"If we had been under it!" philosophically observed the seaman, with a shrug of his shoulder.
Martinez was seized with a violent feeling of terror. "The serpent!—the fountain!—the avalanche!" he murmured.
Then he turned his haggard eyes on José.
"How is it that you do not speak to me of Captain Orteva?" he cried, his lips contracted with anger.
José drew back. "Oh, do not talk nonsense, lieutenant! Let us give the finishing stroke to our poor steeds and then push on. It will not do to stop here while the old mountain is combing her hair."
The two Spaniards proceeded on their road without saying a word, and in the middle of the night they arrived at Cuernavaca ; but it was impossible to procure horses, so the next morning they directed their course on foot towards the heights of Popocatepetl.
CHAPTER IV
FROM CUERNAVACA TO POPOCATEPETL
The temperature was cold and the country was devoid of vegetation. These inaccessible heights belonged to the icy zones, known as the cold territory. Already the fir trees of the foggy regions showed their withered outlines among the last oaks of these lofty elevations, and springs became more and more rare among the rugged rocks, consisting chiefly of porphyry and granite.
After six long hours the lieutenant and his companion began to drag themselves forward with difficulty, tearing their hands against rough masses of rock, and cutting their feet on the sharp stones in their path. At length fatigue compelled them to sit down. José occupied himself in preparing something to eat " What a cursed idea not to have taken the ordinary road!" he murmured.
They both, however, hoped to find at Aracopistla—a village completely shut in among the mountains—the means of transport to enable them to reach the end of their journey. But, after all, they might deceive themselves, and meet with the same want of accommodation and hospitality which they had encountered at Cuernavaca. They must, however, at all events, get there.
