Before nightfall they reached a hacienda, which was kept by an Indian for the accommodation of travellers. It was a sorry establishment, but as it was far better than no accommodation at all they passed the night there. The sleeping-quarters were open to the winds almost as much as the corral where the animals were secured; a cold blast blew from the mountains, and the temperature hovered in the neighborhood of zero. There was no fire, or even a fire-place, but by a judicious use of all their wraps and coverings the travellers managed to sleep fairly. By the next night they were considerably farther down the slope, and experienced no more trouble with the cold.
As they descended the mountains they entered the region of moisture, much like that encountered on going down to Napo from the crest of the Andes, near Quito. Clouds swept over them, the rains fell, vegetation was everywhere about them, and the indications of a change of climatic conditions were plainly to be seen. By and by the wooded district was reached, and with each mile of advance the density of the growth increased.
It is interesting to watch the changes as one descends eastward from high elevations in the Andes. At the crest all is sterile—nothing but bare rocks, with possibly a few mosses clinging to their sides. No water is visible, but by and by we find a tiny thread formed by the melting snows, or the condensed vapor from the eastern winds. The thread enlarges; after a time it grows to a brook, with little pools here and there in which a cup can be dipped, or our tired animals can drink. Most of the mountain trails follow the valleys and ravines which form the natural channels of the water, and so hour by hour the brook increases in width and volume. The mosses on the rocks grow more dense, they give place to shrubs, and the shrubs in turn give place to bushes. Then come stunted trees, only a few inches in height, but having the form and appearance of perfect trees, gnarled and twisted by the wintry blasts.
The stunted trees are less and less dwarfed, and from inches they increase in height to feet. The ground is covered with grass, at first, in stray bunches, as though life was a struggle under the low temperature constantly surrounding them. The bunches increase in number till they become a carpet, and the rich verdure covers the open ground where the trees are absent. Bogs and swamps take the place of arid wastes. Pines and larches are larger and larger; after a time they disappear to make way for foliferous trees. The way of the traveller is devious and full of toil; it is blocked by fallen trunks mingled in perplexing confusion, and unless he is where a road has been opened the progress of an hour is counted by feet or yards, in place of the miles left behind in the open country.
Especially in the mountain ravines, where the trees have been swept down by the torrents, is the way thus obstructed. Trees and great stones are piled closely together, and sometimes they form an arch beneath which the stream meanders during the dry season.
The first part of the downward journey is generally along the valley of a river flowing from the mountain, but after some thousands of feet of descent it is necessary to follow a larger stream, and cross one by one its numerous tributaries. There are fresh and great difficulties in this part of the route. After crossing a stream its bank must be ascended, sometimes almost precipitously, then a dividing ridge is traversed, and then comes the descent into the next valley. In this way the main valley is descended until the lower country is reached, where the river becomes tranquil, and suited to navigation by canoes or other craft.
Dr. Bronson and his young companions travelled thus down the eastern slope of the Andes into the valley of the Beni. Ten days after their departure from Huancané they reached the point where it was necessary to leave the mules; the drivers were paid off and discharged, and were ready to start back to the shore of Lake Titicaca. Fortunately, they found an engagement with a merchant who had some goods to transport over the mountains, and was glad to secure their services.
For the next thirty miles the way was so steep and rough as to be impracticable for even the sure-footed mule. Travellers have the choice of the silla or to go on foot, while their baggage is carried on the backs of men.
Frank and Fred looked doubtingly at the silla, and so did the Doctor. They preferred to walk, but at the suggestion of Dr. Bronson each of the party engaged a silla, to be used whenever he was inclined to it.
Perhaps you are wondering what the silla is. It is thus described by Fred: