The itinerary for the journey was arranged in the conference sala of the office of the director-general of telegraphs in La Paz. By the courtesy of Señor Torrico, and through the thoughtfulness of Senator Jorge Galindo, of Cochabamba, a conference by wire was obtained with the Prefect of Cochabamba, Señor Dr. Isaac Aranibar, and at the end of a very charming conversation, during which the prefect expressed great pleasure in the anticipation of welcoming to Cochabamba the distinguida Norte-americana y su secretaria, everything remained settled, as to horses, mules, guides, and servants, for what proved to be one of the most interesting, delightful, and altogether memorable journeys in a record of many thousands of miles’ travel by land and sea. It may surprise many people that in remote La Paz such facilities were available for a long distance conference, and the travellers themselves were thoroughly astonished to learn that it was possible, from these comfortable headquarters, to hold uninterrupted communication with the Prefects of Cochabamba, Sucre, and Potosí, through the services of a telegraph operator, who conducted the conversation between cities several days’ journey apart, and inaccessible at that season, December, except by long trips on muleback. It was decided that the regular semi-weekly diligence should convey the travellers to Oruro, where they were to take horses and mules for the rest of the trip, the horses to be used on the less difficult roads. Through Dr. Aranibar’s courteous attention, horses and guides were engaged in Cochabamba and sent to Oruro to await the travellers, as the season of the year was not propitious for securing animals at short notice in Oruro, especially to serve on such a long trip as the one proposed. With the shortest possible delay the best animals for travelling over the precipitous trails of the Andes and across the rocky beds of the cañons were selected, and the expedition was placed in charge of an arriero who had conducted families from one end of Bolivia to the other through a period of twenty years, a conscientious, shrewd, capable, and thoroughly excellent guide, named Indalécio Palácios, who deserves the highest praise for his faithful services on this occasion.

Not heeding the predictions of disaster that were made by all who heard of the proposed journey, to be undertaken at the worst season of the year, when the rains were heaviest and the floods most destructive,—a journey generally pronounced imposible! un suicidio! and otherwise of dire prospect,—the North Americans made their preparations with the same eagerness as if only hopeful prognostications had been offered, and at six o’clock in the morning of the day agreed upon to begin the trip, they were already seated on the pescante, as the coachman’s box of the diligence is called, saying good-bye to the numerous friends assembled at that early hour to despedir them, including the American minister, Mr. Sorsby, who appeared a little doubtful as to the outcome of this expedition of his compatriots.

The old diligence was similar to most of its kind in Europe and America, with seats along the side and a high box for the driver, to which two passengers could be admitted in case of a crowded list. In pleasant weather the pescante is preferable to a seat inside the coach; and even though it was a raw, cold morning when the diligence, with its eight horses, pulled out of the carretera station at Challapampa, with the “Americanas” wrapped in their furs and waving adieus from their elevated seats, the prospect was pleasanter to them than it would have been inside, with sleepy people blinking at one another and grumbling about their “places.”

“Coaching” is a word which usually suggests high-stepping thoroughbreds, rubber tires, and all the accessories of a fashionable turnout; but a coaching trip may be a delight, as this one proved, in a rattling old vehicle drawn by eight mules unquestionably ordinary, evidently chosen for endurance rather than appearances. The old diligencia climbed slowly enough until it arrived at El Alto; but once on the broad plateau, the well-trained mules tore over the level road at a surprising and exhilarating speed. The keen air at fourteen thousand feet above the sea was delightful; and when, after two hours’ riding, the coach stopped in front of a little posada, or inn, everyone was ready for a cup of coffee and a roll, which were taken without getting down. After riding on for three hours more, the station of Ayoayo was reached, at one o’clock; and while the driver changed mules for the second time that morning, the passengers had almuerzo, as the noon meal is called in all South American countries, meaning breakfast, the early morning coffee and rolls being desayuno. Ayoayo is pointed out to travellers not only as the birthplace of the celebrated Tupac-Catari, who held La Paz in a state of siege for more than three months during an insurrection against Spanish rule late in the eighteenth century, but as the scene of a massacre of Sucre soldiers by Indians only a few years ago under peculiarly sad circumstances, the young men representing the best families of Sucre society. It is a typical village of the plateau, adobe built, treeless, and dreary looking. A few leagues further on, the coach stopped at the thermal springs of Viscachani for a few minutes only, finishing the day’s journey at Sicasica at about nine o’clock at night. All day the snow-white peaks of the Andes had been in view, and, dotting the landscape in groups at short intervals, were seen curious-looking adobe mounds or towers of from five to ten feet in height, with a Gothic archway through the centre, giving a singular appearance to the structure. They are called chullpas, an Aymará word used to designate not only the buildings but their architects, though it was not applied to the latter until late in the seventeenth century. These chullpas are generally regarded as the ruins of ancient Aymará burial places, though some authorities believe them to have been built for dwellings, and it is certain that they were used as such at the time of the Viceroy Toledo’s visit to Alto Peru, when he gave the order that the Indians should be forbidden to occupy them and should be compelled to form communities around a Christian church. That the chullpas have been used extensively as burial places at some time is proved by the great number of skeletons found in them. Next to the colossal ruins of Tiahuanaco and the remains of Inca palaces on Lake Titicaca, these chullpas are the most interesting pre-Columbian relics of the plateau.

