“Hupa mula! Que família!”
The command was right enough, for the beast barely moved, and any one who ever had to do with mules1 may very likely have cried out, with Andrés, “What a family!” But no one but Andrés, I am sure, would have said it here. By the time you get up to 16,000 feet in the Andes, if you are not dead altogether, you certainly have no breath to spare—not even so much as to say, “This mouth is mine.” As for exhorting3 a pack-mule2 to “get up” or trying to make it ashamed of its blood relations, why, you couldn’t if you would. If some one were to stand at the head of the pass offering you a dollar a word for remarks, the chances are a hundred to one that you would find yourself without either the ambition or the lungs to earn a nickel. It is a very strange thing, as well as a very frightful4 one, how these great altitudes clutch you[112] by the windpipe, and turn your heart’s strong beat to the last flutter of a wounded bird, and fill your eyes with strange red threads and your ears with a dull tap! tap! tap! so that you can count your pulse simply by listening. Worse still, how there seems to have been turned somewhere a sly faucet5 which has let the last drop of strength drip away before you knew it. But very lucky indeed are you if that is all. Many more than escape with these unpleasant symptoms have worse. There is a horrible nausea6, as much beyond seasickness7 as that is beyond a plain stomach-ache, and nearly every one gets it above a certain height. Then come sudden hemorrhages from nose, mouth, ears, eyes, finger-tips, and so on to the last. These symptoms and any of them mean, “Get down stairs instanter.” If you cannot get down fast enough you will be carried down—too late to do you any good. I have seen great, powerful men fall there as an ox falls when the ax is laid to its head, and never rise again nor again be conscious. At less elevations8 I have seen robust10 men go dead in twenty-four hours with no disease on earth but the altitude. Only recently an acquaintance of mine visiting a town but 12,500 feet above the sea went to bed in perfect health[113] and—“woke up dead in the morning,” as a Celtic mutual12 friend related in all sincerity13.
Still, the only certain thing about it is that if you go high enough you will pay the penalty; but no one can tell you how high that is, nor can you yourself learn finally, even by experiment. You may start out with a party from one of the inland towns of Peru, say at an elevation9 of 7,000 to 8,000 feet—and even there many are greatly affected14 by the altitude. One of the party, and perhaps the most robust looking, may become so dangerously sick at 10,000 feet that he will have to be sent back at once. The rest may go on safely to 12,000 feet, and there another succumb15, and so on. And you may (though it is very unlikely) toil16 on even up to 17,000 or 18,000 feet without serious symptoms, and then a few days later be so terribly affected at 10,000 feet that only the most rapid removal to lower levels will save your life. Myself, I have never felt the mountain sickness. But then, my constitution is a most extraordinarily17 pig-headed one, which seems to butt18 against almost any wall with impunity19. I have climbed and worked hard at considerably20 over 19,000 feet, and for a long time lived from 12,000 to 15,000 feet above the sea, and never felt anything worse than room for an[114] extra pair of lungs, there where is really precious little air to breathe. But warning was all around, so that I never felt quite sure my turn would not come next.
There is much in habit, of course. You all remember the Irishman’s horse which learned to live on shavings—though unfortunately it died just as it was becoming accustomed to this economical diet. And lungs, too, can get used to living on such shavings as the upper air—that is, if there are lungs enough and you give them long enough. Many die in the learning, but in centuries a type is fixed21. So with Andrés. His fathers for a thousand years had breathed no heavier air than that of the great Bolivian plateau. He had been born on one of the “little hills” beside Lake Titi-caca, and brought up there. Leadville is the highest considerable town in North America, and it is too elevated for a great many people; but Andrés had never in his life got so low as 11,000 feet. If he were suddenly set down in New York his lungs would be almost as much embarrassed as would yours if you were so suddenly snatched up to his skyward home. He might almost call for an ax to break that thick air up into breathing chunks22! And you, sitting with bloodshot eyes and open[115] mouth, would be wondering what skim-milk atmosphere was this, that in ten minutes’ gasping23 you could not get as fair a fill to your lungs as you now get with every breath you draw.
The mule was a well-seasoned mule, born in Puno and never any nearer sea level than that 12,500-foot town. True, it was now some 4,000 feet nearer the sky, and barely crawling up the pass. At every half-dozen or dozen paces it paused to groan24 despairingly, panting full five minutes before it could go another step. But that was a good mule. If you wished to see what an ordinary mule did in the pass, you had only to look at either side of the trail almost anywhere. There were hundreds of bleached25 skeletons lying just where they had fallen, but white as the snows upon the peaks above. Here and there were even the bones of the llama[27]—the highest-dwelling quadruped on earth. As for horses, their usefulness ceases long before reaching such altitudes as that of the Quimca-chata. I have seen people who had an air of feeling that the mule ought always to be begging pardon for being alive, and that nature was in pretty small business when she made him.[116] But that, of course, is a notion of very uninformed folk. In fact, as all know who have stirred out a little, the mule is the most broadly useful animal in the service of man. The horse can run faster, the elephant carry heavier loads, the llama climb higher above the clouds; but no other beast can carry so much so far, so fast, so low and so high as this unpretentious and maligned26 big-ears; and wherever civilized27 man has had to conquer the wilderness28 this has been his best friend.
