350 IN THE WILDS OF SOUTH AMERICA 



However, South American cities, with few exceptions, 

 possess little attraction for me. I touch upon them almost 

 reluctantly, and am impatient to return to the wild, free 

 life of the boundless jungle, desert, or plain. 



Within a few days after reaching Sucre, our necessary 

 business affairs had been looked after and we had decided 

 upon the upper Rio Pilcomayo as our next field of opera- 

 tions. Pack-mules were not to be had; the few patrones 

 who owned herds of these very necessary beasts were all 

 en route to or from Cochabamba. A weekly motor-bus 

 service is maintained between Sucre and Potosi, and the 

 powerful cars passed within a stone's throw of the spot we 

 decided to visit ; but the list of waiting passengers was long, 

 and even though a little monetary persuasion might have 

 been helpful in securing an early passage for ourselves, the 

 transportation of our luggage by that means was out of 

 the question. We therefore secured the services of a coche. 

 Six mules hitched to a lumbering vehicle that had seats 

 inside for ourselves, with the luggage festooned about the 

 exterior, took us thundering over the rocky, uneven road 

 at a fast pace. The driver sat in front and diligently plied 

 a long, thin whip that cracked with reports like those of a 

 pistol, but inflicted little punishment on the mules, while 

 a Quechua boy ran alongside and encouraged onward the 

 panting animals with ear-splitting whistling and volleys of 

 stones. I was never able to understand how these urchins 

 could keep up the fast gait maintained by the mules, and 

 at the same time have sufficient wind left with which to 

 do the whistling. 



Within an hour after leaving Sucre we had reached a 

 point where the road ran along the rim of an attractive 

 valley filled with trees, shrubbery, flowers, and pools; a 

 number of queer structures combining Chinese, Arabian, 

 Greek, and several other styles of architecture, were scat- 

 tered about promiscuously and detracted greatly from the 

 natural beauty of the spot. This place, known as El Recreo 

 is the property of a Bolivian woman who calls herself a 



