the water and made for the other
shore.

Sometime I will put it on record for how long it is possible to hold
one's breath. During the time we were slipping and sliding over the
stones, sometimes finding a foothold almost an impossibility and with
difficulty breasting the current, I had no use whatever for oxygen, but
lived wholly upon terror and the thought of a watery grave. Such was
not to be my fate, however, and I escaped to endure greater trials and
revel in far more wonderful experiences.

After reaching _terra firma_, on and on we rode over a plain similar to
the one we had traversed the previous afternoon. Once we came to a tiny
stream flowing across our path, so small it was hardly worth noticing,
but to my surprise my mule objected so seriously and so suddenly to
wetting her feet, that I was nearly unseated, and in consequence was led
to investigate the cause of her conduct. I somewhat sympathized with her
when I found that the pretty light blue rivulet was formed of steaming
hot water, the outlet of a boiling spring hard by. In time my superior
will conquered, and we crossed the water, which is so hot that eggs can
be cooked in it.

As we were riding along in silence, I watching the many-colored lizards
darting from our vicinity, marvelling at the size attained by the cactus
in its native clime, and indulging in many comparisons, _not_ odious, I
was suddenly startled by a most outrageous din apparently proceeding
from a clump of trees just before us--such groans and shrieks as if all
civilized creation were yielding up the ghost in the last throes of
mortal agony for the special delectation of innumerable cannibals, whose
cries and yells of evident delight could also be plainly heard.

Terror-stricken, I glanced at my companion, but he seemed perfectly
undisturbed.

"What is it?" I managed to hoarsely whisper.

"Wagons," he briefly ejaculated.

And wagons I found it to be of a kind and class utterly unknown to me.
The wheels were slices of trees, cut diametrically, in the centre of
which holes had been bored for the insertion of the axles.

I think in order to fully accomplish the feat of making this a
two-wheeled cart, and a music box combined, they must have used kerosene
oil for axle grease. So much for the sound of concentrated human woe
which I must eternally regret Milton could not have heard before he
described the sufferings of the lost souls in purgatory. The cries of
fiendish joy were on