carpets on vertical hand looms. The local carpet weavers make the warp
and woof of woolen yarn in which loops of alpaca wool, black, gray,
or white, are inserted to form the desired pattern. The loops are cut
so as to form a deep pile. The result is a delightfully thick, warm,
gray rug. Ordinarily the native Peruvian rug has no pile. Probably the
industry was brought from Europe by some Spaniard centuries ago. It
seems to be restricted to this remote region. The rug makers are a
small group of Indians who live outside the town but who carry their
hand looms from house to house, as required. It is the custom for the
person who desires a rug to buy the wool, supply the pattern, furnish
the weaver with board, lodging, coca, tobacco and wine, and watch the
rug grow from day to day under the shelter of his own roof. The rug
weavers are very clever in copying new patterns. Through the courtesy
of Señor Viscarra we eventually received several small rugs, woven
especially for us from monogram designs drawn by Mr. Hendriksen.

Early one morning in November we said good-bye to our friendly host,
and, directed by a picturesque old guide who said he knew the road to
Parinacochas, we left Cotahuasi. The highway crossed the neighboring
stream on a treacherous-looking bridge, the central pier of which
was built of the crudest kind of masonry piled on top of a gigantic
boulder in midstream. The main arch of the bridge consisted of two
long logs across which had been thrown a quantity of brush held down
by earth and stones. There was no rail on either side, but our mules
had crossed bridges of this type before and made little trouble. On
the northern side of the valley we rode through a compact little town
called Mungi and began to climb out of the canyon, passing hundreds
of very fine artificial terraces, at present used for crops of maize
and barley. In one place our road led us by a little waterfall,
an altogether surprising and unexpected phenomenon in this arid