was sorry it was off our itinerary. The point where we were resting
has some interest from its associations, for our troops reached it
in their pursuit of Aguinaldo, at the end of a long day of rain,
and had to spend the night without food or fire or sleep. It was not
possible to light a pipe even, a _noche triste_ indeed. Most of the
men stood up all night, this being better than lying down in the mud;
to march on was impossible, as the country was then trailless, except
for the Spanish trail mentioned, to attempt which by night would have
been suicide. A tropical forest can be pretty dreary in bad weather,
almost as dreary as a Florida cypress swamp on a rainy Sunday.

We now made on, having crossed into Bontok sub-province, and by
midday had reached a point on the trail above an Igorot village
called Ambawan. Here we were met by a number of the officials of
the province, who gave us a sumptuous tiffin in the rest-house. And
here, too, we bought a number of baskets made in Ambawan, graceful
of design and well-woven, though small. Governor Evans offered an
escort of Constabulary through the next village, Talubin, the temper
of its inhabitants being uncertain, but Mr. Forbes declined it,
and ordered the escort sent back. We were riding as men of peace,
determined to mark our confidence in the good intentions and behavior
of the various _rancherías_ we passed through.

Immediately on leaving Ambawan, we had to drop from the new trail
(ours) to the old Spanish one for a short distance, for our trail
had run plump upon a rock, waiting before removal for a little money
to buy dynamite with. Having turned the rock, the climb back to the
new trail proved to be quite a serious affair, as such things go,
the path being so steep and so filled with loose sand and gravel
clattering down the slope at each step that only one man leading