In the corner of one of the dilapidated dwellings was a heap of stones, surmounted by a tiny cross, made of rough twigs. The guides looked serious as we passed it, and in answer to my questioning look, the don told the following story:—
“When a Chileno loves, he loves with a passion so deep and strong that honor, friends, and fortune are secondary in his estimation to her who has thrown around him the network of her affections. A youth not long since came from Chili to visit a relative on the Argentine side of the Cordillera. His stay was protracted, for he had met with a beautiful maiden, far lovelier than those of his native country; and when he left, it was only to receive the permission of his friends to return again, and claim her as his own.
“He crossed these mountains to Chili; but the fierce temporales from the south had commenced before he reached the main range on his return, where the risk is greater in effecting a passage at such a season than on any other part of the road.
“He had with him experienced guides, and a favorite mule carried his wedding garments and the presents that he intended to offer his future bride. On the Cumbre pass, at an elevation of twelve thousand feet, a temporal struck the party, and one by one the mules became buried in the snow.
“The boy worked like a hero (I was with the company), and during the storm his orders were obeyed by the muleteers with alacrity, for they loved him well.
“But all exertions proved unsuccessful; not an animal escaped; and the weary party descended the Cumbre into the valley, worn out with their tremendous labors. The boy never lived to leave the valley; there he lies,”—pointing to the cross,—“buried in his chosen spot. The guides piled stones upon his body, to keep the condors from devouring it. See! there is one now watching the grave.”
I looked to the place designated, and saw upon the opposite cliff a huge dark-colored bird, that stood sentinel-like, a solemn watcher above the unfortunate Chileno’s grave.
Not far beyond, the path again troubled us by its extreme narrowness, and a dizziness came over me as I gazed far below into the mountain torrent.
Along this part of the road were piles of the bones of animals that had died upon the road during the past years. Some perished from hunger, and many fell over the precipices, lodging among the rocks, where, after long and painful struggles, they died. It seemed, truly, like going through the Valley of Death, so numerous were the carcasses and bones of cattle in this part of the valley.
Condors were occasionally seen upon the cliffs, sometimes circling high in the heavens. I had often observed these birds with interest when they came in numbers from the Andes, to feed upon carrion around Causete.