The traveller may be thankful that he has not been obliged to traverse this pass in the winter time. Nothing can surpass these vast ridges clad in their winter dress. White and cold, they form a veritable valley of desolation. It is the cold of death, the white mantle of annihilation—something that the brain can scarcely compass. The feeling of solitude in the midst of the whiteness everywhere almost overwhelms the traveller with despair. In places the snow is frequently as much as fifteen feet in depth, deep enough to bury a horse and rider. Sudden storms are likely to overtake the traveller, and he would be snowed in in one of the _casuchas_. These are shelters that were built at intervals along the pass for the protection of travellers. They are dome-shaped structures which remind one of lime-kilns. They have a small door, but no windows, and will accommodate as many as twenty people at a time. The interior has a brick floor and is absolutely bare. Although protected from the weather, woe be to the traveller obliged to spend a day or two there with a group of _arrieros_, for filth is everywhere and the stench is almost overpowering. Although fewer travellers ventured over this pass in the midst of winter, the mail service continued uninterruptedly, and there was seldom a day that some one did not attempt the crossing. A _capitas_, who was generally a man with a little capital, would undertake to carry the mails or other freight over the pass at a fixed price. He would then engage his force of porters as cheaply as possible, agreeing to furnish them with board and lodging so long as they remained with him. As time was not specified in the mail contract, if a traveller came along the _capitas_ would dump the mails and carry his baggage at an exorbitant price. Everything was done up in packages weighing about sixty pounds. Some of the porters would even undertake to carry two of these—a terrible strain on a rough road. It is little wonder that this and unrestrained dissipation usually gave these men a short life. Sometimes they slid over a precipice, or were hurled to their doom by a falling stone. There are many graves of those who met an untimely end along this route, and it seems almost marvellous that they are not more numerous. After the highest point was passed the porters would toboggan down the slopes, seated on a sheepskin and guiding themselves with pointed staffs. In this way the descent was quickly accomplished. The packages were simply tumbled down, and oftentimes reached the bottom in a very dilapidated condition.