THE ARGENTINE FRONTIER 351 



princess, and who for reasons unknown to me makes her 

 home in far away Paris. 



Soon after leaving El Recreo with its lovely vegetation 

 and disfiguring minarets, stained glass, and other hall-marks 

 of poor taste, the large town of Yotala was reached. Yotala 

 is well-known throughout Bolivia for the excellent quality 

 of the peaches and apricots that are grown and preserved 

 there; and locally it enjoys the reputation of producing 

 the best bread of the vicinity, although I could never agree 

 with the latter assertion. The finest bread we had in all 

 Bolivia was prepared by the hospitable sefiora living on 

 the banks of the Pilcomayo, and in one of whose huts we 

 resided the following eight days. 



After an hour's halt at a house called Pulque, where the 

 mules were fed and watered, and where we refreshed our- 

 selves with weak coffee at thirty centavos the cup, we re- 

 sumed the journey, and 3 o'clock p. m., found us on the 

 bank of the great river we had sought— having come a dis- 

 tance of nine leagues since 7.30 o'clock that morning. 



The Pilcomayo at this point varies in width from a few 

 hundred feet to half a mile, is crossed by a suspension bridge, 

 and flows between high, barren, rocky hills. There was 

 comparatively little water, but the current was strong. 

 For me the Pilcomayo possesses an unusual fascination. 

 While looking at the hurrying, muddy torrent underneath, 

 I could not help picturing the awe-inspiring stretches of 

 wilderness through which those same waters must flow 

 before mingling with the less fearsome Paraguay hundreds 

 of miles farther down: little-known savages indulging in 

 wild orgies and cannibalistic dances on its banks, or pad- 

 dling silently and mysteriously on its glassy bosom to some 

 jungle rendezvous unknown to white men; jaguars eagerly 

 lapping up a refreshing draft after a gory meal of deer or 

 peccary; myriads of pirafias lashing its surface into spray 

 in their mad struggles to tear the flesh off some struggling, 

 despairing victim ; lines of crocodiles sunning themselves 

 on mud-banks or slowly patrolling the water's edge, like 



