cause suffering.  Then, for generations, thoughtless landlords, backed by local authority, forced the Indians to work without suitably recompensing them at the end of their labors or even pretending to carry out promises and wage agreements.  The peons learned that it was unwise to perform any labor without first having received a considerable portion of their pay.  When once they accepted money, however, their own custom and the law of the land provided that they must carry out their obligations.  Failure to do so meant legal punishment.

Consequently, when an unfortunate Pampaconas Indian found he had a dollar in his hand, he bemoaned his fate, but realized that service was inevitable.  In vain did he plead that he was “busy,” that his “crops needed attention,” that his “family could not spare him,” that “he lacked food for a journey.”  Condore and Mogrovejo were accustomed to all varieties of excuses.  They succeeded in “engaging” half a dozen carriers.  Before dark we reached the village of Pampaconas, a few small huts scattered over grassy hillsides, at an elevation of 10,000 feet.

In the notes of one of the military advisers of Viceroy Francisco de Toledo is a reference to Pampaconas as a “high, cold place.”  This is correct.  Nevertheless, I doubt if the present village is the Pampaconas mentioned in the documents of Garcia’s day as being “an important town of the Incas.”  There are no ruins hereabouts.  The huts of Pampaconas were newly built of stone and mud, and thatched with grass.  They were occupied by a group of sturdy mountain Indians, who enjoyed unusual freedom from official or other interference and a good place in which to raise sheep and cultivate potatoes, on the very edge of the dense forest.  We found that there was some excitement in the village because on the previous night a jaguar, or possibly a cougar, had come out of the forest, attacked, killed, and dragged off one of the village ponies.

We were conducted to the dwelling of a stocky, well-built Indian named Guzman, the most reliable man in the village, who had been selected to be the head of the party of carriers that was to accompany us to Conservidayoc.  Guzman had some Spanish blood in his veins, although he did not boast of it.  With his wife and six children he occupied one of the best huts.  A fire in one corner frequently filled it with acrid smoke.  It was very small and had no windows.  At one end was a loft where family treasures could be kept dry and reasonably safe from molestation.  Piles of sheep skins were arranged for visitors to sit upon.  Three or four rude niches in the walls served in lieu of shelves and tables.  The floor of well-trodden clay was damp.  Three mongrel dogs and a flea-bitten cat were welcome to share the narrow space with the family and their visitors.  A dozen hogs entered stealthily and tried to avoid attention by putting a muffler on involuntary grunts.  They did not succeed and were violently ejected by