We left Bartolo early the next morning. The dust had been laid by thunder-showers in the night and the crisp mountain air was most refreshing. Occasionally we passed the ruins of a rude stone cairn erected in colonial days to measure the leagues between Sucre and Potosí. Fermin had never been beyond Potosí, so we were obliged to fall back upon the service of guides or postillons from here on. They cannot be taken farther than from one poste to another, generally six leagues or twenty miles. They receive a regular tariff of four cents per league, and a small gratuity besides.
For this munificent sum of a little over a cent a mile, they are supposed to assist in catching and saddling the animals, to hold the packs while they are being loaded, and then to run beside the trotting pack-animals, ready to help if the loads become loosened, constantly at hand, a willing slave to the arriero and a guide to the traveller. Generally lightly clad with the regulation Quichua small clothes, that look as though made of meal-sacks, they march or lope along cheerily, now and then blowing lustily on an ox-horn, which they carry slung over the shoulder as a badge of their position.
The postillons will not budge unless their tariff is paid in advance, for they have learned through centuries of experience that while the traveller with a stout whip, mounted on a good animal, with the authority of the government at his back, can force them to go the required distance after the fee has been paid, they have no means whatever of forcing him to pay after he has arrived at his destination and has no further need of their services. The first postilion we had, recognizing the fact that our arriero was a stranger in this part of the country and that we were foreigners, ran far ahead of the little caravan, and would have disappeared among the thorny shrubs of the arid hillside had we not galloped after him and threateningly ordered him to return to his post at the heels of the mules. The next one proved to be a good fellow and did his work well, notwithstanding the dust which was his portion during most of the day.
This morning we passed a field in which alpacas that looked like overgrown woolly dogs were feeding. As the sparse foliage increased, we met numerous flocks of sheep watched over by diminutive children in shawls and ponchos who ran away and hid behind rocks when they saw us coming.
About the middle of the morning we came to the edge of a plateau and enjoyed a wonderful view of fertile valleys, whose waters flow rapidly down to the Pilcomayo. It seemed difficult to realize that a Bolivian landscape could have any other color than brown. Our descent was now rapid, and the temperature grew warmer except when we encountered a small hail-storm.
After passing the scene of a battle in the unsuccessful revolution of General Camacho, a militant politician with whom Bolivia had considerable difficulty in the ’90’s, we stopped for lunch at a tumbled-down hostelry called Quebrada Honda, in honor of a deep little valley whose steep sides rise abruptly from a roaring mountain torrent. Squatting on the ground in front of the tambo was a Quichua woman weaving a bright-colored poncho.
In the afternoon we passed some primitive dwellings which consisted of huge flat boulders under which excavations had been made leaving them partially supported by piles of stones at the corners. The method did not seem to have proved successful, for in most cases, the roof, too heavy for the supports, was lying on the ground.
About five o’clock we arrived at the poste of Pampa Tambo. We found a postilion in charge; the “master of the poste was absent” as usual. The postilion decided to charge us three times the regular rate for forage and Fermin protested vigorously, but in vain. Although it was a matter of only a dollar or so, I decided to see whether my letter from the Prefect of Potosí would make any difference with his attitude toward us. The sight of the official seal, and an emphatic threat that he would get himself into trouble if he persisted in his outrageous demands, gradually brought him to lower the price until it came within two or three cents of the regular tariff.
Hardly had we settled the dispute when a violent thunder-storm came up. This was the last day of November and the rainy season was beginning. From now on we had showers nearly every afternoon.