in 1870. Roezl had made a very successful foray in the
neighbourhood of Tetonicapan, Guatemala, and with a long train of mules he
was descending towards the coast. His head mozo could be trusted; the
perils of the road--streams, mud, precipices, and brigands--had been left
behind; Roezl, rejoicing in the consciousness of good work well done,
pushed on by himself towards the village where they were to spend the
night.

He had not been there before, but the road--rather, the trail--was plain
enough. Unfortunately it led him, after a while, into a jicara-grove.
This tree, which supplies the calabash used throughout Central America,
has some very odd peculiarities. Its leaves grow by fours, making a cross,
and on that account, doubtless, the Indians esteem it sacred; their pagan
forefathers reverenced the cross. The trunks spring at equal distances, as
if planted by rule, but such is their natural habit; I have the strongest
impression that Mr. Belt found a cause for this eccentricity, but the
passage I cannot discover. Thirdly, jicara-trees always stand in a
low-lying savannah, across which they are marshalled in lines and 'spaced'
like soldiers on parade in open order--at least, I never saw them in
another situation. Such spots are damp, and the herbage grows strong; thus
the half-wild cattle are drawn thither, and before the wet season comes to
an end they have trampled the whole surface, obliterating all signs of a
path, if one there be, and confounding the confusion by making tracks
innumerable through the jungle round.

Upon such a waste Roezl entered, and he paused forthwith to deliberate.
The compass would not help him much, for if it told the direction of the
village, the Indian trail which led thither might open to right or left
anywhere on the far side of the grove. Travellers in those wilds must
follow the beaten course.

At length he took bearings, so as to go straight at least, and rode on.
Presently an Indian lad came out from the forest behind him, but stopped
at sight of the tall stranger. Roezl shouted--he spoke every patois of
Spanish America with equal fluency. The boy advanced at length. He could
only talk his native Quiche, but Roezl made out that he was going to the
village--sent him ahead, and followed rejoicing. So he crossed the
jicara-ground.

But in the forest beyond, it was not easy to keep up with an Indian boy
trotting his fastest. In a few minutes the guide had vanished and Roezl
hurried