The people of Antabamba are both shepherds and farmers. The elevation is 12,000 feet (3,658 m.), too high and exposed for anything more than potatoes. Here is an Indian population pure-blooded, and in other respects, too, but little altered from its original condition. There is almost no communication with the outside world. A deep canyon fronts the town and a lofty mountain range forms the background.
At nightfall, one after another, the Indians came in from the field and doffed their caps as they passed our door. Finally came the “Teniente Gobernador,” or Lieutenant Governor. He had only a slight strain of white blood. His bearing was that of a sneak, and he confirmed this impression by his frank disdain for his full-blooded townsmen. “How ragged and ugly they are! You people must find them very stupid,” etc. When he found that we had little interest in his remarks, he asked us if we had ever seen Lima. We replied that we had, whereupon he said, “Do you see the gilded cross above the church yonder? I brought that on muleback all the way from Lima! Think of it! These ignorant people have never seen Lima!” His whole manner as he drew himself up and hit his breast was intended to make us think that he was vastly superior to his neighbors. The sequel shows that our first estimate of him was correct.
We made our arrangements with the Governor and departed. To inspire confidence, and at the Governor’s urgent request, we had paid in advance for our four Indians and our fresh beasts—and at double the usual rates, for it was still winter in the Cordillera. They were to stay with us until we reached Cotahuasi, in the next Department beyond the continental divide, where a fresh outfit could be secured. The Lieutenant Governor accompanied us to keep the party together. They appeared to need it. Like our Indian peons at Lambrama the week before, these had been taken from the village jail and represented the scum of the town. As usual they behaved well the first day. On the second night we reached the Alpine country where the vegetation is very scanty and camped at the only spot that offered fuel and water. The elevation was 16,000, and here we had the lowest temperature of the whole journey, +6° F. (-14.4° C.). Ice covered the brook near camp as soon as the sun went down and all night long the wind blew down from the lofty Cordillera above us, bringing flurries of snow and tormenting our unprotected beasts. It seemed to me doubtful if our Indians would remain. I discussed with the other members of the party the desirability of chaining the peons to the tent pole, but this appeared so extreme a measure that we abandoned the idea after warning the Teniente that he must not let them escape.
At daybreak I was alarmed at the unusual stillness about camp. A glance showed that half our hobbled beasts had drifted back toward Antabamba and no doubt were now miles away. The four Indian peons had left also, and their tracks, half buried by the last snowfall, showed that they had left hours before and that it was useless to try to overtake them. Furthermore we were making a topographic map across the Cordillera, and, in view of the likelihood of snow blockading the 17,600-foot (5,360 m.) pass which we had to cross, the work ought not to be delayed. With all these disturbing conditions to meet, and suffering acutely from mountain sickness, I could scarcely be expected to deal gently with our official. I drew out the sleeping Teniente and set him on his feet. To my inquiry as to the whereabouts of the Indians that he had promised to guard, he blinked uncertainly, and after a stupid “Quien sabe?” peered under the cover of a sheepskin near by as if the peons had been transformed into insects and had taken refuge under a blade of grass. I ordered him to get breakfast and after that to take upon his back the instruments that two men had carried up to that time, and accompany the topographer. Thus loaded, the Lieutenant Governor of Antabamba set out on foot a little ahead of the party. Hendriksen, the topographer, directed him to a 17,000-foot peak near camp, one of the highest stations occupied in the traverse. When the topographer reached the summit the instruments were there but the Teniente had fled. Hendriksen rapidly followed the tracks down over the steep snow-covered wall of a deeply recessed cirque, but after a half-hour’s search could not get sight of the runaway, whereupon he returned to his station and took his observations, reaching camp in the early afternoon.
In the meantime I had intercepted two Indians who had come from Cotahuasi driving a llama train loaded with corn. They held a long conversation at the top of the pass above camp and at first edged suspiciously away. But the rough ground turned them back into the trail and at last they came timidly along. They pretended not to understand Spanish and protested vigorously that they had to keep on with their llamas. I thought from the belligerent attitude of the older, which grew rapidly more threatening as he saw that I was alone, that I was in for trouble, but when I drew my revolver he quickly obeyed the order to sit down to breakfast, which consisted of soup, meat, and army biscuits. I also gave them coca and cigarettes, the two most desirable gifts one can make to a plateau Indian, and thereupon I thought I had gained their friendship, for they at last talked with me in broken Spanish. The older one now explained that he must at all hazards reach Matará by nightfall, but he would be glad to leave his son to help us. I agreed, and he set out forthwith. The arriero (muleteer) had now returned with the lost mules and with the assistance of the Indian we soon struck camp and loaded our mules. I cautioned the arriero to keep close watch of the Indian, for at one time I had caught on his face an expression of hatred more intense than I had ever seen before. The plateau Indian of South America is usually so stupid and docile that the unexpectedly venomous look of the man after our friendly conversation and my good treatment alarmed me. At the last moment, and when our backs were turned, our Indian, under the screen of the packs, slipped away from us. The arriero called out to know where he had gone. It took us but a few moments to gain the top of a hill that commanded the valley. Fully a half-mile away and almost indistinguishable against the brown of the valley floor was our late assistant, running like a deer. No mule could follow over that broken ground at an elevation of 16,000 feet, and so he escaped.
Fortunately that afternoon we passed a half-grown boy riding back toward Antabamba and he promised to hand the Governor a note in Spanish, penciled on a leaf of my traverse book. I dropped all the polite phrases that are usually employed and wrote as follows:
“Señor Gobernador:
“Your Indians have escaped, likewise the Lieutenant Governor. They have taken two beasts. In the name of the Prefect of Abancay, I ask you immediately to bring a fresh supply of men and animals. We shall encamp near the first pass, three days west of Antabamba, until you come.”
We were now without Indians to carry the instruments, which had therefore to be strapped to the mules. Without guides we started westward along the trail. At the next pass the topographer rode to the summit of a bluff and asked which of the two trails I intended to follow. Just then a solitary Indian passed and I shouted back that I would engage the Indian and precede the party, and he could tell from my course at the fork of the trail how to direct his map and where to gain camp at nightfall. But the Indian refused to go with us. All my threatening was useless and I had to force myself to beat him into submission with my quirt. Several repetitions on the way, when he stubbornly refused to go further, kept our guide with us until we reached a camp site. I had offered him a week’s pay for two hours’ work, and had put coca and cigarettes into his hands. When these failed I had to resort to force. Now that he was about to leave I gave him double the amount I had promised him. He could scarcely believe his eyes. He rushed up to the side of my mule, and reaching around my waist embraced me and thanked me again and again. The plateau Indian is so often waylaid in the mountains and impressed for service, then turned loose without pay or actually robbed, that a promise to pay holds no attraction for him. I had up to the last moment resembled this class of white. He was astonished to find that I really meant to pay him well.
Then he set out upon the return, faithfully delivering my note to the topographer about the course of the trail and the position of the camp. He had twelve miles to go to the first mountain hut, so that he could not have traveled less than that distance to reach shelter. The next morning a mantle of snow covered everything, yet when I pushed back the tent flap there stood my scantily clad Indian of the night before, shivering, with sandaled feet in the snow, saying that he had come back to work for me!