The rancho of the husbandman is a log cabin, with shingled roof and long projecting eaves, unlike the dwellings either of the great _valus_ or the _tierras calientes_.

I pass the smoking pits of the "carbonero", and I meet the "arriero" with his "atajo" of mules heavily laden with ice of the glaciers.

They are passing with their cargoes, to cool the wine-cups in the great cities of the plains.
Upward and upward! The oak is left behind, and the pine grows stunted and dwarfish.

The wind blows colder and colder.

A wintry aspect is around me.
Upward still.