the hillside, as in the land of the Mixes, but zigzag by gentle diagonals up the slopes.  The road was largely composed of jagged rock; two hours and fifteen minutes were necessary for the ascent; the descent was bad enough, but a distinct improvement.  At one place, however, we wandered from the main-travelled road, and found ourselves in an abandoned portion of the road, full of great holes which were filled with drifted fallen leaves, so that their presence was not betrayed until our horses fell into them.  The latter part of this descent was slippery, being over hard stone, which was worn almost to a glassy smoothness by the passage of many hoofs.  A little before reaching Manteca, as we looked down from the height, we saw an immense train of pack-mules coming.  In the good old days, before there were railroads, such trains as this were frequent.  From Manteca the road penetrated into contracting valleys, until finally it might, with propriety, be called a canon road.  At half past eight we reached San Carlos, a mean town with no meson or other regular stopping-place.  We left the horses under the shady trees with the old farrier.  While we rested and waited for breakfast, I called upon the jefe politico, who had received several communications from me, and had become interested in my work.  Our luggage was all at his office, and he promptly made arrangements for its further transportation.  At breakfast, we received the cheerful news that Mr. Lang’s horse had the lockjaw and showed signs of dying.  On inspection, this proved to be quite true; the poor animal was in great pain, and could eat nothing, though making every effort to do so.  Our first thought was a shot in the head to put it out of misery, but the old farrier wished to try a remedio.  He did his best, and it looked as if the animal might recover; it was plain, however, that he could not be used again that afternoon.  Accordingly, an extra horse was rented for Mr. Lang’s use.  The remainder of the party was started on the road at 1:50, while I waited to give the remedio a chance to operate and the beast an opportunity to rest.  At three I started, leading the sick horse.  We had a fine ride in the cool of the evening, over a mountain road past the little ranch El Quemado, beyond which we found an immense ascent.  When we reached the summit, it was fast darkening, and I pressed on as rapidly as the led horse would permit.  Finally, I reached Escondido at seven.  Several large parties of packers, with their trains of mules, had already settled for the night; camp-fires were burning.  Here and there drinking had been going on, and there was noise of loud laughter, singing and dancing.  Our party was already eating supper when I arrived, and my own meal had been ordered.  Shelter was supplied us adjoining the house, where we spread our blankets and spent a comfortable night.  We were late in starting, and were not upon the road until seven in the morning.  We found the high-road