“And when I come
Home to my cot
At evening,
Illumined by the setting sun,
Let me a woman see like this,
Her infant in her arms!”
After leaving Los Pavitos, we still had a three-hours ride ahead of us before reaching Las Palmas, where we purposed stopping for the night. Fortunately, it had ceased raining and our trail was now in a much better condition than it had been since leaving Barrancas.
It contributed much to our comfort, too, that we were able to complete our day’s journey under sun-proof clouds. So far we had not suffered the slightest inconvenience from the exaggerated heat of the plains. Some of our Ciudad Bolivar friends had told us that the heat of the llanos was so intense that it would be necessary, if we would avoid sunstroke, to travel by night. As a matter of fact, the temperature was never above 80° F. During the greater part of the time it was several degrees below this figure. Besides, to attempt to cross the llanos in the rainy season, during the pitch-dark nights that usually prevail, would be like trying to find one’s way through a Cimmerian bog. Not even the most experienced vaqueano would venture on such a foolhardy journey.
We arrived at Las Palmas just as the rays of the setting sun were beginning to throw a veil of crimson and purple over the distant summits of the Cordilleras. Here we met with the same cordial reception as elsewhere on the llanos. As, however, there was not room enough in the small choza and enramada for our entire party, we had recourse to our portable tent, which we always had with us for such emergencies. When we enquired of our host what he could offer us for comida, he sadly replied he had nothing but bananas, which were at our disposition. There were no eggs or chickens, and, although there were herds of cattle all around us, it was quite impossible to get a draught of milk. The cows would not permit anyone to milk them.