a boy with a whip; only to return again and again, each time to be driven out as before, squealing loudly.  Notwithstanding these interruptions, we carried on a most interesting conversation with Guzman.  He had been to Conservidayoc and had himself actually seen ruins at Espiritu Pampa.  At last the mythical “Pampa of Ghosts” began to take on in our minds an aspect of reality, even though we were careful to remind ourselves that another very trustworthy man had said he had seen ruins “finer than Ollantaytambo” near Huadquina.  Guzman did not seem to dread Conservidayoc as much as the other Indians, only one of whom had ever been there.  To cheer them up we purchased a fat sheep, for which we paid fifty cents.  Guzman immediately butchered it in preparation for the journey.  Although it was August and the middle of the dry season, rain began to fall early in the afternoon.  Sergeant Carrasco arrived after dark with our pack animals, but, missing the trail as he neared Guzman’s place, one of the mules stepped into a bog and was extracted only with considerable difficulty.

We decided to pitch our small pyramidal tent on a fairly well-drained bit of turf not far from Guzman’s little hut.  In the evening, after we had had a long talk with the Indians, we came back through the rain to our comfortable little tent, only to hear various and sundry grunts emerging therefrom.  We found that during our absence a large sow and six fat young pigs, unable to settle down comfortably at the Guzman hearth, had decided that our tent was much the driest available place on the mountain side and that our blankets made a particularly attractive bed.  They had considerable difficulty in getting out of the small door as fast as they wished.  Nevertheless, the pouring rain and the memory of comfortable blankets caused the pigs to return at intervals.  As we were starting to enjoy our first nap, Guzman, with hospitable intent, sent us two bowls of steaming soup, which at first glance seemed to contain various sizes of white macaroni—­a dish of which one of us was particularly fond.  The white hollow cylinders proved to be extraordinarily tough, not the usual kind of macaroni.  As a matter of fact, we learned that the evening meal which Guzman’s wife had prepared for her guests was made chiefly of sheep’s entrails!

Rain continued without intermission during the whole of a very cold and dreary night.  Our tent, which had never been wet before, leaked badly; the only part which seemed to be thoroughly waterproof was the floor.  As day dawned we found ourselves to be lying in puddles of water.  Everything was soaked.  Furthermore, rain was still failing.  While we were discussing the situation and wondering what we should cook for breakfast, the faithful Guzman heard our voices and immediately sent us two more bowls of hot soup, which were this time more welcome, even though among the bountiful corn, beans, and potatoes we came unexpectedly upon fragments of the teeth and jaws of the sheep.  Evidently in Pampaconas nothing is wasted.