86 LOSS OF PAITITI. 



The town of Sicuani is larger than any passed through this side of 

 Cuzco, and built differently. On the long main street, which is crossed 

 by small, narrow lanes, we saw many pretty faces. The women are in the 

 majority in the market, buying and selling marketing — potatoes, pep- 

 pers, &c. For a country town, some of the houses are very respectable- 

 looking. The Creoles regard us with an air of surprise. As we walk 

 along, they look very grave, touch their hats, and bow politely; but 

 suddenly turning, one catches them laughing and making remarks. At 

 first they called us Frenchmen. We tell them their mistake. They 

 inquire, "Englishmen?" Upon being told North Americans, they ex- 

 claim, with a w r ondering expression, " Oh ! California !" A parly of Indian 

 boys were playing with tops — one of the very few things reminding 

 us of home. 



A printed notice, pasted at the corner of the plaza, forbids the trap- 

 ping or shooting vacuna, by order of the supreme government. When 

 the people gather the wool of the vacuria, they kill the animal, instead 

 of shearing it and setting it at liberty again. We were told it was 

 easier to take the fleece off when the animal was dead. As iheir num- 

 bers are decreasing, the government projects them. 



November 1. — At 8 o'clock a. m., thermometer, 54°. It rained 

 during the night. The hills are now covered with snow. After leaving 

 the town and wading the liver, we followed up the western bank of 

 the stream. On arriving at a small town, our baggage-mules passed 

 ahead. Proceeding some distance, we met a man, who told me the 

 baggage was not on that road, and we turned. After travelling for 

 some time, I suddenly missed Paititi. We had turned back without 

 calling him. Paititi had become a pet, and was now considered as one 

 of the party. Jose went back in search of him ; but we never saw 

 our brave little animal again. He had guarded our tent by night, 

 and fought our battles on the road. He made friends for us, too ; 

 for whenever the people heard his name, they wanted to know his 

 history. The mountain people take great interest in such matters ; 

 and when they learned where Paititi came from, they became interested 

 in the party, and were the more polite upon introduction through the 

 dog. We have lost a friend. 



Agua Caliente post-house is the most miserable habitation imaginable, 

 surrounded by a few ruins of small houses. The evening is cold ; the 

 tops of the mountains covered with snow. The post-mules pastured on 

 coarse grass in the plain or mountain pass. Our mules are unsaddled 

 and set at liberty to go with them ; but they return to the door, and 

 look for their usual supper. The postman, a poor old Indian, was with 



