The Province of Mendoza is rich in mineral springs due to the volcanic Andes. The most famous of these springs is that of Villavicencio about sixty miles northwest of the capital in the fastnesses of the mountains. It was through here that San Martin marched his army on his way to Chile. He came out at the point where the railroad now lies at the farm of Uspallata. The Mendoza agents of the Argentine Brewery have bought the spring and transport its waters in bulk to Mendoza where they bottle it.

To the north of the Province of Mendoza lies the Province of San Juan with an area of 33,715 square miles. It together with Mendoza and San Luis, formerly formed the Province of Cuyo which belonged to that part of the Spanish dependencies that were governed from Santiago, Chile. In character, San Juan is much like Mendoza although it has less fertile lands. This is due to the fact that while Mendoza has three rivers which serve to irrigate it, San Juan has but one. San Juan is noted for the superior quality of its figs which here thrive to perfection. Its capital city is also named San Juan. It is ninety-eight miles north of the city of Mendoza and is reached by the Buenos Aires Pacific Railway which here has its terminus. It is a small town of 14,595 inhabitants with shady streets and of ancient appearance. Most of its houses are of adobe. It is also the seat of the bishopric of Cuyó. The bishop is José Américo Orzali who has held this post since 1912.

Leaving Mendoza westward, the narrow gauge Transandine Railway runs parallel to the canal of the Mendoza River and crosses it twice. Several kilometers out, the snow-capped peaks of the Andes are visible, among them Aconcagua, South America's highest mountain and extinct volcano in Argentina near the Chilean line. This great height of twenty-four thousand feet was first ascended by E. A. Fitz Gerald after several efforts, but since then it has been scaled several times, there being guides at Puente del Inca to take mountain climbers to the summit.

Waiting for the Train at Cacheuta

Twenty miles from Mendoza, we enter the defile of the Mendoza River, and are in the midst of the Andes. I left the train at Cacheuta, where at that thermal resort, I put in forty-eight hours. There are hot springs at Cacheuta and a small establishment was built as they were found to contain qualities beneficial for rheumatism and kindred ailments. The trade of the place increased until it became necessary to drill holes into the ravine bottom to pump the hot water out for baths. The patient is apt to get worse for the first five days after the beginning of this treatment, but then gets better and improves until the course is completed. The Gran Hotel Cacheuta is a sumptuous and luxurious affair built on the style of which we are erroneously led to believe is Cliff Dweller architecture like the Hotel El Tovar at the Grand Canyon of the Colorado. I was not long there before I found out that the main attraction of Cacheuta was not the baths but instead roulette and nickel-in-the-slot machines. The first mentioned game was in full swing; a separate building was given over to that form of joy producer. Chips cost a peso apiece, except for the three dozen, red and black, and odd and even, where a five-peso chip must be thrown on the green cloth. Little girls not more than twelve years old watch their beplumed and besapphired mammas win or lose. Long-robed priests wander back and forth, occasionally placing a bet where their holy inclination tells them to; vermouth glass in hand, they are seen in the barroom to walk up to the products of Mills and of Caille and to the tune of a twenty-centavo piece watch for their luck. In the way of scenery and other attractions besides the bath there is nothing at Cacheuta to divert one's time. It is a society place for gambling and a place for rest for the tired business man. It is wonderful, however, to see what man has done in a place not favored by nature. The barren mountains obscure the view in all directions; the sandy soil can bear no vegetation. Here and there are to be seen the corrugated iron huts of the railroad workmen in front of whose doors their numerous brown-skinned offspring are playing. Through the whole scene runs the turbulent Mendoza River, muddy with silt and sand.

On the Terrace at Cacheuta