During the dry season the caravans follow the courses of streams as much as possible. The water is low, and the wide, rocky margins serve as roads. This is far from being easy on the mules; the animals go stumbling and slipping along, but a good many miles are cut from the total length of the journey. Streams are encountered with frequency, and as one penetrates farther into the interior they become wider and deeper. We crossed not less than six fords in a single day, all between two hundred and three hundred feet wide, the water averaging from three to four feet deep. Although the current is strong, the mules are accustomed to this kind of work and usually manage to cross safely, often stopping in the deepest, swiftest spot to unconcernedly take a drink. Occasionally, however, one of the animals slips on a moss-covered boulder and falls; then it is a difficult matter to assist the drowning creature to his feet, as the swift water may roll him over, and the weight of the pack keeps him down. In any event, the least result of such an accident is the thorough saturation of everything in the pack, and this means a day’s loss of time while the soaked effects are spread out to dry. During the rainy season streams rise with startling rapidity, and parties have often been forced to camp on the river-bank many days until the water went down. To turn back is hopeless, as the last stream crossed is just as high as the one ahead; there is nothing to be done but wait. [Illustration: The expedition in the Cuchicancha Pass.]