offerings he had given at various shrines. In a few minutes their prayers were over, and devoutly crossing themselves they left the room.
By the time we had finished our coffee the mozos were ready to start, and we rode for about two leagues on a fair track, now through woodland and now through milpas and bright green patches of sugar-cane, enjoying charming views of the wooded ridge we were leaving behind us and of the lofty mountains on the far side of the valley. At a distance of about five miles from the village we came to a rivulet, where the animals were at last able to quench their thirst, and two miles further on the steep descent of nearly four thousand feet began. Here we halted to unload the mules and give over their burdens to the care of the Indian carriers. We did not unsaddle the animals, but were careful to remove stirrups and stirrup-leathers, and to see that all straps and girths were secure. My husband and I led the way, keeping well ahead of the mules, lest one of them should roll over us. It was an exceedingly rough and difficult walk, and we were more than three hours accomplishing it. Two of the mules fell, and the horse rolled over; but none of them were hurt, and we all arrived safely at the river.
In answer to our shouts a man emerged from a house on the opposite bank and came over to us on a very small raft which he brought across the stream by hauling on a rope made fast to both banks. On this craft we were ferried over, two at a time. I dare say the passage was safe enough, but that was not exactly my impression whilst crossing, for the current was very swift and the raft almost entirely under water, and we had to curl ourselves up on a ricketty seat in order to keep dry. At our landing-place, called Agua Blanca, there were only two houses, and these were inhabited by Cobaneros, friends of Gorgonio, who gave us food and shelter for the night, treated our tired animals most hospitably, and refused all payment.
Alas! we had now left the beautiful climate of the Altos behind us, the air was hot and muggy and swarming with insect life, and we were glad when the dawn came and we could mount our mules to climb the steep hillside which led up to the tableland of the Alta Vera Paz. It was not a pleasant day's journey, as our animals were very tired and a thick mist cut us off from the enjoyment of the landscape. About midday rain began to fall, the first we had felt since leaving the city of Guatemala, and the first break in our sunlit journey. About one o'clock we rode into the little town of San Cristobal, which lies buried in fruit-trees on the edge of a pretty little lake.
The coffee-plants here are not closely-clipped bushes but veritable trees laden with ripe red berries, and we found the whole Indian population busily engaged gathering in the crop and singing and chatting cheerfully over the task.
