ountain at the base of a vast vertical mass of rock, when
our attention was arrested by the shouts of our men and a commotion
among the animals above us. It was occasioned by a descending train of
loaded mules, just plunging out of the black throat of the tunnel. The
mountain mule always seeks to take the wall of the animal it meets,
being perfectly aware of the danger of trying to pass on the outer side
of the pathway; and it sometimes happens that neither will give way
under any amount of persuasion or blows. The muleteers have to unload
the animals, which may then be got past each other. A similar difficulty
occurred now, and the conductor of the advancing train hurried down to
warn us to dismount and seek the widest part of the path, or some nook
by its side, and there await the passage of his mules. He had hardly
done speaking when we saw one of our own mules, loaded with our trunks,
come plunging down the narrow zigzagging way, evidently in fright,
followed wildly by its driver. Just before reaching the place where we
stood, the animal fell, going literally heels over head, and would have
been carried over the little platform of rock into the river had not the
master of the descending train caught the falling mule by its foreleg,
and in this way saved it from tumbling over. He at once placed his whole
weight on its ears, thus preventing it from struggling, and thus
obviating its destruction, while we detached its cargo. A foot farther,
and the mule would inevitably have been lost.

It was with no little satisfaction that we saw the last mule of the
train pass us, and resumed our ascent. We found the tunnel a roomy one,
two or three hundred yards in length, with openings from the face of the
precipice for the admission of light and air. Through these we caught
brief glimpses of the grand and solemn mountains on the opposite side
of the canyon, and through them came in also, hoarse and sullen, the
deep voice of the river. I am uncertain as to how far this tunnel may
be ascribed to the Incas, but feel sure that their bridge across the
Apurimac was at precisely the same point with the present one. We
were fully two hours in ascending the steeps, and reached the high
mountain-circled plain in which stands the straggling town of Curahuasi,
a well-watered village buried among trees and shrubbery.

INDEX.

PAGE

A Fine Scenic Route