In about half an hour we reached the right bank of the river, where
we off-saddled, crossing by a trolley platform; the horses were swum
over, and the kit carried by the _cargadores_ on their heads. My
_cargador_ must have gone down, for when I got my gear later it
was soaking wet. On the other side we began to climb, and sharply;
we now could look back on Kiangan. Rounding the nose of a gigantic,
buttress-like spur, covered with _camote_ patches, we descended to
a small affluent of the Ibilao, where we halted and rested, and,
crossing it, again began to climb, the trail being cut out of the
side of another gigantic spur. At last we reached the top, to find a
new deep, steep valley below us, and just across, only a few parasangs
away, Andangle. But it was far more than a few parasangs by the trail,
for we had to go completely around the head of the valley, mostly on
the same contour. Andangle itself is barely more than a name, but we
found here a house of bamboo and palm fresh built for us, tastefully
adorned with greens and plants, and protected by _anitos_, resembling
those of Kiangan. Like nearly all the other places visited by us,
it was finely situated, the mountains we had just ridden through
forming a great amphitheater to the north.

Our stay here was uneventful. There is really little to record or
report. This branch of the Ifugaos impressed me as being a quieter
[29] lot than the people we had just left and apparently fonder,
if possible, of speech-making. For speeches went on almost without
intermission, all breathing good-will and declaring the intention of
the people to behave in a lawful manner and promising to have done
with killing and stealing.

There were many women and children, the children very shy. Of
weapons there were none. Dancing went on uninterruptedly the whole