ng Yakatzib, the
name of the rancho at which we were told there were ruins. We had
acquired great facility in asking this question, but if the answer went
beyond "yes" or "no," or an indication with the hand, as was the case
on this occasion, it was entirely beyond our attainments. The women
gave us a very long, and probably a very civil answer, but we could not
understand a word of it; and finding it impossible to bring them to
monosyllables, we asked for a draught of water and rode on.

When we had gone some distance beyond the rancho, it occurred to us
that this might be Yakatzib itself and we turned back. Before reaching
it, however, we turned off into a grove of large orange trees at one
side of the road, dismounted, and tied our horses under the shade to
wait for Albino. The trees were loaded and the ground covered with
fruit, but the oranges were all of the sour kind. We could not sit down
under the trees, for the ground was teeming with garrapatas, ants, and
other insects, and while standing we were obliged to switch them off
with our riding whips. Soon Albino came thundering along on the
trotter, and we learned that we had really passed Yakatzib, as the
women had no doubt told us. While we were mounting to go back, a boy
passed on a miserable old horse, his bare body perched between two
water-kegs with which he was going to the aguada. For a medio he
slipped off, tied his horse to a bush, and ran before us as our guide
through the rancho, beyond which, turning off to the right, we soon
reached a ruined edifice.

It was small, and the whole front was gone; the door had been
ornamented with pillars which had fallen, and lay on the ground. The
boy told us that there were ruined mounds, but no other remains of
buildings. We turned back without dismounting and continued our
journey.

At two o'clock we reached the foot of a stony sierra, or mountain
range, toilsome and laborious for the horses, but Mr. Catherwood
remarked that his pricked up his ears and trod lightly, as if just
beginning a journey. From the top of the same sierra we saw at its
foot, on the other side, the village of Becanchen, where, on arriving,
we rode through the plaza, and up to a large house, the front of which
was adorned with a large red painting of a major domo on horseback,
leading a bull into the ring. We inquired for the casa real, and were
directed to a miserable thatched house, where a gentleman stepped out
and recognised Mr. Cather