PERUVIAN INDIANS WITH FLAGS meeting the missionaries
Roughing It in Bolivia
By Otto H. Shultz
A Colporter's Experience
AFTER having worked some time round about Cochabamba, selling many of our publications, I left for Oruro in the midsummer. The route lay over the mountains, in regions of ice and snow. Cold and rushing mountain streams had to be crossed, sometimes many in a day; and at times the path along a chasm narrowed down to less than a foot, with the torrent thundering hundreds of feet below.
There are no houses for shelter from the weather. The mountains are bare, affording only moss as food for the llamas. One day I reached an Indian hut. I was tired, hungry, and cold. Inside I found a company of Indians lying on the ground, drinking and making hideous noises blowing on cow-horns. With the noise they kept me awake all night.
In many places the Indians are half wild, with long hair, and dirty and lazy. They spend much time in drinking, chewing coca, and smoking. Reaching at last an Indian town, I found it a most fanatical and hostile place. Many threats were uttered. One Indian seized my hat and wanted to fight. To impress the people that I had no fear, I walked up and down the main street so boldly that no one threatened me again. The angel of the Lord, I was assured, was by my side. But I could buy no food.
That night I lay on the ground, in a house, with a stone under my head; but cold and hunger forbade sleep. I prayed God to send me food; and in a little while a white man came to the place and knocked on the door and brought me some food and a lighted candle. Thus God answered my prayer again.
I was safely brought through to Oruro. I very much need a good brother whose trust is in the Lord, to join me in the work.
OTTO H. SHULTZ.
