An Indian, who lived on the bank, when drawn into the consultation advised us to go farther down and cross the big river in a canoe. We went, he acting as our guide, and when we came to the place where the canoe ought to be, behold, it was on the other side of the stream.
Then ensued such a series of screeches and yells as made me tremble for the safety of my scalp and look furtively around for a score of blood-thirsty natives to spring from ambush, but when my fears were somewhat calmed I understood that our guide was merely calling to the boatman across the way.
His efforts met with no success, and with a stream of eloquence which my limited knowledge of profanity would never allow me to translate into plain English, he rolled up his trousers, grabbed the halter of my mule, and without further ado plunged into the water and made for the other shore.
Sometime I will put it on record for how long it is possible to hold one's breath. During the time we were slipping and sliding over the stones, sometimes finding a foothold almost an impossibility and with difficulty breasting the current, I had no use whatever for oxygen, but lived wholly upon terror and the thought of a watery grave. Such was not to be my fate, however, and I escaped to endure greater trials and revel in far more wonderful experiences.
After reaching terra firma, on and on we rode over a plain similar to the one we had traversed the previous afternoon. Once we came to a tiny stream flowing across our path, so small it was hardly worth noticing, but to my surprise my mule objected so seriously and so suddenly to wetting her feet, that I was nearly unseated, and in consequence was led to investigate the cause of her conduct. I somewhat sympathized with her when I found that the pretty light blue rivulet was formed of steaming hot water, the outlet of a boiling spring hard by. In time my superior will conquered, and we crossed the water, which is so hot that eggs can be cooked in it.
As we were riding along in silence, I watching the many-colored lizards darting from our vicinity, marvelling at the size attained by the cactus in its native clime, and indulging in many comparisons, not odious, I was suddenly startled by a most outrageous din apparently proceeding from a clump of trees just before us—such groans and shrieks as if all civilized creation were yielding up the ghost in the last throes of mortal agony for the special delectation of innumerable cannibals, whose cries and yells of evident delight could also be plainly heard.
Terror-stricken, I glanced at my companion, but he seemed perfectly undisturbed.
"What is it?" I managed to hoarsely whisper.
"Wagons," he briefly ejaculated.
And wagons I found it to be of a kind and class utterly unknown to me. The wheels were slices of trees, cut diametrically, in the centre of which holes had been bored for the insertion of the axles.