One has the first view of the Rio Grande from the top of a rocky mountain nine thousand five hundred feet high, of which we reached the summit a few hours after leaving Pucará. Far below lay the dull, brown ribbon of water, looking like a painted streak across a grayish background. The descent to the watercourse is so abrupt that in many instances the trail consisted of a succession of steps hewn into the rock; toiling down the tortuous trail was life-sapping work for the pack-animals; we relieved the riding animals by walking. Downward, always downward, led the indistinct way, seemingly into a bottomless abyss. The mountainside is dry and cheerless; no dainty flower or blade of grass relieves the grim desolation of desert dust and shattered rock, and even the few grayish, stunted cacti seem to shrivel and die in the burning glare of a hostile sun. After hours that seemed more like days we arrived at the dry bed of a narrow stream and followed down its angular course. The aneroid showed that we were exactly one mile lower than our starting-point, but still the river seemed like a mirage, near, yet unattainable. Although the declivity was now gentler, the lofty walls of gray sandstone flanking the dismal canyon through which we rode shut off any ventilating breeze that chanced to pass above, and made a stifling oven of the narrow fissure. For two hours we travelled over the rock-strewn stream-bed, and then suddenly entered a narrow belt of mimosas and cacti; the Rio Grande flows through the centre of the green little valley. Although the river had appeared peaceful enough from the summit five thousand seven hundred feet above, we found it to be a wide, brown sheet of ruffled water racing over a boulder-encumbered bed. Our mule-drivers were filled with alarm and dared not venture into the treacherous flood. It was as we had feared; the spring rains had begun in the mountains, and the surplus water was rapidly swelling the lowland streams. While we were debating on the proper course to pursue, an Indian youth chanced along and consented to guide us to a ford about half a mile up-stream. Arrived at the spot, he stripped and waded cautiously into the river, which here spread over a wide bar. Fortunately the water was not over four feet deep; the youth returned to the bank and led the mules across one by one. When the river is too high to ford, the natives use tub-shaped boats made of ox-hide in which to cross; there is no way of controlling the craft, so the current may carry them a mile or so below the starting-point before it reaches the other side. The water of the river was unfit for drinking. It contains about thirty per cent solid matter, although the reason for this was that it was rising rapidly and bringing down a great quantity of sand from the mountain.