GILBERT AND GOLDEN TROUT 181 



site is dependent entirely on the natural pastures 

 which are widely scattered. We are nearly 

 8,000 feet above the burning hot valley of St. 

 Joachim. As the sun leaves us we shiver with 

 cold and look with commiseration towards that 

 valley where people are seething in a temperature 

 of 110 degrees or more. Camp is quickly made. 

 The process is simphcity itseK; horses and mules, 

 unsaddled and hobbled, are turned out to feed on 

 the succulent grass of a neighbouring wild meadow. 

 A fire is built and a simple meal is cooked. We 

 have no tent, for none is needed during this dry 

 season ; we are content to find a piece of smooth 

 ground, roll ourselves in the warm blankets, and sleep 

 till dawn. Fortunately, the blankets are heavy, for 

 the night is bitterly cold, and as we rise we see the 

 blue-white frost on the grass. Breakfast eaten, we 

 go for the animals. We remarked that the tinkling 

 of the mule bells no longer sounded, and we are 

 told that it tis quite customary for the animals, 

 when their hunger is appeased, to go into the 

 dry woods where it is warmer, so we commence a 

 careful search for the missing creatures and finally 

 discover them more than half a mile from the 

 camp. After finding them, the cussedness of the 

 mule, so world-famed, asserts itself, and notwith- 

 standing all our efforts, over an hour passes before 

 we finally have them in hand. The effect of the 

 elevation is very noticeable, and any attempt at 

 running results in the most distressing symptom of 

 suffocation. Finally we are off again. The trail, 

 scarcely visible, winds up and down steep gorges— 

 in places so steep as to appear impossible for beast 