Something of this was in the thought of the traveler sprawled29 beside the apacheta at the head of the pass—watching now the gasping saddle-mule near him, and now the rest of his small caravan30 as it crept upward. He was breathing with open mouth, but otherwise showed no traces of the hour’s climb since he left Andrés and the pack-beast, and tramped on, driving his own mule ahead rather than ride the distressed31 beast.
“Yes,” he was saying (but to himself, which called for no expenditure32 of breath), “old Tom Moore, Crook’s chief packer, was right when he used to say, ‘God made mules a-purpose!’ How they have been the right hand of the pioneer in both Americas. Bien, Andrés—so you got him up at last.”
[117]
Andrés took off his frowsy hat, leaving upon his head the long-peaked knit cap of vicu?a[28] wool, removed from his mouth the quid of coca leaves he had been chewing, and flung the wad against the rough, upright stone, which was already pimpled33 all over with similar offerings. No mountain Indian of Bolivia would any more think of passing such a monument at the crest34 of a pass without making this sacrifice than you would think of going into church with your hat on.
“Si, viracocha,” he answered, with a slow, good-natured smile; and went on in his stumbling mixture of Spanish and Aymará. “You ought to bite the coca, ps, viracocha, that the sorojchi catch you not. For so do we of the mountains, and by it we get our strength. Take”—and he drew from his left-hand pouch35 a pinch of the dried leaves and a bit of lime.
The American shook his head, with a smile, as much as to say: “Thanks, but I need it not.” Then he rose, with a significant glance at the clouds, and made a gesture of haste, pointing to the trail which from their feet dipped far downward to the east.
[118]
Andrés cinched up the sagging36 chipas on the pack-mule, setting his bare foot against its ribs37 and hauling at the hair rope with main strength. The traveler likewise tightened38 his saddle-girth and swung up. Half an hour more, and they were some miles down the slope, descending39 at a gait which was decidedly smart compared with the snail’s pace of the last few hours. Through gaps in the foothills ahead came now and then wondrous40 outlooks across the upper Bolivian plateau. Off to the left was the glorious blue of Titi-caca, highest great lake in the world; behind it, and stretching far to the right, the still more glorious white of the great Andes of Bolivia.
“There, mps, is Mururata, the Beheaded,” said the arriero, pointing to a flat-topped peak far lower than the rest, but still tall enough to wear eternal snow. “The gods cut off its head long ago, to punish pride, and set it over yonder, where you will soon see it smoke—for now it is a fire mountain.” Andrés trotted43 along, pointing, chattering44, smiling, as if breath were quite the cheapest thing on earth.
Just then the traveler found a little, too—but not for the lost head of Mururata. He was staring across a saddle in the hills with very much such a face of incredulity and[119] bewilderment as one might wear at sight of a ghost.
“Seest thou?” he demanded of the arriero. “Confuse me, but I thought there was no such thing as a wheel in the country, except the Chililaya stage.”
“Oh, si, viracocha—in La Paz are five or six carriages! And yonder will be the Jaúregui going to their chacra.”[29]
A top buggy of most ancient pattern was creeping up around the turn at the heels of four tired mules. In a few moments the travelers were not far apart; and now Andrés’s employer broke out afresh, but in a lower tone:
“Oyez! But where is the feast to which these maromeros go?”
They did look clown-like enough, to be sure. The driver was clearly an Aymará Indian, and showed nothing more peculiar45 than the quaint11 garb46 of his people. But at his left sat two tall and surprising figures in long linen47 dusters and white peaked caps. The latter were shaped something like fools’ caps; but instead of ending at the ears came down upon the shoulders, over the whole head. Eye and mouth holes and a woven nose gave them a finish as uncanny as it was strange.
[120]
“á Diós, caballero!” cried a muffled48 voice in clearly well-bred Spanish; and the Indian driver pulled the willing mules to a halt. One of the masks leaned from the carriage, and from behind the white yarn49 a pair of keen, black eyes stared first at the pack-mule and then at the American.
The tripod stretching along the pack-beast from ears to tail, and the square, leather boxes in the chipas were clear enough, and the traveler replied politely:
“As you see, sir.”
“Good! And how much is worth a picture? Come, we will occupy you.”
“Infinite thanks, cavaliers, but I do not sell. And pardon, for I am in haste.”
“How not?” There was an incredulous flash in the ambushed52 eyes, and the voice had lost the edge of its courtesy. “We have money in hand, and we wish to take out our pictures.”
“I lament54 it, sirs; but you ask the impossible. The government of Bolivia has entered my materials free of duty, seeing that I come on a scientific mission; and in return, that your native artists shall not have whereof to complain, I am pledged to sell no pictures. It often pains me, knowing[121] how one feels for a picture here where artists are few. But in any event, I make vistas55 only for the one purpose, and need all the plates we brought.”
The maskers evidently did not credit any such absurd story. The gringo—he was a gringo, of course, in spite of his comfortable Spanish—pues, he knew them for rich and was holding off for a big offer.
“Well, we will give fifty bolivianos.[30] Get in and we will carry you to the chacra. There is your home. You shall stay so much as you will; and there is much hunting and such views of Illimani as you have not seen. Also, there are strange monuments of the ancients. Eh? Then one hundred bolivianos!”
“I give you the most expressive56 thanks, gentlemen, and would willingly see your chacra. But I am bound for Tiahuanaco. And, in any event, you must know that I talk not lumber57, but truth. I cannot make your pictures.”
