218 THE ODYSSEY OF AN ANIMAL COLLECTOR 
into the rivers. Often these streams tore their way through deep 
gorges which were spanned by rudely made narrow bridges con- 
sisting of a few poles laid horizontally and covered with earth. In 
some cases they were made of bamboo, and in the heavy rains it is 
not an uncommon thing for the earth to get washed through the 
crevices between the poles so that the mules’ feet sometimes go 
clean through the bridge. 
My niece had a hairbreadth escape crossing one of these gorges 
on a bridge that was only three feet wide, with no sides. Her mule 
put its foot in a hole and fell flat on its stomach; as it struggled 
wildly to regain its feet it seemed inevitable that it must go over 
the side into the raging torrent below. Fortunately it righted itself 
safely and Delys managed somehow to keep on the mule’s back, 
otherwise it would have been a disastrous affair. 
The grandeur of the scenery surpassed anything that I had seen 
in the Himalayas previously, and acted as some compensation for 
the rough going and for the discomfort of being wet through to 
the skin. We were so late one day in reaching a hut along the trail 
where we intended staying the night that it was pitch dark before 
we reached our destination, so we just had to rely on the senses of 
our mules to guide us to safety. It was rather an awesome business 
crossing the narrow bamboo bridges without being able to see 
anything, and with the sound of water rushing far below. 
Our pack-mules were laden with provisions, blankets and bird- 
cages, and the transportation of the latter along the narrow 
forested trails was a problem because the mules constantly tried 
to pass one another, with the result that the loads jutting out from 
their sides were subjected to heavy crashes. The same thing hap- 
pened when a mule passed too near to a tree. It was not uncom- 
mon, also, for them to fall over when sliding down the sides of 
slippery boulders or when wading torrents studded with large 
rocks and holes. 
One small rest-house on our way was fully occupied by passing 
muleteers, so the proprietor drove some pigs and fowls out of a 
small shed, swept it out, and said we could spend the night 
there. We had no option and in any case were only too glad to 
get out of the rain and find some dry clothes. 
Santo Domingo is noted for its nearly extinct tribe of Indians, 