A long day’s ride, from six o’clock in the morning until nine at night, is sufficiently fatiguing to make any kind of lodging desirable, and no one appeared to take much notice of the surroundings at Sicasica. At four o’clock the next morning the diligence was on its way again. The air was cold and clear, and from the pescante a fine view was to be had of the whole country. The moon was just disappearing in all its silver splendor behind a bank of black clouds, still illumining with its weird light the towers of a distant church and shedding a white radiance over the broad expanse of plain. Within half an hour more the sun came out, at first rosy as a child from its bath, and then golden in all the splendor of the new day. Along a part of the road the coach was whirled over a carpet of snow, the result of a storm the night before. The route lay past the battlefield of Aroma, famous as the site of the Cochabambans’ victory over the Spaniards in the War of the Independence, then through the pueblos, or villages, of Panduro and Vilavila, with their plazas, their narrow streets, and little shops, over many of which hung gorgeously dressed dolls to indicate that chicha was for sale within, passing Caracolla, the breakfast station, from which the direction lay due southward to Oruro, where the coach stopped at four o’clock of one of the windiest days in Bolivia’s windiest city.

Oruro is surrounded by mountains, the sides of which have been burrowed in all directions for the precious metals they contain in abundance. It presented a particularly attractive appearance to the two North Americans the morning succeeding their arrival, when, after receiving visits from the prefect, Dr. Andrés Muñoz, and the rector of the university, Dr. Rodolfo Galvarro, who extended a cordial welcome to their city with the usual hospitality of these kind people, they started on a sightseeing tour, with the genial editor of La Tarde as cicerone. The market place is always interesting to foreigners, and half a day was not too long to spend at its booths, where blankets, woven in all the colors of the rainbow, chola outfits, all kinds of home-made lace, pottery of primitive design and workmanship, and little images to be worn as amulets, are sold at whatever price it appears most probable the purchaser will pay. As it was necessary to secure provisions for the muleback trip which was to begin the next day, a little chola servant in the employ of friends was sent to buy chickens and other necessaries in the market. In this country methods are the reverse of those employed where competition makes every vendor eager to secure purchasers. Here it is the buyer who pleads and urges that he must have such and such articles. The process of getting a pair of chickens was as complicated as if it had been a question of some delicate legal transaction. The price did not seem high enough to warrant such exclusive methods.

The arriero Palácios having arrived with the horses and mules from Cochabamba, everything was ready to begin the journey by eight o’clock on the morning of December 14, 1905. The cheerful optimism with which the two travellers regarded the possible experiences in store for them was explained in the statement: “Everybody is so kind to us everywhere!” and they wore a happy and confident mien as they rode out of the patio through the low stone gateway of the hotel, and turned their horses’ heads toward the apparently boundless plain, across which they were to find their way to the Royal Range of the Andes, and, by following its steep ledges and winding cañons, to reach the beautiful valleys beyond, and visit the thriving cities of central Bolivia. It is not possible to take, on such a journey, the large trunks used in Europe and North America, where railroad facilities are such that the heaviest baggage can be easily handled. For muleback travel light trunks, made of raw hide and called petacas, are used, generally smaller than the average steamer trunk. Two of these may be strapped on each mule, and if the weight is well balanced the animal will carry very heavy loads. The provisions are also carried in these petacas. The saddlebags, or alforjas, are an important item of the rider’s outfit, as in this way are carried light lunches, fruits, etc., which may be eaten without dismounting, in case of emergency.

The first day’s trip seemed longer than leagues recorded it, the sun beating down with intense heat on the high plateau and the white light dazzling by its sheen. The snow mountains were in view all day, refreshing to the sight. The road was almost entirely level, and there were few landmarks along the way by which to note progress. The old town of Paria, looming abruptly in the path after a sudden turn at the slope of a hillock, awakened interest chiefly as the first pueblo built by the conquerors in Bolivia. It was worth an hour’s delay, though it possesses little of architectural merit except an old church which is, and probably always has been, its chief adornment.

Small huts, the homes of Indian shepherds, are scattered over the plain, apparently not large enough to admit more than one person, though whole families occupy them, or rather sleep in them, as a protection from the piercing cold of this region after sundown. During the day they are deserted, except on rare occasions. Looking into one of these curious little hovels, nothing was to be seen but a kettle, a box of matches, a bit of tallow candle, a blanket, a handful of parched corn, and the stones on which to grind it. There seems to be little fear of robbery, as none of these huts have doors. All along this part of the plateau, where it slopes toward the Royal Range, there are sheepfolds or corrals, enclosed by low walls of adobe or rocks. Before reaching the end of the second day’s journey, from Tolopalca to Ventilla, the plateau was left behind and the green slopes of the valleys appeared. Palácios felt it incumbent upon himself to point out objects of interest, and his information was of the most varied and weird description. The rocks and jagged peaks took on a new aspect under the charm of many legends; and strange faces looked out from uncanny depths, curious forms rose up in the crevices of the cañon, and above one of the summits the head of Melgarejo was pointed out, with a gesture of satisfaction which might or might not bear relation to the safe distance at which the celebrated tyranno’s sculptured likeness appeared. A terrific thunderstorm caused half a day’s delay at Ventilla, but was worth the loss of time, as it gave an opportunity to observe a curious custom, when, as a heavy downfall of hail buried the ground out of sight, the proprietress of the inn brought out a brazier full of incense and set it in the middle of the patio, “to burn incense to the Virgin and have the hail stopped.” A few minutes later the hail ceased, and the devout little housewife came out triumphantly to take away the brazier and to explain its purpose to the astonished onlookers. Her little home had few evidences of worldly comfort, but in a corner of the family bedroom there was an altar to the Virgin, on which fresh flowers were placed daily. She was a happy, contented soul, and thought Ventilla the most desirable place of residence in the world.

Five o’clock in the morning was the usual hour for beginning the day’s journey. From Ventilla to Chuimani the road was rugged and mountainous, and a threatening storm made it doubtful whether the usual number of miles could be made without danger of being swept down stream by a sudden flood. But fortune was favorable, and after an hour’s rest and breakfast at Chuimani the little party pushed on to Arque, arriving early in the afternoon. A deputation consisting of the chief authorities of the district met the travellers, whose coming had been announced in advance by telegram; and they were escorted to the municipal building, where, dismounting, they were received with formal speeches of welcome. As it was the corregidor’s birthday, the town was in fiesta, and presented a gay appearance. But though the invitation to remain was cordial, it was necessary to take advantage of every fine day for the trip, at a season when storms meant possible delay of a week or more; and at four o’clock the next morning the party started out of Arque, following the bed of the river nearly all the way to Capinota. The scenery of the Quebrada de Arque, as this part of the route is called, is grand and imposing beyond description. Nothing more stupendous in rocky chasm and pinnacled height is to be seen in the Grand Cañon of the Colorado, in the Swiss Alps, or even in the Himalayas. It is impressive, awe inspiring, one of the noblest of Nature’s architectural wonders. The route from Arque to Capinota follows the river bed, and it was necessary to cross the stream more than fifty times during the five hours’ ride, frequently under rather uncertain circumstances, as a torrent had poured down through the quebrada the night before, and fording was still difficult and dangerous, the animal’s slightest stumble on a loose stone serving to make him lose ground against the heavy current. But the arriero never failed to attend closely to his charges, and his Cuidado, niñas!—“Be careful, young ladies!”—served to guard against any inattention at critical moments. The ride into Capinota was like passing along one of the shady bridle paths of a European city. For about two miles the road lay between a double row of wide-branching trees, through fertile farm lands; and when the cavalcade entered Capinota, to the astonishment of the quiet citizens who came to the doors to see the estrangeras, nothing could have been more grateful to the sight of the fatigued travellers than the clean streets and white houses of that attractive little provincial capital. The sub-prefect, Señor Maldonado, and his charming family extended the welcome characteristic of gentlefolk in every land, and their generous hospitality was one of the most pleasing experiences of the trip. It would have been pleasant to stay longer in Capinota, but a few hours were all that could be spared, and the afternoon saw the jinetas, as horsewomen are called, again on their way. The afternoon was that of a genuine midsummer day, and the sun blazed down with extraordinary fierceness on the high, unsheltered ledges of the mountain side along which the travellers made their way for hours. The scenery was magnificent; and when the winding of the road brought a breath of cool air or a stretch of shade, the leagues seemed to grow shorter, though it was late in the afternoon when the little town of Caraza was reached and the journey was ended for the day. It had been less than the usual day’s ride, only thirty miles, but the road had led first through the rocky bed of the river from Arque, and then along the sun-heated slopes beyond Capinota, which were particularly fatiguing during the hottest hours of a summer’s day, with the natural result that the following morning found the travellers particularly tired, making the continuation of the journey something of an effort. But at the usual hour they started, riding slowly for four hours, until a distant view of a camp of North American engineers near Quillacollo revived their drooping spirits, and cheerfulness increased with the anticipation of meeting fellow countrymen to whom they could talk in their own language, and of hearing news, perhaps, from their own dear land. The engineers, who were engaged in the survey of the new railway between Oruro and Cochabamba, had already received information of their approach, and appeared equally pleased to see friends from their country, showering every kind attention upon their delighted guests, who were made comfortable until the effects of fatigue disappeared and they were able to go on to Cochabamba, which they reached the next day.

From Oruro to Cochabamba, a distance of about one hundred and forty miles, a diligence carries passengers during the greater part of the year, and there are always accommodations for passengers at the inns of the various diligence stations. But on the long ride from Cochabamba to Sucre, these advantages do not exist, as there is now no coach system over this road, covering a distance of about three hundred miles. It was necessary before leaving Cochabamba to purchase beds and provisions for the trip. Army cots were bought, of the kind that can be rolled up in a neat bundle and strapped on the mule without requiring too much space. Then a shopping tour resulted in a nondescript collection of kitchen utensils, an alcohol stove, and a complete picnic assortment of canned eatables, nearly all from English, French, or German establishments, the United States being far behind in this market. After a pleasant week in this Garden City, enjoying the hospitality of the charming Cochabamba people, the small caravan was got ready for the trip to Sucre. The ladies started out under the brightest auspices, with a host of new friends to wish them a safe journey. It was quite a cavalcade, consisting of the two travellers and their arriero and servant, three saddle horses, two saddle mules, two pack mules, and a donkey for the small boy who went as helper to Palácios. The first day’s ride was through the fertile valley of Cochabamba to Arani, a town thirty miles away, which has a regular coach service to the city, uninterrupted the year round. All along this road are to be seen curious round-topped buildings, some used as dwellings, and others as barns. They resemble the saüba ant mounds of Brazil, on a larger scale, or the African bungalows, except that these Bolivian huts are of adobe, the well-known sun-dried brick generally used throughout Latin America. At Punata, near Arani, an old cemetery presents a remarkable appearance on account of the vaults being built in this form. The climate of Cochabamba and the vicinity is superb, and a day’s journey in this part of Bolivia is an unmixed delight. The second day’s ride from Arani to Ayapampa was a taste of what mountain climbing means, and the thirty miles between the two postas presented almost every variety of climate and weather. Breakfast tasted just as good eaten while sitting on a pile of stones by the roadside as if it had been taken at a perfectly served table in one’s own house, for the altitude and the bracing air gave a wonderful appetite, and the ascent had been a sharp one from six o’clock in the morning until noon. A heavy storm of rain and hail made particularly serviceable the gorgeous ponchos, or blankets, which had been purchased at Oruro for the trip, as raincoats did not meet the double requirement of warmth and waterproof security. Ayapampa is a brown, rather gloomy-looking cluster of houses, high among the mountains, the centre of a pastoral community. It has a well-built church and a good school, and some of the homes give evidences of comfort. The corregidor placed his house á la disposicion de las Señoras,—“at the disposal of the ladies,”—who made themselves comfortable for the night, and, with the assistance of Palácios and the servant, made experiments in amateur cooking, the initial steps toward acquiring a proficiency in culinary art which developed marvellously before the end of the journey. That evening’s effort was a dismal failure, and a large consignment of embryonic “flapjacks” went to feed the birds of the mountains, but ce n’est que le premier pas qui côute!