“Listen, then,” muttered the Bolivian angrily, turning to his fellow-mask, “how hard-headed are these gringos! Come,” addressing the traveler again, “you are too dear. But we will say two hundred[122] bolivianos,” and he held up a huge roll of small red bank bills.
By now there was a considerable wrinkle in the traveler’s brow. “God give you good evening, cavaliers,” he said, curtly58. “I am of one yes and one no. If you want retratos I know no place nearer than La Paz where you can get them. Adios.”
He set spurs to his mule and rode off down hill. The two maskers looked blankly at one another a moment, and then their mules began to plod59 up the slope amid a volley of Spanish expletives. Andrés had prodded60 the pack-beast to a lurching trot42, and ran easily at its heels.
“Mps, viracocha,” he said, in a loud whisper, taking off his hat again as he drew alongside the traveler. “But those are the Jaúregui, and it would be better to please them. They are most powerful, and very hard-headed, too.”
“Then let them butt against a harder head. I can’t—hola! Vicu?as, no?”
The frown had smoothed out, and he was snatching the rifle from its holster strapped61 along the saddle. Away over on an opposite slope a little brown cloud was drifting.
“Si! But they go!” cried Andrés.
[123]
The cloud was, indeed, breaking up in a score of wee brown dots that scudded62 like so many shadows.
“Too far! And I wanted some pelts63 for a little girl I know. To try, anyhow!” The traveler jerked the rifle to his shoulder and fired. “Nothing,” he sighed. “Of course not—it was a shot thrown away.” But Andrés cried: “You touched! See yonder, how he makes lame53!”
“Your eyes for it—mine don’t reach so far. But one does look to have fallen behind. Too bad! Now it is to run him down—a man even in a hurry can’t leave the poor wounded brute65 to be gouged66 piecemeal67 by the condors68. Go on thy best with the pack-beast, Andrés, and I’ll catch thee at the tambo, or sooner.”
The arriero ambled69 on, with now and then a reminding cudgel to his charge. A funny man, this—no? But then, no doubt all gringos were a little wrong in the head. To refuse two hundred bolivianos for a picture, and then go ramping70 off to kill a wounded vicu?a! Smart are the Yanquis, yes—but of reason, not much. As if the condors were to blame if they could catch a thing injured! And it can be that they will have mule as well as vicu?a for supper. The viracocha evidently forgets that he is[124] on the ground of the mountain sickness. Pity if it should catch him—since he is very good, unbrained though he be.
But at a turn in the trail Andrés found other matters to be thought of than the general follies71 and occasional virtues72 of the Yanquis. Other ears than his had heard the rifle, and other eyes noted73 the traveler’s tangent; and now the young Indian gave a start very like one of fear at the rattle74 of wheels behind him and an imperious call of “Alto!”
II.
Andrés glanced over his shoulder and faced about in his tracks. It was only for an instant that he thought of running. He might make a break down the rough hillside, where the carriage could not follow, yes. But the pack-mule, sagging under those boxes, of which the viracocha was so tender! The boy’s thick lips drew tight across his large, white teeth. He would stay. The instant he ceased to beset75 its heels the fagged beast stopped too, and there they stood like two shabby statues, while the carriage drew alongside.
“So the gringo hunts, eh?” spoke76 one of the maskers, briskly, stepping down from the buggy. “But he is very high[125] priced, it seems—as much as unamiable. Come, tell us how much he does get—for in truth I thought we offered enough.”
“Who knows, your excellency?” stammered77 Andrés. “It is a month that I am with him as arriero, and until now he pictures only the monuments. And even of those I have not yet seen the retratos, for he says he is to finish them when we shall reach La Paz. Of people he always refuses—as your excellency saw. Except that once, in Copacabana, he pictured an ancient beggar at the gate, taking no money.”
“Ay, but these gringos are many sorts of fools—and this one all sorts. Come, then, these vistas he has made, they will be in the chipas. To see them!”
The speaker’s air and tone were plainly those of one who has no dream of not being obeyed, and he fairly stiffened78 with astonishment79 when the arriero, rather pale and very much embarrassed, stammered:
“P-pero, excellency, I—I—cannot!”
“Mira! Another who ‘cannot!’ It is contagious80, then, this ‘no puedo!’ Oyez!” and now the command was sharp and stern, “Open me those boxes!”
Andrés backed off a step. His brown cheeks were unmistakably gray, and his voice faltered81 as he replied, humbly82, but[126] stolidly83: “Do not shame me, Excellency. This viracocha hires me, treating me kindly85. For arriero, yes—but even more, he has me to guard the machine when he is not beside it. For so many wish to peep in, and he has things in little flat boxes which he opens only at night in a room without candles, and not even smoking his cigarro. He says that to let in a so-little of light would destroy all. For that I am promised, that no one shall open them nor touch them. Do not ask me, then, excellency.”
“Ask thee, cannibal! A Jaúregui asking thee? Vaya! I order thee. And between winks86, too, lest thou taste the quirt!” He snatched from his driver the short, leaden-butted bull whip.
Andrés backed away still farther, till he ran up against the pack of his dejected mule, which stood as if petrified87 there.
“No puedo, taita!” he repeated, with an appealing glance. Then, as the man reached forth88 to pluck the knot of the cinch rope, Andrés extended his arm as a barrier, crying, “Haniwa! Your excellency must not!”
