with its white foam, contrasts strikingly with the black rock.  The trail followed by Cortez on his way from Vera Cruz to Tlaxcala was pointed out to us and we were told that Atlihuitzia in those days was an important city, numbering five thousand solteros (unmarried men).  On the way back to the village, we visited the arbol huerfano—­orphan tree—­a cypress, so called because it is the only tree of its kind in this district.  Quechol says that a long line of such trees, at a distance of several leagues apart, was planted by the Spaniards, and he and the villagers mentioned a number of them in different places.  Passing once more by the spot of martyrdom, a white capulin was pointed out, as being the very tree represented in the picture of the killing.

It was now almost ten o’clock and we found breakfast waiting.  At Quechol’s request, it was a purely Mexican meal, consisting of Aztec dishes.  We had tamales, atole, and, for the first time, champurado.  The latter is atole—­corn gruel—­mixed with chocolate, and is really an excellent dish.  After breakfast, we left our friends of Atlihuitzia and hastened back over the same road past San Mateo, Belen, San Pablo, and Santa Ana.  The way was long and the sun was hot, but the road was beguiled with many stories regarding the places that we passed, for the whole state of Tlaxcala abounds in legend.

CHAPTER XVII

IN THE CHINANTLA

(1900)

Once more we found ourselves in picturesque Cuicatlan.  Walking up the familiar street, we again found lodging with Dona Serafina.  Having settled, and taken a look out over the beautiful landscape visible through our windows, we interviewed the jefe politico, whom we we found the same nerveless, well-meaning individual as ever.  After grumbling, and insisting that it was impossible to fit us out on such short notice, he finally promised that all should be ready the next morning.  It was a sorry outfit that we found; one medium-sized mule for myself, and four small burros for the other members of the party.  A boy from the jail was sent with us as mozo to carry our instruments.  It was still early when we started through the hot, sandy, flat land, covered with gigantic cactus trees, which swarmed with little birds of many beautiful kinds.  We soon began to climb the great, red rock cliffs, up, and up, and up, endlessly.  We had forgotten how long the road was; but it was longer than ever on account of the beasts we rode.  Long before we reached Papalo, Manuel and Louis were on foot, rather than longer submit to the torture of riding their little burros.  As we neared the town, we were surprised to find a cloud effect almost as fine as that near Juquila in the Mixe country.  Had it had clearly defined banks on both sides, its resemblance to a cataract would have been complete.  As it was, there was no boundary back of the side towards