One of our _cargadores_,
as it was, fell over, his pack getting knocked in, while he himself
escaped with a bruise or two. It was a bad place! At the end of it
a host of Kalingas acclaimed us, as picturesque as the warriors we
had met at the stream, and took over the pack. Leaving the river,
we began what appeared to be an interminable climb to Lubuagan. Up
ran the trail, disappearing far ahead above us, behind the shoulder
of the ridge; and we would all be hoping (those of us to whom the
country was new) that Lubuagan would be just around the turn, only to
find we had the same sort of climb to another shoulder; the fact being
that the ridge here thrust itself out in rising echeloned spurs, each
one of which had to be turned, so that we began to doubt if there was
such a place as the capital of the Kalinga province. In truth, we had
been up since 3:30 and were nearly spent from heat and thirst. But at
last we made the final turn, and entered upon a narrow green valley,
with a bold, clear stream rushing over and between the rocks that
filled its bed. Broad-leafed plants nodded a welcome from the waters,
as we rode through the grateful shadow of the overarching trees, and
shining pools smiled upon us.
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