We started off after tiffin on the long trail that wound down the gorge of El Chico de Cagayan River, on our way to Bontoc. Villages became more numerous and were very picturesque, on the spurs of mountain above the river, or embowered in coffee trees, where the mountain coasts were patched with pineapple plantations. And the paddy fields grew in terrace after terrace, most splendid engineering by these primitive people, rising above each other up into the clouds, fitting into the contours of the mountainsides, the terrace walls overgrown with green, and the pale green paddy within, and little cascades carrying the water down from terrace to terrace, most lovely, like some great hanging gardens; little brown people were stooping at work in them, all naked, but with their clothes covered by leaves and balanced on their heads, to be kept dry; for there were showers and cloud effects that added to the beauty of the panorama as we passed. The terraces add beauty and interest to the eye by their succession of levels, and as we traveled into the country they became more frequent and complete. Curiously enough, the Bontoc Igorots have forest laws and a forest service of their own. The mountainsides of their rough country are sparsely timbered with pine, which has grown very scarce near some of the larger settlements. Forests in the vicinity of such settlements are divided up into small private holdings claimed by individuals, whose right thereto is recognized by the other members of the tribe. In many places it is forbidden to cut trees until they have reached a large size, although the lower branches are constantly trimmed off and used for firewood. Forest fires are kept down to facilitate reforestation, and young trees are planted. Such foresight on the part of a primitive people is certainly unusual. So we trailed all day, till toward half after five we turned a point and came to Bontoc, after a procession of natives had come streaming out some miles up the gorge to meet the party. Bontoc is the capital of the Mountain Province and was the goal of our journey. The native town is very dirty and is acknowledged to be one of the worst of the native villages; in the more savage places the towns are said to be cleaner. We walked through it, where the terraced stone walks pass by stone pits where the pigs wallow, and by thatched houses which have no exit for the smoke and so are filthy and in dreadful condition. We saw the communal shacks in which the unmarried and widowed members live with their peculiar rights, and the sties where the old men resort to talk, and we stood outside the wretched place where the skulls are kept, and some heads, all black and smoked, were brought out in a basket from the secret recesses for us to see. [Illustration: IFUGAO COUPLE.]