•PAPERS RELATING TO ANTHROPOLOGY. 805 



my hammock from side to side in querulous search for a comfortable 

 resting-place, finally leaving me to the fever and the fleas. 



At 5 o'clock next morning we sallied out on a most pleasant road, fol- 

 lowing the crest of a ridge with valleys falling away on either side. 

 ISTear the road the milpas or patches of Indian corn flourished. Far 

 away on the right were the mountains toward Honduras, and on the 

 left beyond the valley of the Motagua rose the giant range of the Vera 

 Paz. About 8 miles from San Jos^ we came to the edge of the plateau, 

 and descended by a zigzag trail, among masses of limestone and blocks 

 from the overlying basalt, to a tributary of the Motagua. Beyond this 

 Puente del Monte for many miles the hills were barren. Then the deso- 

 lation was varied by valleys at intervals, each with its small and miser- 

 able village. At one of these we stopped and had a good breakfast of 

 corn-cakes {tortillas), beans, and eggs. After breakfast took a lazy swing 

 in a hammock until 12 M., and then five hours to Guastatoya, where Mr. 

 Stephens had his first experience in robber hunting. That night brought 

 the luxury of a raw-hide bed, until 4 A. M., when we started again. About 

 2 miles more and we descended into the callejou of Guastatoya, a pass 

 for 5 miles through a dismal gorge with steep hills or ravines on each 

 side, where in the olden time the robber could attack with impunity and 

 retreat with security, laughing at any attempted pursuit. It is when 

 riding along such a road in the hour before daybreak, with an old arriero 

 who at each dark thicket, or sharp turn, or silent cross, recalls a deed 

 of blood enacted here in other days, that one feels inclined to pardon 

 certain little irregularities so long as a strong government keeps its hand 

 at the throat of the robber. 



At half past 9 we reached Casaguastlan, and, riding up to the best- 

 looking house in the village, were politely received by a mestizo lady. 

 A few minutes later, hearing the appellation doctor from my arriero, 

 she marched me right in to see her hidalgo who was suffering with liver 

 and spleen. Eesult, a superb breakfast of beans, eggs, chicken, rice, 

 and tortillas. 



At dark we entered the miserable village of Eiote, and were directed 

 to a stopping-place where, in answer to inquiries, we were assured that 

 there was no bed, no supper, no feed for the mules, but there was a shed 

 where my hammock might be swung among pigs and dogs and squall- 

 ing brats. The arriero then started out to find a bundle of fodder at 

 one house, an egg at another, and, strange to say, some coffee at a third. 

 Before day next morning a girl started a fire and made coffee. Her 

 beau crawled out from somewhere looking disgusted and miserable, and 

 stood around rubbing his eyes to see that there was no flirting with the 

 stranger. 



At 9.30 a. m. on this the 21st of January we arrived at Zacapa. The 

 road during the morning had been along the valley of the Motagua, past 

 more frequent and larger villages. Just before entering the town we 

 crossed the Eio Zacapa, a stream of interest to me, as it has the Kio 



