We found that Aztec town as disagreeable as ever.  Solemn promises had been made that various danzas should be ready for us, and that there should be no delay regarding animals.  Of course, we found nothing doing.  The only satisfactory memory connected with the town is our cook, Porfiria.  She was a master hand, and with training, should make a reputation and a fortune.  A pure indian, we would rather eat at her table than at that of any half-breed cook in all that section.  She always had quantities of food, and no two meals were alike.  Unless we expressly ordered something we had had before, it is doubtful whether she would have repeated a single dish.  Her enchiladas, seasoned with cheese and onions, were the best we ever had, and after the first experience, we insisted on having them at every meal.  Her masterpieces were in simple maize.  Her tortillas were good, but tortillas one finds everywhere; she served cocoles, chavacanes, and pemol.  Cocoles are round, flat biscuits or cakes of maize, a couple of inches across and half an inch in diameter; they contain shortening, and when served hot, are delicious. Chavacanes are thin, flat square crackers of corn-meal with shortening and eggs; they are good even when cold, but are best when hot from the griddle. Pemol is a corn-cake, crumbly, sweet, and baked; it contains sugar and shortening, and is made up into the form of rather large cakes, shaped like horse-collars.

As the result of vigorous remonstrance, the secretario really had the danza of los Negros at his house that night.  Music was furnished by pito and huehuetl.  The two performers, one representing a Spaniard and the other a negro, were masked.  The action was lively, and the dialogue vociferous—­both players frequently talking at once.  The dance was kept up until nearly ten o’clock, after which, as we planned an early start, we were soon in bed.  Just as we were dropping off to sleep, we heard the whistling and roaring of the norther outside, and the cold air found its way through every crack into our room.  From our house the musicians and the dancers had gone to the syndico’s, where they stayed some time; but, between one and two in the morning, they came back to our house and played in the room next to ours, with the door wide open.  Our interest was not great enough to lead us forth again.  Finally they left, but at four o’clock the musicians, now quite drunk, appeared again, and for a long time the secretario, his lady, and the school-master, danced in lonely grandeur up and down the room.

[Illustration:  OUR CANOE FOR SIXTY HOURS; THE LAGOONS]

[Illustration:  MANGROVE ROOTS]