The next day broke the record of endurance in travelling, and will never be forgotten as the most fatiguing day of the whole trip. From Ayapampa to Mizque is estimated at fifty miles, but it was as long a fifty miles as precipices and rocky slopes and innumerable windings can measure. Starting at five o’clock in the morning and riding steadily until nine o’clock at night, with only a half-hour’s rest for breakfast, this long day’s experience made the weary equestrians decide that the fifty miles must have been measured “as the crow flies.” The early morning was clear and cold, and from Ayapampa the route lay down the valley, the descent being through a bank of clouds, which, when seen from above, looked like great billows of seafoam, then as one passed through them, the atmosphere was so foggy that the outstretched hand could hardly be distinguished, and from below the fleecy coverlet gradually rose and was lost to sight in the blue of the sky. The first half of the day passed quickly, as the marvellous beauty of the scenery absorbed attention. The majesty of the Cordilleras, rising peak above peak as far as the eye could see, and the wonderful depths of the green valleys far below, were impressive beyond description. And when the descent to the bed of the Mizque River began, the varied beauty of its winding course, as it spread out like a panorama to the view, was enchanting. But what a long time it took to descend the mountain to a river bed which seemed to be no more than half a mile away! Palácios was appealed to with increasing frequency as the hours passed, to know how many leagues still remained, and his cheery dos ó tres leguas no más, Señora,—“two or three leagues, no more, lady,”—grew dreadfully monotonous as daylight faded and flashes of lightning were the only illuminating beacons to show the way. Fortunately, the river was reached before dark; but it was pitch dark when the cavalcade rode into Mizque, and hardly a light glimmered in the town as the travellers dismounted in the plaza and were received by the courteous sub-prefect, Señor Ladislao Vasquez, who hastened to provide everything for their comfort, expressing his regret that an accident to the telegraph wires, caused by the recent storm, had prevented his receiving word of their coming.

Mizque is a survival of one of the most important towns of the Audiencia of Charcas, once the seat of a bishopric. It is a quiet borough, picturesque and attractive in many ways. A day was given to visiting its churches and gardens, as the river was too swollen by floods to permit of riding across. The next day was the last of the old year, and it was spent chiefly on the road between Mizque and Aiquile, the latter a thriving provincial capital, the sub-prefect of which, Señor Nicanor Arze, is a descendant of the famous Cochabamban who led the victorious forces in the battle of Aroma. Señor Arze and his wife made the coming of the New Year as bright as possible to the two strangers in their city, and Señor Arze accompanied the party as far as Novillera, which is one of the finest fruit farms in Bolivia. With their saddlebags full of oranges and lemons, the ladies left, after breakfast, for Quiroga, where accommodations were scant, but hospitality was generous, Señor Manuel Rodriguez giving up his store as a lodging for the unexpected arrivals. The only available space was on the counter, and here Palácios and the servants arranged the cots for the first night’s rest of the New Year. It was a holiday to be remembered, as all the town was celebrating with music and procession, the Indians, who were in fiesta after their own peculiar fashion, shouting and dancing. The commotion caused alarm to the travellers, which was quickly allayed by the reassuring announcement of the arriero, who kept guard, that all the noise meant nothing, or, as he expressed it, No importa nada, Señora.

All along the central valley, which is the route from Cochabamba to Sucre, the scenery is very like some parts of Mexico, where the cactus grows in profusion and the climate is semi-tropical. But the cactus and the pepper tree reach their maximum growth in this region, the cactus towering up in a single huge stem to the height of a small poplar, while the pepper tree branches out with wonderful vigor. Few signs of animal life are seen, except of the domestic variety, though there are many beautiful birds, and whole flocks of parrots and paroquets fly screaming overhead at short intervals all day long. Not many insects were seen, but a great deal of warning was given by friends to be prepared for a fierce specimen called vinchuca, a kind of vampire beetle, which, however, did not appear. Many magnificent country estates are scattered along the sides of the rich agricultural valley; and over the Rio Grande, which was crossed scores of times during one day, the beautiful Puente Arce has been swung to facilitate travel in this section of the country. One night, after a ride of thirty-six miles over the stony bed of the river, a choza, or Indian hut made of straw, appeared to view, and it was decided that a night’s rest under its scanty roof would be better than a too strenuous effort to reach the next posta; so, as soon as permission was granted, the cots were prepared, and the weary gringas, soothed by the moonlight streaming in and the sound of some distant postillón’s guitar, or charango, borne faintly on the night air, fell asleep, the arriero keeping guard with a revolver which never found any more serious use than waking the echoes. For experience has proved, in thousands of cases, that travellers are as safe in the remote districts of Bolivia as on a city street in the most carefully policed centres of the world. The chief trouble encountered was that of procuring forage, the season being the worst of the year for pasturage. It was of no use to urge the arriero to stay at some posta that seemed to offer special attractions in scenery or historical interest. No hay forrage—“There is no forage”—was the death knell to poetic dreams upon more than one occasion on that memorable ride.

