"No, my brave boy, rest yourself. You'll be a man, when others
are only children at your age," replied Glenarvan.

On reaching the little mound of porphyry, Glenarvan and his
two companions left the CASUCHA. In spite of the perfect
calmness of the atmosphere, the cold was stinging.
Paganel consulted his barometer, and found that the depression
of the mercury corresponded to an elevation of 11,000 feet,
only 910 meters lower than Mont Blanc. But if these mountains
had presented the difficulties of the giant of the Swiss Alps,
not one of the travelers could have crossed the great chain
of the New World.

On reaching a little mound of porphyry, Glenarvan and Paganel
stopped to gaze about them and scan the horizon on all sides.
They were now on the summit of the Nevadas of the Cordilleras,
and could see over an area of forty miles. The valley of the
Colorado was already sunk in shadow, and night was fast drawing
her mantle over the eastern slopes of the Andes. The western
side was illumined by the rays of the setting sun, and peaks
and glaciers flashed back his golden beams with dazzling radiance.
On the south the view was magnificent. Across the wild valley
of the Torbido, about two miles distant, rose the volcano
of Antuco. The mountain roared like some enormous monster,
and vomited red smoke, mingled with torrents of sooty flame.
The surrounding peaks appeared on fire. Showers of red-hot stones,
clouds of reddish vapor and rockets of lava, all combined,
presented the appearance of glowing sparkling streams.
The splendor of the spectacle increased every instant
as night deepened, and the whole sky became lighted up with