Early on a brilliant morning, with baggage repacked, and the lessening
amount of provisions more firmly strapped on the shoulders of the
Indians, the explorers left their pleasant site on the banks of the
Maniri. The repose allowed to the bulk of the party during the absence
of their Bolivian companions had been wholesome and refreshing. The
success of the bark-hunters in their search for cinchonas had cheered
all hearts, and the luxurious supper of dried mutton and chuno
arranged for them on their return gave a reminiscence of splendor to
the thatched hut on the banks of the stream. This edifice, the last of
civilized construction they expected to see, had the effect of a home
in the wilderness. The bivouac there had been enjoyed with a sentiment
of tranquil carelessness. Little did the travelers think that savage
eyes had been peeping through the forest upon their fancied security,
and that the wild people of the valleys who were to work them all
kinds of mischief were upon their track from this station forth.

The enormous fire kindled for breakfast mingled with the stain of
sunrise to cast a glow upon their departure. Across the vale of the
Cconi, as though a pair of sturdy porters had arisen to celebrate
their leavetaking, the cones of Patabamba caught the first rays of
the sun and held them aloft like hospitable torches. These huge forms,
soldered together at the waist like Chang and Eng, and clothed with
shaggy woods up to the top, had been the guardian watchers over their
days in the ajoupa at Maniri. The sun just rising empurpled their
double cones, while the base and the surrounding landscape were washed
with the neutral tints of twilight.

After passing the narrow affluent after which the camping-ground of
Maniri was named, the party pursued the course of the Cconi through
a more level tract of country. The stones and precipices became more