[Illustration: SNOW PEAKS.] A grandsire and his dame, two sons, one daughter-in-law, and an infant composed the entire population. The old man, in a very contented state of mind, sat in the doorway of his hut smoking a pipe over a foot in length. He gave us a most reassuring smile of welcome. The two females, heavily decked round the knees and arms with scores of plaited and greased bracelets, immediately made off with themselves into the thick vegetation, and only came out of their hiding by a great deal of persuasion. We explained to the people the object we had in view, and how we wanted to leave our Batoro porters with them to await our return, while we took on men from among them who were acquainted with the mountains and inured to the cold. The two young men at once offered their services, and promised instantly to get together as many other porters as required. We wondered how they could do this, as there was no sign of a habitation, excepting two lonely huts on a far distant height. But, after making a long, far-reaching sound with their lips, there suddenly appeared, as if by magic, quite a number of figures emerging from far and near. The Bakonjo, in the old times of rapine and oppression, had chosen out the most secluded spot where they might safely build their homes, and they still adopt this practice, from custom—no longer from necessity. Among the dense forest growth it is quite impossible to detect their huts, and as only a very small minority of the Bakonjo cultivate the soil, there is nothing around to indicate human existence. As is the case among most of these tribes, the women do all the digging and sowing, but they are very few in number as compared with the men, and in consequence are regarded as valuable property, and not to be worked to excess. Being naturally more prone to indolence than industry, the furnishing of the daily board depends almost solely on what the husbands can bring in from the hunt and exchange, but they generally keep in store a stock of arum roots (the women’s cultivation) on which they can fall back when fortune fails the huntsmen. The men are a striking race, their arduous searching after rats and conies (hyrax) often leads them up to the regions of ice; this constant climbing and exposure to the cold have developed their muscles in a remarkable manner, and with the surefootedness of a mule and lightness of a gazelle they spring up the steepest bank and rock, experiencing no fatigue. Besides being their chief item of diet, the coney supplies them with practically their sole clothing. Six or eight of the little skins are sewn together, and worn over the shoulders, secured by a thin piece of hide round the neck.