THE BORDER VALLEYS OF THE EASTERN ANDES 87 



I have bound it with wet coca leaves every night, it will not cure, ' ' 

 and he displays his heel, the skin of which is like horn for hard- 

 ness and covered with a crust of dirt whose layers are a record 

 of the weather and of the pools he has waded for years. 



Their wanderings are the main basis of conversation. They 

 know the mountains better than the condors do. We hired a small 

 boy of twelve at Puquiura. He was to build our fires, carry water, 

 and help drive the mules. He crossed the Cordillera Vilcapampa 

 on foot with us. He scrambled down into the Apurimac canyon 

 and up the ten thousand feet of ascent on the other side, twisted 

 the tails of the mules, and shouted more vigorously then the ar- 

 rieros. He was engaged to go with us to Pasaje, where his father 

 would return with him in a month. But he climbed to Huascatay 

 with us and said he wanted to see Abancay. When an Indian 

 whom we pressed into service dropped the instruments on the 

 trail and fled into the brush the boy packed them like a man. The 

 soldier carried a tripod on his back. The boy, not to be outdone, 

 insisted on carrying the plane table, and to his delight we called 

 him a soldier too. He went with us to Huancarama. When I paid 

 him he smiled at the large silver soles that I put into his hand; 

 and when I doubled the amount for his willingness to work his joy 

 was unbounded. Forthwith he set out, this time on muleback, on 

 the return journey. The last I saw of him he was holding his 

 precious soles in a handkerchief and kicking his beast with his 

 bare heels, as light-hearted as a cavalier. Often I find myself won- 

 dering whether he returned safely with his money. I should very 

 much like to see him again, for with him I associate cheerfulness 

 in difficult places and many a pleasant camp-fire. 



