By this time Carlos had filled his pack, fitted the head band over his forehead, and was waiting to start; so I said good-bye to the kind Padre, and as I turned round in the saddle to get a last glimpse of Jacaltenango, the most beautifully situated village that I had seen in Guatemala, I observed him watching us from the top of the convent steps.
I had ridden about a league or more and had quite forgotten all about the housekeeper and her forecast of events, when I noticed that we were approaching a long row of tall aloes bordering the left side of the path, and soon afterwards an Indian—a most villainous and evil-looking scoundrel—jumped from his place of concealment amongst the aloes and stood before me on the road. At the same moment Carlos ran back close to the mule’s head and told me that this man was his brother who wished to go to Comitan and asked permission to join us.
The scene was like the realisation of a dream. For a few moments I was in doubt as to the best course to pursue, but having been forewarned I was forearmed, and knowing that the Indians could not have the slightest idea that I was aware of their plans, I decided to go on without showing them that I had any suspicions. I said to Carlos “you tell me that this man is your brother and perhaps you are stating the truth, but he is a stranger to me and I do not like his appearance.” However I gave him permission to join us. Carlos thanked me, and the other Indian, who did not understand Spanish, gave a guttural sound of satisfaction, and then both men ran forward and kept their places well in front, at about a hundred yards distance.
In the forenoon we passed St. Marcos and halted at St. Andres, in a district remarkable for the luxuriant growth of fruit trees and plantains. We then descended a long hill at the foot of which we halted for breakfast.
As the mule had shown signs of distress, I took off the saddle and noticed that there was a broad low swelling upon her back. A muleteer happened to be passing by on his way to Jacaltenango, and I asked him to examine the swelling and give me his opinion about it. He told me that the mule was ill from a “pica de luna” or moonstroke, and that upon some previous night I must have tethered her out in the open air exposed to the light of the full moon, whilst her back was still warm after the saddle had been removed. I said that I remembered this having been done. The muleteer said that the injurious effects of the moon was well known, and that the mule ought not to have been exposed to it so soon after I had dismounted. He thought that the swelling would not prevent my riding her, provided that the pressure was taken off by resting the saddle upon pads placed upon each side of the swelling, and he arranged some rolls of padding for the purpose.
In the afternoon we were going through a desolate and uninhabited part of the country, when I observed that my guide and his brother were lagging on the way. Finally they dropped behind, and began to run together a few yards in the rear. The time had now come when it was necessary to take a decisive action. I had to be careful not to let Carlos suppose that there were any doubts in my mind about his fidelity, for I knew nothing of the road, and it was important that I should appear to have entire confidence in his guidance.
I stopped the mule, and called Carlos up to my side, and said, “Carlos, you must not run behind me. You are the guide, and must keep in front to enable me to follow you, and not miss the track, and,” I added in a more marked manner, “remember that you are to keep well ahead. Let there not be any mistake in this matter, and your brother is to be with you.” Carlos immediately obeyed my orders. There was no danger to be apprehended so long as this precaution was taken, for I always carried with me a small loaded revolver to defend myself in case of attack, an event which I thought to be improbable.
When we arrived at Lenton, we were given rooms within the quarters of the garrison. Captain Robles, the commandant, showed me every attention, and at supper I joined the officers’ mess. In the morning it was found that although every possible care was taken to raise the saddle above the swelling, the mule could not bear any pressure. Consequently I asked Captain Robles if he could provide me with a horse. After some difficulty an animal was obtained, which although of very rough appearance, I thought would answer the purpose of carrying me the two days’ journey to Comitan. An Indian lad, called a mozo, was hired to bring the horse back, and lead my disabled mule. By the time that all these arrangements were completed it was getting late in the morning. More than three hours daylight were lost, and it was important with regard to my Indians to reach our next stopping place before sunset.
For eight leagues the road led through a dreary desert without any signs of habitation, and then we reached a pond called San José where we halted for an hour. It was quite dark when we reached a hut near Sinigiglia within the Mexican frontier, and where I decided to stop. An Indian and his wife were inside, but they not only refused to open the door and give us shelter, but to all applications for food or water, replied in the words so usually employed by all Indians when asked for anything, “No hay.” “There is nothing.” The only thing to be done was to make the best of the circumstances, so a supper was made from our store of provisions, and with the saddle for a pillow, and the hammock stretched upon the ground, I passed the night.
On the following day the sun was sinking below the horizon when we entered the town of Comitan, and I was not sorry to find myself within the walls of a comfortable posada, called the Hotel de la Libertad, where I was given a room looking into the court. I was not, however, destined to pass the night without disturbance.