Not more than ten miles’ travel brought us to the San Diego River.  Its source is said to be in the sierra, apparently toward the north, and it flows in a southerly direction.  It was not very difficult to cross, but in flood-time it must be large.  Its elevation at this point was about 3,300 feet.

Here began the ascent into the sierra again.  Although the road on the first day was very good, it required rather hard climbing to get to the top.  I was anxious to reach my destination that day, which was Saturday, in order to be in time for the gathering of the Indians in the pueblo on Sunday.  I therefore travelled on after nightfall, though the road was much longer than I expected, leading through extensive pine forests, the monotony of which was interrupted only once by the appearance of a couple of beautiful macaos.

Just as the moon rose, we entered on the “spine of the coyote,” as the Tepehuanes call a narrow ridge, six to eight yards broad, with yawning abysses on both sides.  Then we came on grassy slopes covered with trees.  What a magnificent view there must be here, by daylight, of this wild country!  To the southeast could clearly be seen a sloping table-land among hills; I even could distinguish some small houses on it.  That was Lajas.  It appeared to be but a league off, but in reality it was still three times as far away.

We descended among oak-trees, when suddenly the track ran down a precipitous volcanic rock, utterly impracticable for the mules to follow.  Evidently we had strayed on a side trail; and while we guarded the mules, a man was sent back to look for the main track, which luckily was found after a short time.  The worst of it was that the animals had to be led back one by one, along the side of a dangerous precipice, and it was a wonder that none of them rolled down the steep sides.  I was glad when we could safely proceed on our way.

It is disagreeable to travel with a pack-train after nightfall, even on a moonlight night like this, but particularly when without a guide and on an unfamiliar track.  The journey seems interminable.  The fear of losing one’s road, or having something happen to the animals, or dropping some part of the pack; the uncertainty regarding what camping-place one may find; and the anxiety lest the backs of the animals may become sore, while the men are getting hungry and in as bad a temper as one’s self,—­all tend to demonstrate the advisability of going into camp when the sun is still well above the horizon.

Another harassing consideration, which, however, does not apply to this part of the country, is the possibility of arousing a suspicion that pack-trains which travel at night carry treasures.

After a continuous journey of ten hours and a half we arrived without further mishaps at Lajas at 9.30 P.M., the middle of the night in that part of the world.  One of my men, who had a habit of singing whenever we entered a village, had been ordered to keep silent, that the people in this lonely place, susceptible as they are, might not become alarmed at the sudden arrival of such a party.