to Alice, "Jam yesterday, and jam to-morrow, but never jam to-day."

We decided to go along as far as we could get that day, and then climb to the top of one of these peaks so as to get the view. We soon reached a place where the Vacas Valley branches off, the Rio del Peñon coming down to the east. We were obliged to ford the river here, and our arriero had to try several places before we could get one that was safe to Twice he was nearly washed away by the current, and was obliged to turn back. Finally we got across, and dismounted in order to give our horses some rest. The sun was extremely hot, and it was impossible for us to get any shade. Zurbriggen and I lay down where we could get our heads in the shadow of a rock, the rest of our bodies grilling in the sun. In this way we obtained about half an hour's sleep. It was the first day of exercise in the mountains, and as we were naturally rather out of training, the long ride that morning had fatigued us unduly.

After we had started again we had an experience of the rubbishy South American saddles. They are strapped down by long girths of leather, tied and knotted together. The Andine muleteer knows nothing of buckles; he has never seen such things. He can only cinch an animal with these