POPAYAN AND THE CERRO MUNCHIQUE 23 



a magnificent picture. Occasionally at night the eternal 

 fires within the gaping crater may be seen tinting the low- 

 hanging clouds and the snow that crowns the summit, four- 

 teen thousand five hundred feet high, with rosy red. All 

 about, the great barren lomas are strewn with black boul- 

 ders, some of immense size, that serve to remind the way- 

 farer of the cataclysms of bygone ages. Everywhere they 

 dot the hillsides and tower above the trail that winds among 

 them. 



Just below rises the silent mass of Sotara, crowned with 

 the snow of centuries; the precipitous slopes are seamed 

 and worn by the frequent slides of ice and stones from 

 above, and deep, snow-filled gashes extend far down be- 

 low the glittering dome in a ragged fringe. At night the 

 moonlight steals softly up the frigid heights and reverently 

 bathes the ancient head in a halo of dazzling splendor. 



As the sun mounted higher and higher the peaks of the 

 Western Range appeared one by one, like islands in mid- 

 ocean, led by the awe-inspiring Munchique and followed 

 by his lesser satellites. Between the two ranges, in the 

 fruitful valley of the Cauca, Popayan still slumbered be- 

 neath a blanket of billowy softness. 



By six o'clock the arrieros had corralled the mules and 

 riding-horses, and half an hour later we were on the 

 march. 



Replacing the dry and barren lomas, we now found a 

 bush-covered country with occasional long strips of low 

 forest in the hollows; but the trail was an exceedingly diffi- 

 cult one, owing to the rocky nature of the country and the 

 great boulders that obstruct the way. Frequently a small 

 stream had to be crossed, such as the Rio Piendano, which 

 is spanned by an arched bridge built of large, hand-made 

 bricks, a curious relic of olden Spanish days. Down goes 

 the trail five hundred feet or more at an angle of forty-five 

 degrees, and then up again on the other side, the mules 

 snorting and puffing as they creep along at a snail's pace. 

 All the rivers seem to flow through deep gorges. Only sure- 



