In the morning we had startled flocks of parrots, which rose with harsh cries, hovered while we passed, and then resettled on the same trees where they had been before.

In the evening we saw pairs of macaws flying high, and as they flew over our heads they looked like black crosses sharp against the evening sky.

At evening we reached Guvino, a dreadful town, in the population of which there seems to be a negro strain.

We stopped with the _presidente_, in whose veins flowed Spanish, indian, and negro blood.

In his one-roomed house besides ourselves there slept the owner, his wife, two daughters, one with a six-weeks baby, a son, and two young men--friends of the family.
Turning north the next day, onto the Niltepec road, we wandered from our trail, losing five leagues of space and more than three hours of time.
The country through which we passed was terribly dry; there were no running streams.