The track follows the course of the Aconcagua River. This river is at no time a great stream, yet the total volume of water carried down in its swift-flowing current must be considerable. Many glimpses of the simple natives, and their primitive means of conveyance, are afforded on the ancient highway that threads the same valley. On the mountainside an occasional mud hut may be seen around and over which climb creepers and flowering vines. The scenery is beautiful and full of variations. Every turn of the tortuous track reveals a new scene of beauty, and there are few railway journeys in the world that will afford a greater variety of views than this overland route to Buenos Aires. The mountains grow from grand to grander, as if Ossa had been piled upon Pelion. When sunlight and shadow play upon the rock the contrasts are dazzling and the senses gladdened. There is a prodigality of colours such as even the Yosemite, the Grand Cañon or the Dolomites do not surpass. Guardia Viega, the “old guard,” is one of the stations, and is so named because it was for two centuries a guard station on the Antiguo Camino, or ancient road between the two republics. The vegetation becomes scanter as the altitude increases, but, scant as it is, it is a pleasing change to the traveller coming from the other direction. Juncal, which for several years was the terminus, is passed. One of the most beautiful views afforded is that of the narrow gorge, known as the Salto del Soldado, the Soldier’s Leap, through which the tempestuous waters of the river foam and toss. There is a tradition connected with this strange freak of nature of which the Chileans are proud. During the war of independence it is said that a Chilean pursued by the enemy, leaped across this chasm and saved his life. Owing to the width it is an almost impossible tale to believe. [Illustration: THE SALTO DEL SOLDADO.] Just beyond Juncal is a beautiful little lake, which is as opalescent and translucent as any of the lakes of Switzerland, and several thousand feet higher. It is the Lago del Inca, the Lake of the Incas. Pure as crystal, and clear as an unclouded sky, this little body of water rests tranquilly amidst as harsh and severe a setting as one could well find. Masses of rock seem poised on ledges ready to project themselves down into valleys with destruction in their path. The mad gods who formed these eternal peaks must have paused for a moment in their work in order to add this one touch of real beauty to the landscape.