At this actual obstruction89 the personage in the white hood90 clearly lost an already ruffled91 temper. He drew the quirt whistling[127] around those sturdy, bare calves92, and a blue welt stood up there. Another cut, and another. The stolid84 face changed little, but the legs shifted uneasily.
“Haniwa, is it?” The ambushed eyes seemed fairly outside the mask now, so angrily they shone. “Then we will see! To beat a little more manners into that thick skull93.” He shifted the quirt in his hand, clubbing the loaded end over Andrés’s head. The arriero flung up his hands. He was a sinewy94 young man, very probably much more powerful than his tall assailant. Nor was he thinking of the odds95 of those two more in the carriage. It was tradition, not cowardice96, that stayed his hands—how could this arriero and son of arrieros think to strike a don? For he was born and bred in a country where there is still such a thing as respect—sometimes misapplied, as now; but broadly so honorable that I wish some reciprocity treaty might enable us to import some of it for northern use.
The leaden butt fell across his guard, and one hand dropped to his side. The other he drew before his eyes.
“Come! Will thou open, or shall I crack that foolish squash-head?”
[128]
Andrés did not move. “Haniwa!” he muttered in the same slow, stupid way, shutting his eyes as the club rose again. But just then a voice called from the carriage:
“To what use, brother? They are no more than clods. Beat one to death, and you shall not change him. Let Pepe tie him and then we can verify the boxes.”
The one with the quirt hesitated a moment. His blood was hot, and the brute in him ached to beat away at this maddening stupid. His hand dropped reluctantly, and he growled97:
But if the arriero had stood dumb under the lash51 of his superior, it was another page in the almanac when a brown fellow of his own blood and station caught him by the arms and started to pass a reata around him. Andrés doubled forward at the waist, clumsily but resistlessly. His tousled head struck Pepe on the mouth, and that too-ready henchman rolled heavily in the road. Andrés sprang upon him and flung fistfuls of dust in his face, shaking him as a terrier does a rat.
“Pig! Who lent thee a candle in this funeral? Thy master I could not fight. But thou, barbarian——”
[129]
“I’ll take him off!” growled the master, and he ran forward, swinging the club about his head. Woe101 is me for thy skull, Andresito, if that ounce of lead befall it squarely from behind!
III.
When the “gringo” and his laboring102 mule pitched down the side of a very considerable barranca, their quarry103 was plainly visible four or five hundred yards up the opposite hill. The rest of the flock had long ago disappeared, and by now was miles away—for they run almost like antelope104, these airy beauties of the Andes, the tiniest camels in the world, and the only graceful105 ones. But when mule and rider struggled up the farther bank, the wounded vicu?a was nowhere to be seen.
“Plague! But I must not kill thee, in trying to be merciful to him,” muttered the rider, and he sprang to the ground. It was high time. The mule stood gasping in his tracks, head down, chin hanging and knees quaking violently. The traveler looked up and down him, remorsefully106 but critically.
“With a rest, thou’rt all right. But I ought to beg thy pardon for giving thee a[130] fool for a rider! Now, my legs for it—and rest thou here.”
The involuntary object of all this trouble was certainly inconsiderate. Having been so foolish as to go and get wounded, he should have waited at least for the Samaritan to come up and give him the blow of mercy. But, instead, he hobbled bleating107 on in pursuit of his fellows, even long after they had vanished. It was astonishing how this delicate, fawn-like creature could run so far with a broken leg, and his well-meaning pursuer began to find it more than astonishing. Plague take the little imbecile—he was bound to make it as hard as possible to do him a good turn! It is odd how our minds can contradict themselves—how we sometimes start out on a thoroughly108 praiseworthy errand, and fall into very unamiable moods by the way.
The pursuer was by now decidedly angry—which is a very unwise luxury to be indulged in, at least among the Andes. His temper was by no means calculated to soothe109 the stampeding gallop110 of his heart; and to see him gasping up yonder cumbre, with a purpling face and protruding111 tongue, and a scowl112 on his brow, probably no stranger would have dreamed that he was really on a generous errand.
[131]
“Belike the condors will have to have thee!” he groaned113 inwardly—since not for his life, now, could he have articulated the words: “I’m done up! This one more ridge114 and it must end.”
But as he reached the top of that last ridge, there was a tremendous swoosh of wings past him, and then, from the hollow beyond, a scream almost human in its agony. At that he plucked new vigor115, and went racing116 down the slope in a surprising spurt117. The truth was that, once started, he had no longer the strength to stop on that stiff pitch, and must keep on till he should fall or fetch up against some obstacle. His sight was blurred118, his head roaring, his legs numb119, and where his heart should be, a strange, suffocating120 emptiness seemed to have come—and still he spun121 on. Then, in a reeling way, he swung the six-shooter thrice, firing as fast as finger could pull the trigger; in the same second, sprawling122 headlong in a confusion of bleats123 and silken fur and beating wings. A tremendous blow from one of the latter cut his scalp clear across the occiput. The revolver blazed again, and, after a wild thrashing, all was still.
It was some minutes before the hunter sat up, gazing about him in a dazed way.[132] The rest and the chilly124 air and the loss of blood were beginning to counteract125 the effects of his imprudent chase.
“Well! The next time I shoot before I think, I won’t shoot!” he informed himself without expense of breath, and with the ghost of a smile. “Wonder I hadn’t killed myself with such a race, up here. But if you start, finish!” and he looked complacently126 down at the little dead vicu?a against which he leaned; and not a rod away the huge vulture sprawled upon its back, its wings outstretched a full dozen feet, its feet clenched127 in the empty air.
