eibas_, and meeting with nothing but gigantic pine-trees. The
_pine-needles_,[H] which literally carpeted the ground, made it so
slippery, that for every step forward we frequently took two backward.
We fell time after time, but our falls were not in the least degree
dangerous. Sometimes, as if at a signal, we all four rolled down
together, and each laughed at his neighbor's misfortune, thus cheering
one another. Lucien had an idea of hanging on to Gringalet's tail, who
was the only one that could avoid these mishaps. This plan answered very
well at first; but the dog soon after broke away by a sudden jerk, and
the boy rolled backward like a ball, losing all the ground he had
gained, but he at once got up again, quite in a pet with the dog, for
whom he predicted a fall as a punishment for his treacherous behavior.

The troublesome pine-needles obliged us again to resort to the stake and
lasso plan; l'Encuerado, with his load, strove in vain to keep up with
us.

"Can any one understand the use of these horrible trees?" grumbled the
Indian. "Why can't they keep their leaves to themselves? Why don't they
grow in the plains, instead of making honest folks wear the flesh off
their bones in a place which is quite difficult enough to traverse as it
is?"

"God makes them grow here," said the child.

"Not at all, Chanito; God created them, but the devil has sown them on
these mountains. I have travelled on the large plateau, where there are
whole forests of pines, which proves that it was only for spite that
they grow on this ascent."

Fortunately Lucien only half believed what the Indian said, and very
soon asked me all about it.

"The pines," I replied, "are trees of the North, which never grow well
except in cold climates and dry soils. If l'Encuerado had been
acquainted with the history of his ancestors, he would have been able to
give you some better information about them; he would have known that,
in the Aztec mythology, they were sacred to the mother of the gods, the
goddess Matlacueye, who, curiously enough, fills the part of Cybele
among the Greek goddesses, whose favorite tree was also the pine."

Just at this moment we were passing close to a giant of the forest,
which had been broken by a squall of wind; from three or four cracks in
its trunk a transparent resin ran trickling out. Lucien, thinking these
globules were solid, wished to take hold of one of them; but his fingers
stuck to it.

"I fancied," said