RECOLLECTIONS OF FULL YEARS
traordinary country. The whole face of the landscape looks like corroded copper, and the great, scarred gulches where the ore has been taken out make one think of chaos, or dreams of an inferno. I don't know how to express an idea of bigness in a mere touch of description as I pass on through the story of this trip, but I want to convey an impression of overwhelming size in everything. It is a great, wild world where one sees miles in every direction and where nature seems to have done everything on a gigantic scale.
A mile or so beyond the copper mines we came upon a veritable mountain paradise,—from our point of view, at least. It was the home of Don José Mills, a Spaniard who, some unknown reason, had banished himself to this out-of-the-world spot and, with what labour and pains can only be imagined, had made for himself a civilised abode. I was shown to a room all by myself, which had in it a real bed with springs and a mattress. It was the first one I had seen for I don't know how long. I regarded it with great curiosity at first, then I sat down on it most respectfully. I lay down and stretched myself out; then I pulled up a soft blanket and, though it was only midday, nothing short of the gravest emergency could have induced me to move. The emergency presented itself, finally, in the form of luncheon and I discovered that Don José had returned hurriedly from Candon in order to entertain us and that he had brought with him everything in the form of food and liquid refreshments that he could find. The result was a triumph, and we decided that we should like to remain under his hospitable roof indefinitely.
That night, amid much merriment, we initiated our host into the mysteries and secrets of a little society we had formed and which we called the Earring Club. Our insignia was a big, brass Igorrote earring, and we had signs and pass-words, to say nothing of a song which nobody but ourselves could sing. We appropriated the Cavalry tune
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