“He got only one swipe at thee, it seems. It’s all right, so that I came in time to give thee a more merciful death. So we won’t grudge128 the breath it cost me. But the least thanks thou canst give me is that precious pelt64.” Drawing his knife, the hunter soon removed that very softest and most exquisite129 of all furs. Then with an uneasy glance at the clouds he turned away, walking as briskly as his protesting lungs would allow.
Good! There was the mule all right. It had not budged130 a foot; and now, though still in an attitude of utter dejection, was clearly out of danger. Directly, master and mule were jogging off toward the trail at a most[133] doleful gait—which doubtless would have been mended, if they could have seen through the rounded hill just ahead. But the hill was opaque131, as hills and circumstances ahead are so prone132 to be; and they pottered along lazily, until, at a turn over the ridge, the spurs went drumming such an unexpected tattoo133 upon his echoing ribs that the mule quite forgot himself, and went pitching down the hill at a pace he had not taken in a month.
IV.
Away down yonder, a superannuated134 buggy and its team stood in the trail. A few rods ahead of it, and just at the heels of a wilted135 pack-mule, two men were scuffling in the dust; and over them a hooded136 figure was bringing down a heavy club. At that instant the pack beast wakened enough to turn his head interrogatively, cocking one ear forward and the other back. Even as he did so, his nigh hind41 leg could be seen to gather itself and suddenly lunge out behind. A long, linen-shrouded form, white capped at one end, thereupon doubled in half, and rose in the air and went whirling like a boomerang. It fell a full rod away and did not rise. Then a similar figure sprang from the buggy and rushed[134] at the wrestlers; but midway went down all at once in a loose heap, as if struck by a bullet. No wonder the stranger up yonder drummed with his heels, and jockeyed, and whooped137; and, finding his charger still too slow, leaped from its back and came bounding down the hillside like a loosened rock.
Andrés was sitting placidly138 astride his prostrate139 foe140, breathing rather hard, but looking stupidly good-natured as ever. One of his fingers was broken, and blood from a gash141 on his forehead trickled142 down his nose.
“Mps, viracocha,” he answered to the breathless traveler’s glance of inquiry143, “the caballeros were set to see the inside of your boxes, and because I refused they went to beat me. But when this cannibal here came upon me, then it was to fight. The blows of a gentleman, yes—but not of a chuncho.[31] So I measured him, thus. And when the gentleman went to crack me the squash with his quirt, then did Big-Ears here, forgetting respect to the powerful, set heel to his stomach and lift him until over yonder.”
[135]
“He? Mps, but it will be the sorojchi—see you not how the blood falls from his mouth? And you see, viracocha, how strong is the coca! Because I sacrificed at the apacheta, as one should, to the spirits of the high places, it has all come as the mouth would ask. Without that, then, the gentlemen would have left me here, of no more use to your grace, and the magic boxes would be emptied in the light.”
When night came down on the Quimca-chata, a gusty145 snowstorm, with howling intervals146 of hail, beset the pass. It roared at the hills, it swooped147 down the ca?ons as if in search of some living thing it might turn to ice before morning. But inside the low, dirty tambo, they only laughed at its rage. The bald stone hut in a little nook under the shoulder of a hill had neither window nor chimney; and a heavy poncho148 of llama hair was the temporary door. It was a fair type of the tambos of the Andes—those tenantless149, cheerless wayside shelters that save the traveler in those bleak150 lands from perishing. On the sooty hearth151 a faint blaze of taqui wavered, and the smoke wandered out as best it could or made itself at home in the bare room. Upon the rough stone bench along the walls sat five men,[136] and in the farther corner six mules nosed wistfully in a rubbish heap for casual straws. Of the men two were Indians, and both wore bandaged heads. The third guest of this inn without a landlord appeared to be an American, and he also had a handkerchief bound about his skull. The two others were handsome, swarthy men in costly152 vicu?a ponchos153. They sat on linen dusters, from the pockets of which peeped the tasseled154 ends of two white caps.
One member of the party cast now and then a sly glance at these. So, instead of clowns going to some feast, these were two wealthy Bolivians. And those astonishing head masks which had so mystified him were merely to save their faces from that trying mountain air—so Andrés had informed him, with an evident effort not to pity his ignorance. And looking at those coffee complexions155 he had serious work to keep from smiling at the thought of trying to keep them from sunburn.
“Pues, it is as well the tambo was near, for none of us were in shape to go much farther to-night, even forgetting the storm. Ea! But how it howls, as if disappointed!”
It was the American who broke the silence, though he spoke, of course, in Spanish—the[137] only common possession of the five tongues.
“You have reason, caballero,” answered the taller of the two dons, courteously156. “And even more am I glad that we make ourselves pardoned. Of a truth, we were most ignorant that to open your cases would spoil all; nor could we have thought to take the liberty, but that we believed you a—a seller baiting us for higher pay. But we were well answered. Your so obstinate157 arriero made me forget myself, and I give you a caballero’s apology. But that mule—ay de mi! I thought Illampu itself had tumbled upon me!”
“Verily, se?or! I saw it from the hill, and it was so prettily158 done as I never could have believed. Why, se?or, he shut you at the waist like a knife with a strong spring!”
