INDIAN WITH PANNIER. INDIAN SHEPHERD
After about four hours' journey in this desolation, the clouds suddenly broke to the southward, revealing the blue sky between masses of sullen vapor, and thus we reached our breakfasting house on the top of the mountain.
Imagine a mud-hole, (not a regular lake of mud, but a mass of that clayey, oozey, grayish substance, which sucks your feet at every step,) surrounded by eight huts, built of logs and reeds, stuck into the watery earth, and thatched with palm leaves. This was the stage breakfasting station, on the road from Mexico to Cuernavaca! We asked for "the house;" and a hut, a little more open than the rest, was pointed out. It was in two divisions, one being closed with reeds, and the other entirely exposed, along one side of which was spread a rough board supported on four sticks covered with a dirty cloth. It was the principal hotel!
There was no denying that prospects were most unpromising, but we were too hungry to wait longer for food. We asked for breakfast, but
