The mountain mass before us, which had been in view for two days past, loomed up frightfully before us.
Would our little mule be able to pass it?
We remembered what an American tramp, whom we had met at Tuxtla Gutierrez and who had walked on foot from Guatemala City, had said: "Between Nenton and Huehuetenango you will pass over a mountain that will make your heart sick; may God help you." Just at dusk we looked down upon Nenton in a little valley, with a fine stream crossed by a pretty bridge, where mountains rose steeply on every side.

Having been registered by the custom officials, we slept that night, our first in the new republic, in the municipal house.
Next morning we started bravely, the whole town having assembled to see us off.

We safely reached the foot of the mountain, where the mule stopped and braced himself.

We spoke kindly, coaxed, dragged, but all to no effect.

Finally he started, but three times within the next few minutes, he and we went through the same procedure.