“He did but justice. I have shame to think how I lost a gentleman’s temper. And so little more and I could have broken your man’s head. But since you have the fineness to hold no malice160, it is well.”
“Oh, I know curiosity and temper both. Only that it is Andrés’s head and not mine. But his need not be too sore—for you have caused me to double his wages from to-day.[138] An arriero that will stand a broken head to guard the amo’s load—well, I haven’t found him very abundant in Bolivia, nor anywhere else.”
“You have reason always. And—er—understood that—pues, you know that Don Juan de Jaúregui cannot say to an arriero, ‘pardon’! But in purity of truth, he is faithful, and I would be glad to give him a well paid position on the chacra.”
“Eh, Andrés? The cavalier offers justly. What sayest thou?”
Andrés’s face beamed simply, and he twisted his skull cap as he rose with a clumsy bow.
“I shall be glad,” he stammered. “But only if—until—when that the viracocha shall have no more need of an arriero. For while the magic boxes have to ride on the ribs of a mule, it is safer that I be driver—since the viracocha has shown me, and I know how they must be treated. ‘Gently! Gently! And for the life of you, let no light come into them!’”
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1
mules
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| 骡( mule的名词复数 )； 拖鞋； 顽固的人； 越境运毒者 | |
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2
mule
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| n.骡子，杂种，执拗的人 | |
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3
exhorting
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| v.劝告，劝说( exhort的现在分词 ) | |
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4
frightful
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| adj.可怕的；讨厌的 | |
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5
faucet
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| n.水龙头 | |
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6
nausea
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| n.作呕，恶心；极端的憎恶(或厌恶) | |
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seasickness
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| n.晕船 | |
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8
elevations
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| （水平或数量）提高( elevation的名词复数 )； 高地； 海拔； 提升 | |
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elevation
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| n.高度；海拔；高地；上升；提高 | |
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10
robust
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| adj.强壮的，强健的，粗野的，需要体力的，浓的 | |
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11
quaint
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| adj.古雅的，离奇有趣的，奇怪的 | |
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12
mutual
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| adj.相互的，彼此的；共同的，共有的 | |
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13
sincerity
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| n.真诚，诚意；真实 | |
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14
affected
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| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
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succumb
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| v.屈服，屈从；死 | |
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16
toil
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| vi.辛劳工作，艰难地行动；n.苦工，难事 | |
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17
extraordinarily
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| adv.格外地；极端地 | |
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18
butt
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| n.笑柄；烟蒂；枪托；臀部；v.用头撞或顶 | |
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19
impunity
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| n.(惩罚、损失、伤害等的)免除 | |
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20
considerably
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| adv.极大地；相当大地；在很大程度上 | |
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21
fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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22
chunks
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| 厚厚的一块( chunk的名词复数 )； （某物）相当大的数量或部分 | |
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23
gasping
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| adj. 气喘的, 痉挛的 动词gasp的现在分词 | |
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24
groan
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| vi./n.呻吟，抱怨；(发出)呻吟般的声音 | |
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25
bleached
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| 漂白的，晒白的，颜色变浅的 | |
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26
maligned
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| vt.污蔑，诽谤（malign的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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27
civilized
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| a.有教养的，文雅的 | |
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28
wilderness
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| n.杳无人烟的一片陆地、水等，荒漠 | |
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29
sprawled
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| v.伸开四肢坐[躺]( sprawl的过去式和过去分词)；蔓延；杂乱无序地拓展；四肢伸展坐着（或躺着） | |
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30
caravan
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| n.大蓬车；活动房屋 | |
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31
distressed
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| 痛苦的 | |
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32
expenditure
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| n.(时间、劳力、金钱等)支出；使用，消耗 | |
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33
pimpled
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| adj.有丘疹的，多粉刺的 | |
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34
crest
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| n.顶点；饰章；羽冠；vt.达到顶点；vi.形成浪尖 | |
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35
pouch
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| n.小袋，小包，囊状袋；vt.装...入袋中，用袋运输；vi.用袋送信件 | |
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36
sagging
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| 下垂[沉，陷]，松垂，垂度 | |
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37
ribs
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| n.肋骨( rib的名词复数 )；（船或屋顶等的）肋拱；肋骨状的东西；（织物的）凸条花纹 | |
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38
tightened
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| 收紧( tighten的过去式和过去分词 )； （使）变紧； （使）绷紧； 加紧 | |
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39
descending
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| n. 下行 adj. 下降的 | |
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40
wondrous
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| adj.令人惊奇的，奇妙的；adv.惊人地；异乎寻常地；令人惊叹地 | |
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41
hind
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| adj.后面的，后部的 | |
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42
trot
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| n.疾走，慢跑；n.老太婆；现成译本；(复数）trots:腹泻（与the 连用）；v.小跑，快步走，赶紧 | |
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43
trotted
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| 小跑，急走( trot的过去分词 )； 匆匆忙忙地走 | |
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44
chattering
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| n. （机器振动发出的）咔嗒声，(鸟等)鸣，啁啾 adj. 喋喋不休的，啾啾声的 动词chatter的现在分词形式 | |
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45
peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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46
garb
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| n.服装，装束 | |
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47
linen
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| n.亚麻布，亚麻线，亚麻制品；adj.亚麻布制的，亚麻的 | |
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48
muffled
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| adj.（声音）被隔的；听不太清的；（衣服）裹严的；蒙住的v.压抑，捂住( muffle的过去式和过去分词 )；用厚厚的衣帽包着（自己） | |
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49
yarn