The day of the arrival at Sucre broke clear and promising, and from the posta of Cantumolino the cavalcade set out at five o’clock in the morning to climb the almost perpendicular height that marks the approach to the famous city. A terrific storm came on, at first in great, splashing drops, then in a steadier downpour, and finally, as the level heights, called puna, were reached, the climax came in hailstones as large as marbles. The rain quickly drenched the ladies to the skin, though it did not dampen their enthusiasm. It was a glorious sight up there on the heights, from which the trickling rivulets could be seen leaving the crevices of the summits and forming into larger streams, which were quickly swollen into floods as they swept into the gullies of the lower cañon and were carried in a mighty torrent down to the bed of the now raging river. In half an hour it was all over, and the sun came out over the peaks and shone down into the quebradas, almost visibly checking the rushing waters. Sucre looked whiter than ever after such a drenching, and it was a most welcome sight after nine days’ journey, though every day had been enjoyable.

No one can ever get away from Sucre so soon as he has planned to do, no matter how urgent the case may be; and although it had been the intention to give only a few days to sightseeing in the capital, the time flew by so agreeably that at the end of two weeks it was with reluctance that good-byes were said. Hospitality was most cordial and genuine, even the problem of taking care of the animals, the eternal question of forrage, being solved by a distinguished Sucrense, Señor Urioste, brother of the Princess de Glorieta, who turned them out to graze on his own magnificent hacienda. Receptions, soirées, picnics, and a grand ball which was marked by as much éclat as if it had taken place in a European capital, were features of the entertainment provided for the visitors, who, on leaving, were escorted to the first posta by the distinguished prefect, Dr. Julio La Faye, and a party of leading Sucrenses, who treated them to a sumptuous breakfast in despedida. It was late before the next posta was reached, at the Puente Sucre, which crosses the Pilcomayo River, but from this point to Potosí was only three days’ riding, and the roads, though steep and narrow, were in no place dangerous. From the Puente Sucre the ladies were accompanied for several leagues by the courteous official, Señor Rodriguez, and early in the afternoon the day’s ride ended at Retiro. One of the temporary attachés of the expedition, who has not been described before because he attracted little attention, was the postillón. This unique type serves from one posta to another only, and it is chiefly in the mountains that his personality becomes a picturesque feature of the landscape. In the valleys he is an uninteresting creature who runs his fifty or sixty miles a day in a plodding, expressionless sort of way, but on the uplands the species is different. He is a poem in rags and patches, a symphony in prismatic ensemble, with an individuality as striking as quaintness can make it. He swings his silver-tipped horn over his shoulder and holds his beloved charango close to his heart, even when he thrums on it the strange, monotonous tristes which constitute the musical masterpieces of his race. He is silent, yet eloquent in his silence, as the garrulous white man seldom is with all his words. His bushy, but straight, black hair makes a thick fringe under the knitted cap which he pulls down over his ears, and his black eyes are wide open, though not always in innocent questioning. He is sometimes a shrewd schemer. The postillón, who trotted on ahead to herald the travellers’ arrival at Conapaya, vigorously blowing his silver-tipped horn, caused a panic by selecting as their breakfast room at the tambo, or inn, an apartment in which the ladies found themselves face to face with a case of smallpox at the worst stage of the disease. The escape from the dangerous situation was sudden and somewhat dramatic; but as a physician who was encountered on the road to Potosí the next day explained, the great altitude practically prevents contagion, and the disease had never been known to exist except in sporadic cases, usually brought from a lower district. This did not entirely allay anxiety, however, and upon arriving at Potosí the doctor was called in to vaccinate the entire party. Palácios balked and refused to be bothered with it, and the postillón could not be found, but the small helper was made an unwilling victim.

Naturally there was much to see in the wonderful old city of Potosí, and it was only after several days that the enthusiastic visitors to the Villa Imperial could make up their minds to go on. Here as elsewhere hospitality was liberally shown, and time was made to pass very pleasantly in the company of charming new friends. Señor Juan Ugarteche and his beautiful wife, whose father is Señor Bebin, one of the richest mine owners of Bolivia, were most attentive, as were many others.

