covered that we had lost our way, and worse still, that there were no hopes of our finding it. Not a hut was in sight—darkness coming on—nothing but great plains and mountains to be distinguished, and nothing to be heard but bulls roaring round us. We went on, trusting to chance, and where chance would have led us, it is hard to say, but by good fortune, our advanced guard stumbled over two Indians, a man and boy, who agreed to guide us to their own village, but nowhere else.
After following them a long and weary way, all going at a pretty brisk trot, the barking of hundreds of dogs announced an Indian village, and by the faint light we could just distinguish the cane huts snugly seated amongst bananas, and with little enclosed gardens before each. Our cavalcade drew up before a hut, a sort of tavern or spirit-shop, where an old half naked hag, the beau ideal of a witch, was distributing fire-water to the Indians, most of whom were already drunk. We got off our horses, and threw ourselves down on the ground, too tired to care what they were doing, and by some means a cup of bad chocolate was procured for us. We found that we had entirely lost our way, and it was therefore agreed that, instead of attempting to reach Atlacamulco that night, we should ride to the village of el Puente, where our conductors knew a Spanish family of bachelor brothers, who would be glad to harbor us for the remainder of the night. We then remounted, and set off somewhat refreshed by our rest and by the bad chocolate.
It was late at night when we entered el Puente,
