AND AMERICAN RURAL SPORTS. 11 
fire, was a very odd one. The three miners were eating 
their breakfasts seated on loose stones round a large frag- 
ment of rock, which served as a table. Their elbows were 
squared, and they were eagerly bending over the food 
before them. The peons, with their dark brown faces, 
and different coloured caps, handkerchiefs, and ponchos, 
were loading the ‘‘ carga”? mules. Some of the party were 
putting on their spurs; others were arranging their toilette. 
The light was now faintly dawning on the tops of the high- 
est mountains, and the snow was just discovered lying in 
large patches and ridges. The bottoms of the ravines 
were in dark shade, and white windy clouds were flying 
across the deep blue sky—for some moments all was 
silent: however, as soon as the mules were ready we 
mounted, and we were off before we could distinctly see; 
but the mules picked their way, and continually ascending 
by a path covered with great stones, and impracticable 
to any animal except a mule, we continued to follow the 
course of the great stream, which was a torrent, roaring and 
raging, and altogether impassable. 
The sufferings of the poor mules now attracted our at- 
tention; they had travelled from Mendoza with but little 
rest, and little food; still they required no driving, but 
were evidently making every possible exertion to keep up 
with the mule which carried the bell. Occasionally the 
¢carga’’? would require adjusting, and the peon, throwing 
his poncho over the creature’s eyes, would alter it, while 
the rest continued their course, but the poncho was no 
sooner removed, than the mule, trotting and braying, 
joined the troop, never stopping till he came to the bell. 
On the road, the number of dead mules, which indeed 
strew the path from Mendoza to Santiago, seemed to in- 
crease, and it was painful to see the living ones winding 
their path among the bones and carcasses of those who had 
died of fatigue. By the peculiar effect of the climate, 
most of these poor creatures were completely dry, and as 
they lay on the road with their hind legs extended, and 
their heads stretched towards their goal, it was evident, 
from their attitudes, that they had all died of the same 
complaint—the hill had killed them all. 
After passing one or two very rapid torrents, we came 
to a mountain, which was one precipitous slope from the 
top to the torrent beneath. About half way up, we saw 
a troop of forty guanacos, who were all gazing at us with 
great attention. They were on a path, or track, parallel 
to the water, and as the side of the mountain was covered 
with loose stones, we were afraid they would roll some of 
them down upon us. 
On the opposite side of the water, was one of the most 
singular geological formations which we had witnessed. 
At the head of a ravine was an enormous perpendicular 
mountain of porphyry, broken into battlements and tur- 
rets, which gave it exactly the appearance of an old castle, 
on a scale, however, altogether the subject of a romance. 
The broken front represented, in a most curious manner, 
old fashioned windows and gates, and one of the Cornish 
miners declared ‘he could see an old woman coming 
across a drawbridge.”’ 
As I was looking up at the region of snow, and as my 
mule was scrambling along the steep side of the rock, the 
capitaz overtook me, and asked me if I chose to come on, 
as he was going to look at the ‘ Ladera de las Vaccas,”’ 
to see if it was passable, before the mules came to it.* He 
accordingly trotted on, and in half an hour we arrived at 
the spot. It is the worst pass in the Cordillera. The 
mountain above appears almost perpendicular, and in one 
continued slope down to the rapid torrent which is raging 
underneath. The surface is covered with loose earth and 
stones which have been brought down by the water. The 
path goes across this slope, and is very bad for about se- 
venty yards, being only a few inches broad; but the point 
of danger is a spot where the water which comes down 
from the top of the mountain, either washes the path away, 
or covers it over with loose stones. We rode over it, and 
it certainly was very narrow and bad. In some places 
the rock almost touches one shoulder, while the precipice 
is immediately under the opposite foot, and high above the 
head are a number of large loose stones, which appear as 
if the slightest touch would send them rolling into the tor-~ 
rent beneath, which is foaming and rushing with great 
violence. However, the danger to the rider is only ima- 
ginary, for the mules are so careful, and seem so well 
aware of their situation, that there is no chance of their 
making a false step. As soon as we had crossed the pass, 
which is only seventy yards long, the capataz told me 
that it was a very bad place for baggage-mules, that four 
hundred had been lost there, and that we should also very 
probably lose one; he said, that he would get down to the 
water at a place about a hundred yards off, and wait there 
with his lasso to catch any mule that might fall into the 
torrent, and he requested me to lead on his mule. How- 
ever, I was resolved to see the tumble, if there was to be 
one, so the capataz took away my mule and his own, and 
while I stood on a projecting rock at the end of the pass, 
he scrambled down on foot, till he at last got to the level 
of the water. 
The drove of mules now came in sight, one following 
another; a few were carrying no burdens, but the rest 
* When first, from the melting of the snow, the Cordillera is 
‘‘ open,” this passage is always impassable; but it becomes broader 
towards the end of summer, 