The route from Potosí to Challapata, the coach road terminus on the Antofagasta and Oruro Railway, is said to be better than that from Sucre to Challapata, and yet it seems hard to believe that any road could present more difficulties to the equestrian than the former. The first day’s riding offered few inconveniences except that a flood made the river impassable in the neighborhood of the Mendieta placer mines, and it was necessary to wait patiently till the river “passed.” An expression which sounds strange to the foreigner is that of the river’s “arriving” and “passing.” “I think we can get to the next posta before the river arrives,” the arriero would say, and at first the idea of this transient passenger was a source of great amusement. But as the rivers depend for their existence on the rains that flood the mountain crevices, it can easily be understood that their “arrival” is entirely a passing event. A small stream sometimes remains to mark their turbulent course, but even this is not a certainty the year round. A great deal of work has been done to keep the roads passable. A few leagues out of Potosí the Puente del Diablo, between Yocalla and Tarapaya, was pointed out by Palácios as a wonderful piece of construction done by his Satanic majesty on a wager for the soul of a belated lover who was unable to cross the stream to save his sweetheart from marriage with another, and who bargained to give his soul if the devil would build the bridge before the cock crew in the morning. When the work was nearly done the young man repented of his wicked wager and prayed to the Virgin to save him from the awful sin he was committing. His prayer was heard, and the cock crew before the last stone was placed in the arch. He leaped across the nearly completed bridge, and while the devil cursed the bad luck that had befallen his enterprise, the young man received the blessing of the Church on his happy marriage with the fair lady of his choice.

On every highway of the Cordillera great droves of llamas may be seen, carrying their small loads to and from the mines. One morning a thousand of these stately freight bearers were counted, in droves averaging a hundred each. Most of them were carrying blocks of tin to Challapata, or merchandise from that city to Potosí. The blocks weighed twenty-five pounds, and each llama carried two of them. An average-sized llama will carry from fifty to sixty pounds, and the larger animals eighty and in rare cases a hundred pounds. But the llama knows his loading capacity, and absolutely refuses to have one ounce extra put on his back. If such an insult is offered him, he sits down in the road until the offending load is removed. Beating and coaxing will not get him to his feet again, and sometimes, even after the load is taken off, he refuses to continue the journey. The other llamas will not go on without him, and it is a serious question with his Indian driver whether to carry the llama until he will agree to walk, or to kill him, so that the caravan can go on with its freight. The llama travels only from nine to ten miles a day, keeping a slow majestic pace, with his head held high in the air, turning it from one side to the other as objects of interest attract his attention. He is a superb-looking creature, sometimes of gorgeous coloring, when his coat has been dyed red, yellow, or green to match his master’s, and bright-hued ribbons have been tied through holes pierced in the tips of his long, erect ears. The Indians believe the llama has the soul of a departed Inca, which accounts for his pride. An Indian who owns a drove of llamas is independently rich. They find their own forage, their wool supplies him with clothing, their bones make his utensils, their meat is food for him in an emergency, his sandals are made of their hide, and llama dung furnishes the fuel with which he cooks his food. The llama chews the cud, and his weapon in anger or fear is spitting at the offender. His wool makes durable ponchos, which the Indians weave on very primitive looms.

As the journey approached its close, the roads seemed to grow steeper and the postas further apart. At times it appeared to be a question whether the mules were walking on their feet, or picking their way down the almost perpendicular slopes on their noses, and then, a sudden ascent would reverse appearances, and one could not help wondering how long the mules could preserve their equilibrium with the scant hold their hind feet had secured on the edge of the precipice, while the fore feet floundered around in what seemed an everlasting effort to get a solid base. Chasms opened on one side and rocky ledges crowded on the other, while nothing was to be seen but illimitable space ahead, and there was no way of going back. These were features of the trip which were not of unmixed enjoyment, but not a single accident occurred on the entire journey; and though part of it, between Leñas and Vilcapugio, was travelled at an altitude of over sixteen thousand feet, where the cold was intense at night, the road often being covered with snow in the morning, not a moment’s suffering was felt, and every day brought new diversion. One of the most entertaining experiences was the arrival at Tolapalca, near Vilcapugio, on an Indian feast day. The patio of the posta was filled with a gay crowd in bright green, yellow, red, and blue ponchos, all barefooted, even at that high altitude, nearly all the women carrying babies swung on their backs. They had musicians whose instruments were primitive flutes, called quenas, horns, charangos, and drums, and who at frequent intervals marched two by two around the patio and into the barroom, where chicha flowed like water. Men, women, and children, when drinking, first spilled some of the liquor on the ground, as an offering to Mother Earth, or, according to some authorities, to propitiate the invisible spirits supposed to be present upon all occasions; and after each libation they would perform the ceremony of walking across the patio, two by two, and kneeling upon the ground at every three steps to kiss the donor of all their blessings. As their chicha is made from maize, their obeisance is a recognition of the beneficent source which provides them with it. Even in the religious fiestas of Copacabana, the Indians observe many of their primitive ceremonies, while their costumes suggest a strange mixture of pagan with Christian training. The arrival of the travellers appeared to make not the slightest difference to them, and they hardly glanced at the newcomers.