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| n.纱，纱线，纺线；奇闻漫谈，旅行轶事 | |
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50
molesting
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| v.骚扰( molest的现在分词 )；干扰；调戏；猥亵 | |
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51
lash
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| v.系牢；鞭打；猛烈抨击；n.鞭打；眼睫毛 | |
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52
ambushed
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| v.埋伏( ambush的过去式和过去分词 )；埋伏着 | |
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53
lame
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| adj.跛的，(辩解、论据等)无说服力的 | |
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54
lament
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| n.悲叹，悔恨，恸哭；v.哀悼，悔恨，悲叹 | |
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55
vistas
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| 长条形景色( vista的名词复数 )； 回顾； 展望； （未来可能发生的）一系列情景 | |
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56
expressive
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| adj.表现的，表达…的，富于表情的 | |
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57
lumber
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| n.木材，木料；v.以破旧东西堆满；伐木；笨重移动 | |
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58
curtly
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| adv.简短地 | |
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59
plod
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| v.沉重缓慢地走，孜孜地工作 | |
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60
prodded
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| v.刺，戳( prod的过去式和过去分词 )；刺激；促使；（用手指或尖物）戳 | |
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61
strapped
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| adj.用皮带捆住的，用皮带装饰的；身无分文的；缺钱；手头紧v.用皮带捆扎(strap的过去式和过去分词)；用皮带抽打；包扎；给…打绷带 | |
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62
scudded
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| v.（尤指船、舰或云彩）笔直、高速而平稳地移动( scud的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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63
pelts
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| n. 皮毛，投掷, 疾行 vt. 剥去皮毛，（连续）投掷 vi. 猛击，大步走 | |
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64
pelt
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| v.投掷，剥皮，抨击，开火 | |
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brute
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| n.野兽，兽性 | |
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66
gouged
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| v.凿( gouge的过去式和过去分词 )；乱要价；（在…中）抠出…；挖出… | |
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67
piecemeal
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| adj.零碎的；n.片，块；adv.逐渐地；v.弄成碎块 | |
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68
condors
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| n.神鹰( condor的名词复数 ) | |
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69
ambled
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| v.（马）缓行( amble的过去式和过去分词 )；从容地走，漫步 | |
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70
ramping
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| 土堤斜坡( ramp的现在分词 )； 斜道； 斜路； （装车或上下飞机的）活动梯 | |
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71
follies
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| 罪恶，时事讽刺剧； 愚蠢，蠢笨，愚蠢的行为、思想或做法( folly的名词复数 ) | |
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72
virtues
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| 美德( virtue的名词复数 )； 德行； 优点； 长处 | |
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73
noted
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| adj.著名的，知名的 | |
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74
rattle
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| v.飞奔，碰响；激怒；n.碰撞声；拨浪鼓 | |
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75
beset
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| v.镶嵌；困扰，包围 | |
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76
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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77
stammered
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| v.结巴地说出( stammer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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78
stiffened
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| 加强的 | |
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79
astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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80
contagious
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| adj.传染性的，有感染力的 | |
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81
faltered
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| （嗓音）颤抖( falter的过去式和过去分词 )； 支吾其词； 蹒跚； 摇晃 | |
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82
humbly
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| adv. 恭顺地，谦卑地 | |
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83
stolidly
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| adv.迟钝地，神经麻木地 | |
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84
stolid
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| adj.无动于衷的，感情麻木的 | |
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85
kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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86
winks
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| v.使眼色( wink的第三人称单数 )；递眼色（表示友好或高兴等）；（指光）闪烁；闪亮 | |
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87
petrified
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| adj.惊呆的；目瞪口呆的v.使吓呆，使惊呆；变僵硬；使石化(petrify的过去式和过去分词) | |
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88
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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89
obstruction
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| n.阻塞，堵塞；障碍物 | |
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90
hood
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| n.头巾，兜帽，覆盖；v.罩上，以头巾覆盖 | |
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91
ruffled
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| adj. 有褶饰边的, 起皱的 动词ruffle的过去式和过去分词 | |
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92
calves
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| n.(calf的复数)笨拙的男子，腓；腿肚子( calf的名词复数 )；牛犊；腓；小腿肚v.生小牛( calve的第三人称单数 )；（冰川）崩解；生（小牛等），产（犊）；使（冰川）崩解 | |
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93
skull
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| n.头骨；颅骨 | |
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94
sinewy
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| adj.多腱的，强壮有力的 | |
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95
odds
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| n.让步，机率，可能性，比率；胜败优劣之别 | |
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96
cowardice
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| n.胆小，怯懦 | |
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97
growled
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| v.（动物）发狺狺声， （雷）作隆隆声( growl的过去式和过去分词 )；低声咆哮着说 | |
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98
wilt
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| v.(使)植物凋谢或枯萎；(指人)疲倦，衰弱 | |
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99
bawled
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| v.大叫，大喊( bawl的过去式和过去分词 )；放声大哭；大声叫出；叫卖（货物） | |
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100
exasperated
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| adj.恼怒的 | |
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101
woe
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| n.悲哀，苦痛，不幸，困难；int.用来表达悲伤或惊慌 | |
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102
laboring
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| n.劳动，操劳v.努力争取(for)( labor的现在分词 )；苦干；详细分析；（指引擎）缓慢而困难地运转 | |
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103
quarry
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| n.采石场；v.采石；费力地找 | |
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104
antelope
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| n.羚羊；羚羊皮 | |
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105
graceful
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| adj.优美的，优雅的；得体的 | |
