From a short distance the valley and the slopes above California appear to be heavily forested, but a close inspection showed that there was but a dense growth of low, dry woods, the trees not exceeding forty feet in height; the interlocking branches were draped with long streamers of grayish moss. The ground was perfectly clean and one could see a long distance ahead in the greenish-gray light. The surroundings were almost weird; subconsciously one expected to find strange sacrificial altars, and bearded Druids officiating at some gruesome rite of a mythical religion. Beautiful little deer walked timidly among the column-like trunks of the garlanded sanctuary, sniffing the air, and nibbling daintily at a leaf or twig, and made the hunter feel like an intruder in a consecrated place. Upon our return to Comarapa we met a gentleman representing a mercantile establishment in Cochabamba. He was making his semiannual tour of the region, taking orders for merchandise, and collecting for goods sold on the previous trip. Most of his customers paid with silver and nickel coins, so that he had several mule-loads of money in his possession. One night our Indian boy came to us in a state of great excitement. He had been drinking _chicha_ in an Indian liquor-store together with the _peons_ belonging to the merchant, and one of them, while under the influence of drink, boasted that he expected to murder and rob his _patrón_. A plan had been carefully formed to suddenly attack the man from behind, while riding along a lonely and precipitous part of the trail. The body was then to be thrown over the precipice into the river below, where no one would ever discover it, and the money taken by the highwayman and his accomplice. Naturally, we lost no time in imparting this information to the traveller, and he at once interviewed the would-be assassin. He first of all questioned the man carefully, and when he had succeeded in obtaining a partial confession, he mauled him back and forth across the room until he was tired out. Thereafter we all travelled together, and the plotter, as further punishment, was deprived of his horse and compelled to walk in advance of the party day after day. He had been in the merchant’s employ six years, and the latter did not care to turn him over to the police, but was certain that the punishment inflicted was sufficient to inspire proper respect in the future. A brisk canter of eighteen miles took us from Comarapa to Pulcina, also known as San Isidro. A tame condor was standing dolefully in the centre of the open square about which the houses were built; it was a friendly bird and liked to be petted and to romp, but was pretty rough at times, and picked off pieces of skin during the course of its rather too affectionate caresses.