me.  Consenting that he should accompany, we began to seek a mozo, as guide to Chila.  With difficulty, and some loss of time, one was found who would undertake the business for two pesos.  In vain a Jew peddler standing by and the station agent remonstrated with the man; two pesos was a full week’s wages; it was ridiculous to demand such a price for guiding two foot travellers to Chila.  He admitted that two pesos might be a week’s wages; but he did not have to go to Chila and if we wanted him to do so we must pay his price.  We capitulated, the station agent loaned us a revolver, we left our friends behind us and started on our journey.  It was now dark.  In a mysterious voice, our guide said we must go first to his house; there he secured his serape and a heavy club.  As we left his house he feared we must be hungry and indicated a bread-shop; we purchased and all three ate as we walked; a moment later he suggested that we would need cigarros of course, and a stock of these were added, at our expense.  Then, at last, we came down to business.

[B] The Mexican league is 2.7 miles.

Plainly our guide did not enjoy his task.  Shortly after we started, the moon rose and, from its shining full on the light sand, it was almost as bright as day.  We were in single file, our guide, Herman, and I. At sight of every bush or indistinct object, our guide clutched his club and crossed himself, as he mumbled a prayer.  When we met anyone, we kept strictly to our side of the road, they to theirs, and, in passing, barely exchanged a word of greeting.  The timidity and terror of our guide increased as we advanced, until I concluded to be prepared for any emergency and carried the revolver in my hand, instead of in my pocket.  Mile after mile we trudged along through the heavy sand, into which we sunk so far that our low shoes repeatedly became filled and we had to stop to take them off and empty them.  We passed through San Pablo, left the Hacienda of San Andres to one hand, and, finally, at 10:10 found ourselves in the great indian town of San Gabriel de Chila.  It was much larger than we had anticipated and almost purely indian.  We walked through a considerable portion of the town before we reached the plaza, the church, and the curato.  Our journey had probably been one of fifteen miles.  All was dark at the curato; an indian was sleeping in the corridor, but he was a traveller and gave us no information on being awakened.  At our third or fourth pounding upon the door, Ernst appeared at the window; on learning who we were he hastened to let us in.  He reported trouble in the camp; the padre had gone hastily to Oaxaca to see the archbishop; our telegram had not been received; our letter came that morning.  We found that things were packed ready for removal.  A good supper was soon ready, but while it was being prepared we took a cool bath, by moonlight, in the trough bath-tub out in the patio.