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106
remorsefully
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| adv.极为懊悔地 | |
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107
bleating
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| v.（羊，小牛）叫( bleat的现在分词 )；哭诉；发出羊叫似的声音；轻声诉说 | |
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108
thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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109
soothe
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| v.安慰；使平静；使减轻；缓和；奉承 | |
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110
gallop
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| v./n.(马或骑马等)飞奔；飞速发展 | |
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111
protruding
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| v.（使某物）伸出，（使某物）突出( protrude的现在分词 )；凸 | |
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112
scowl
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| vi.(at)生气地皱眉，沉下脸，怒视；n.怒容 | |
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113
groaned
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| v.呻吟( groan的过去式和过去分词 )；发牢骚；抱怨；受苦 | |
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114
ridge
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| n.山脊；鼻梁；分水岭 | |
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115
vigor
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| n.活力，精力，元气 | |
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116
racing
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| n.竞赛，赛马；adj.竞赛用的，赛马用的 | |
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117
spurt
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| v.喷出；突然进发；突然兴隆 | |
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118
blurred
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| v.（使）变模糊( blur的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）难以区分；模模糊糊；迷离 | |
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119
numb
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| adj.麻木的，失去感觉的；v.使麻木 | |
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120
suffocating
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| a.使人窒息的 | |
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spun
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| v.纺，杜撰，急转身 | |
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122
sprawling
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| adj.蔓生的，不规则地伸展的v.伸开四肢坐[躺]( sprawl的现在分词 )；蔓延；杂乱无序地拓展；四肢伸展坐着（或躺着） | |
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123
bleats
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| v.（羊，小牛）叫( bleat的第三人称单数 )；哭诉；发出羊叫似的声音；轻声诉说 | |
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124
chilly
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| adj.凉快的，寒冷的 | |
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125
counteract
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| vt.对…起反作用，对抗，抵消 | |
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126
complacently
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| adv. 满足地, 自满地, 沾沾自喜地 | |
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127
clenched
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| v.紧握，抓紧，咬紧( clench的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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128
grudge
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| n.不满，怨恨，妒嫉；vt.勉强给，不情愿做 | |
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129
exquisite
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| adj.精美的；敏锐的；剧烈的，感觉强烈的 | |
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130
budged
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| v.（使）稍微移动( budge的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）改变主意，（使）让步 | |
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opaque
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| adj.不透光的；不反光的，不传导的；晦涩的 | |
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prone
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| adj.(to)易于…的，很可能…的；俯卧的 | |
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133
tattoo
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| n.纹身，(皮肤上的)刺花纹；vt.刺花纹于 | |
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134
superannuated
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| adj.老朽的，退休的；v.因落后于时代而废除，勒令退学 | |
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135
wilted
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| （使）凋谢，枯萎( wilt的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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136
hooded
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| adj.戴头巾的；有罩盖的；颈部因肋骨运动而膨胀的 | |
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137
whooped
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| 叫喊( whoop的过去式和过去分词 )； 高声说； 唤起 | |
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138
placidly
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| adv.平稳地，平静地 | |
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139
prostrate
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| v.拜倒，平卧，衰竭；adj.拜倒的，平卧的，衰竭的 | |
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140
foe
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| n.敌人，仇敌 | |
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141
gash
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| v.深切，划开；n.(深长的)切(伤)口；裂缝 | |
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142
trickled
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| v.滴( trickle的过去式和过去分词 )；淌；使)慢慢走；缓慢移动 | |
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143
inquiry
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| n.打听，询问，调查，查问 | |
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144
mustered
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| v.集合，召集，集结（尤指部队）( muster的过去式和过去分词 )；（自他人处）搜集某事物；聚集；激发 | |
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145
gusty
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| adj.起大风的 | |
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146
intervals
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| n.[军事]间隔( interval的名词复数 )；间隔时间；[数学]区间；（戏剧、电影或音乐会的）幕间休息 | |
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147
swooped
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| 俯冲，猛冲( swoop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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148
poncho
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| n.斗篷，雨衣 | |
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149
tenantless
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| adj.无人租赁的，无人居住的 | |
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150
bleak
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| adj.(天气)阴冷的；凄凉的；暗淡的 | |
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151
hearth
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| n.壁炉炉床，壁炉地面 | |
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152
costly
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| adj.昂贵的，价值高的，豪华的 | |
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153
ponchos
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| n.斗篷( poncho的名词复数 ) | |
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154
tasseled
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| v.抽穗， （玉米）长穗须( tassel的过去式和过去分词 )；使抽穗， （为了使作物茁壮生长）摘去穗状雄花；用流苏装饰 | |
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complexions
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| 肤色( complexion的名词复数 )； 面色； 局面； 性质 | |
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156
courteously
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| adv.有礼貌地，亲切地 | |
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157
obstinate
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| adj.顽固的，倔强的，不易屈服的，较难治愈的 | |
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158
prettily
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| adv.优美地；可爱地 | |
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159
frankly
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| adv.坦白地，直率地；坦率地说 | |
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160
malice
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| n.恶意，怨恨，蓄意；[律]预谋 | |
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