in my
waist-belt would not cover the cost of a three days' sojourn at the most
modest of _posaderos_.

But we have left behind us the sombre and rain-saturated forests of the
Amazon and the Orinoco, and the fine country around us and the magnificent
prospect before us made me, at least, forget for the moment both our past
privations and our present anxieties. We are on the _montana_ of the
eastern Cordillera, a mountain land of amazing fertility, well wooded, yet
not so thickly as to render progress difficult; the wayside is bordered
with brilliant flowers, cascades tumble from rocky heights, and far away
to the west rise in the clear air the glorious Andes, alps on alps, a vast
range of stately snow-crowned peaks, endless and solemn, veiled yet not
hidden by fleecy clouds, and as cold and mysterious as winter stars
looking down on a sleeping world.

For a long time I gaze entranced at the wondrous scene, and should
probably have gone on gazing had not Gahra reminded me that the day was
well-nigh spent and that we were still, according to the last information
received, some distance from the mission of San Andrea de Huanaco,
otherwise Valle Hermoso, or Happy Valley.

One of our chief difficulties had been to find our way; maps we had none,
for the very sufficient reason that maps of the region we had traversed
did not at that time exist; our guides had not always proved either
competent or trustworthy, and I had only the vaguest idea as to where we
were. Of two things only was I certain, that we were south of the equator
and within sight of the Andes of Peru (which at that time included the
countries now known as Ecuador and Bolivia).

A few days previously I had fallen in with an old half-caste priest, from
whom I had heard of the Mission of San Andrea de Huanaco, and how to get
there, and who drew for my guidance a rough sketch of the route. The
priest in charge, a certain Fray Ignacio, a born Catalan, would, he felt
sure, be glad to find me quarters and give me every information in his
power.

And so it proved. Had I been his own familiar friend Fray Ignacio could
not have welcomed me more warmly or treated me more kindly. A European
with news but little above a year old was a perfect godsend to him. When
he heard that I had served in his native land and the Bourbons once more
ruled in France and Spain, he went into ecstasies of delight, took me into
his house, and gave me of his best.

San Andrea was well nam