By one o’clock we found ourselves on a small plain (ele. 4500 ft.) in dense woods surrounded by tree ferns, vines, and tangled thickets, through which it was impossible to see for more than a few feet.  Here Guzman told us we must stop and rest a while, as we were now in the territory of los salvajes, the savage Indians who acknowledged only the rule of Saavedra and resented all intrusion.  Guzman did not seem to be particularly afraid, but said that we ought to send ahead one of our carriers, to warn the savages that we were coming on a friendly mission and were not in search of rubber gatherers; otherwise they might attack us, or run away and disappear into the jungle.  He said we should never be able to find the ruins without their help.  The carrier who was selected to go ahead did not relish his task.  Leaving his pack behind, he proceeded very quietly and cautiously along the trail and was lost to view almost immediately.  There followed an exciting half-hour while we waited, wondering what attitude the savages would take toward us, and trying to picture to ourselves the mighty potentate, Saavedra, who had been described as sitting in the midst of savage luxury, “surrounded by fifty servants,” and directing his myrmidons to checkmate our desires to visit the Inca city on the “pampa of ghosts.”

Suddenly, we were startled by the crackling of twigs and the sound of a man running.  We instinctively held our rifles a little tighter in readiness for whatever might befall—­when there burst out of the woods a pleasant-faced young Peruvian, quite conventionally clad, who had come in haste from Saavedra, his father, to extend to us a most cordial welcome!  It seemed scarcely credible, but a glance at his face showed that there was no ambush in store for us.  It was with a sigh of relief that we realized there was to be no shower of poisoned arrows from the impenetrable thickets.  Gathering up our packs, we continued along the jungle trail, through woods which gradually became higher, deeper, and darker, until presently we saw sunlight ahead and, to our intense astonishment, the bright green of waving sugar cane.  A few moments of walking through the cane fields found us at a large comfortable hut, welcomed very simply and modestly by Saavedra himself.  A more pleasant and peaceable little man it was never my good fortune to meet.  We looked furtively around for his fifty savage servants, but all we saw was his good-natured Indian wife, three or four small children, and a wild-eyed maid-of-all-work, evidently the only savage present.  Saavedra said some called this place “Jesus Maria” because they were so surprised when they saw it.