a short rise, and to our surprise and chagrin found ourselves on the rim of a steep-walled canyon, 1500 feet deep, which cut right across in front of the mountain and lay between us and its higher slopes.  After the mules had rested, the guide now decided to turn to the left instead of going straight toward the mountain.  A dispute ensued as to how much he knew, even about the foot of Coropuna.  He denied that there were any huts whatever in the canyon.  “Abandonado; despoblado; desierto.”  “A waste; a solitude; a wilderness.”  So he described it.  Had he been there?  “No, Senor.”  Luckily we had been able to make out from the rim of the canyon two or three huts near a little stream.  As there was no question that we ought to get to the snow line as soon as possible, we decided to dispense with the services of so well-informed a “guide,” and make such way as we could alone.  The altitude of the rim of the canyon was 16,000 feet; the mules showed signs of acute distress from mountain sickness.  The arrieros began to complain loudly, but did what they could to relieve the mules by punching holes in their ears; the theory being that bloodletting is a good thing for soroche.  As soon as the timid arrieros reached a point where they could see down into the canyon, they spotted some patches of green pasture, cheered up a bit, and even smiled over the dismal ignorance of the “guide.”  Soon we found a trail which led to the huts.

Near the huts was a taciturn Indian woman, who refused to furnish us with either fuel or forage, although we tried to pay in advance and offered her silver.  Nevertheless, we proceeded to pitch our tents and took advantage of the sheltering stone wall of her corral for our camp fire.  After peace had settled down and it became perfectly evident that we were harmless, the door of one of the huts opened and an Indian man appeared.  Doubtless the cause of his disappearance before our arrival had been the easily discernible presence in our midst of the brass buttons of Corporal Gamarra.  Possibly he who had selected this remote corner of the wilderness for his abode had a guilty conscience and at the sight of a gendarme decided that he had better hide at once.  More probably, however, he feared the visit of a recruiting party, since it is quite likely that he had not served his legal term of military service.  At all events, when his wife discovered that we were not looking for her man, she allowed his curiosity to overcome his fears.  We found that the Indians kept a few llamas.  They also made crude pottery, firing it with straw and llama dung.  They lived almost entirely on gruel made from chuno, frozen bitter potatoes.  Little else than potatoes will grow at 14,000 feet above the sea.  For neighbors the Indians had a solitary old man, who lived half a mile up nearer the glaciers, and a small family, a mile and a half down the valley.