Finally, all was ready for our leaving.

The party consisted of five persons--myself, as leader, Mr.Lang, my American photographer, Don Anselmo, my Mexican plaster-worker, Manuel, and the _mozo_.

All but the _mozo_ were mounted on horses, more or less good or bad.

The _mozo_, Mariano, a Mixtec indian, went on foot, carrying the photographic outfit on his back, and our measuring-rod in his hand.
It was well on in the afternoon before we started, and hardly were we outside the town, before Mr.Lang's horse showed signs of sickness.

His suffering was plain, and every person we met volunteered the information that unless something was done promptly, we should have a dead horse on our hands.