By 6.15 next morning we were again in the saddle
and under way--the road was now even narrower than before, about two
feet wide only--winding round and round the mountain side, ascending all
the time, and in some parts far too steep for comfortable riding. From
now onwards the journey was over tracks, not roads, and many of the
ascents and descents were so steep that it was quite out of the question
to attempt to negotiate them on muleback. We, accordingly, with
philosophic patience had just to accept the inevitable, and get off and
lead our animals over these now really dangerous parts. Some of the
precipices down to the river bed were now much deeper, and had we slid
over, we might have experienced considerable inconvenience at the
bottom, and a greater difficulty in getting up again. The roads became
worse and worse, and really they could be given no other name than
"goat-tracks," but the mule is a wonderful beast, and let him have his
head (on no account attempt to guide him), there is not much fear of any
serious trouble. Our sleeping place for the night was to be at an old
ruin of a house at a bare, but more level, opening in the mountains,
called Tolapampa, and before reaching this we had to negotiate much the
worst pass on the whole route.
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