We were in single file, our guide, Herman, and I.At sight of every bush or indistinct object, our guide clutched his club and crossed himself, as he mumbled a prayer.

When we met anyone, we kept strictly to our side of the road, they to theirs, and, in passing, barely exchanged a word of greeting.

The timidity and terror of our guide increased as we advanced, until I concluded to be prepared for any emergency and carried the revolver in my hand, instead of in my pocket.
Mile after mile we trudged along through the heavy sand, into which we sunk so far that our low shoes repeatedly became filled and we had to stop to take them off and empty them.

We passed through San Pablo, left the Hacienda of San Andres to one hand, and, finally, at 10:10 found ourselves in the great indian town of San Gabriel de Chila.

It was much larger than we had anticipated and almost purely indian.