An amusing process in all the smaller postas of the remote country districts was the presentation of the official letter from the government to the alcalde of the place, which was necessary in order to secure the best attentions. Many of these country authorities speak only the Aymará or Quichua languages; and as Palácios is acquainted with both, he had to interpret the contents of the mysterious document, which he usually did with florid emphasis. Papel! Gobierno! were magic words with which to begin his oratorical effort; and it was a fascinating sight to see the alcalde in his gorgeous poncho, with his silver-topped and tasselled vara, or staff of office, held tightly in one hand, peering earnestly into the pages of a document which apparently meant much or little to him according to the arriero’s eloquence. But these authorities are excellent judges of human nature, and are not easily deceived. They saw that the strangers were entitled to consideration, and every possible facility was granted at a reasonable price, every attention was shown, and the alcalde took leave of his visitors upon every occasion with a dignity and simplicity that were altogether charming. The alcalde rules his little canton well, but he cannot always prevent abuses, the Indians of the plateau being shrewd and resourceful. A laughable incident occurred to prove that at least they are not so stupid as some foreigners believe. It was necessary to buy bread, and the arriero had been sent to get it, in the form of pancitos, as the little loaves are called. After laying them on the table, he went to unload the mules; and in the meantime a poor, old Indian woman appeared, with several children clinging to her skirts, to beg bread. All the pancitos were poured into her lap, and the arriero was called to buy more. Seeing the beggar, his face relaxed in a broad grin, in appreciation of the joke, as he exclaimed: “But, Señora, that’s the woman who sold me the pancitos!” It was a transaction that would have done credit to the sharp methods of Seven Dials! As a type of his class, the arriero himself was an interesting as well as an amusing study throughout the trip. He had a ready solution for every difficulty. The promptness with which he disposed of a tired or lazy mule and secured a fine specimen to replace it, the astonishing facility with which he obtained favors from the most obdurate officials in the little postas, and the real genius he displayed in getting the willing services of passing arrieros and postillóns in loading and unloading his cargo were proofs that under more favorable circumstances Palácios might have been a great politician or financial magnate. He was a born diplomat; and although it was sometimes annoying to find that, after having listened with polite attention to a suggestion, to which he invariably responded with Si Señora,—“Yes, madam,”—he continued to carry out his own plans in his own way, answering each insisting demand with a reassuring No tenga cuidado, Señora, which meant: “Don’t give yourself any uneasiness, madam,” experience proved that his judgment was always correct; so suggestions became fewer as the journey proceeded, and were finally given up altogether.

When the travellers entered the railroad town of Challapata, at the end of their ride from Potosí, on February 1, 1906, much sunburned in spite of masks, veils, and umbrellas, but as happy and optimistic as when they started from Oruro nearly two months before, they were enthusiastic in praise of the great country, its wonderful climate and abundant resources, and expressed their opinion that it offers extraordinary attractions to the tourist as well as to the matter-of-fact investor. The trip was not ended until a visit had been paid to the mines of Huanchaca, after which the diligence was again taken for the final journey from Oruro to La Paz, though it required three days this time, on account of the bad roads and the poor condition of the animals. The heights above La Paz were a welcome sight as they appeared early in the afternoon of the third day from Oruro, and at four o’clock the ladies alighted at the carretera station of Challapampa. At a few minutes after five they presented their cards at the ministerio of justice and instruction to fulfil the first obligation upon their return, that of thanking President Montes, through Señor Saracho, for the many courtesies received from government officials throughout Bolivia. An interview was accorded them immediately, during which Señor Saracho expressed great satisfaction over the happy termination of this long journey.

All the fatigue, and the few unpleasant experiences of the thousand-mile trip through Bolivia and the twenty-four days’ ride in the saddle, were quickly forgotten in the cordial reception which was given the two ladies on their return to La Paz. Mr. Sorsby was complimentary in his praises of the courage and determination of his countrywomen, and his excellency the president, on whom they called to pay their respects before leaving this interesting country, said to them at parting: “In Bolivia we hear much of the remarkable energy and courage of the North American woman, and you have shown us a wonderful example of it.”