A SUB-TROPICAL PILGRIMAGE.— GAME AND FISH IN MEXICO. 



HV PASTITA. 



Ciuclad Valles, the " Valley City," 

 ancient capital of the Province of Pan- 

 uco, Mexico, is a quaint little hamlet 

 that slumbers beneath palm roofs and 

 -evergreen trees at the foot of the east- 

 ern Cordillera. The Rio Valles flows 

 at the foot of the bluff on which this 

 rural capital is perched, while the 

 ancient trees of fig, cypress and cedar, 

 which might in their youthful prime 

 have looked down upon the scouts and 

 warriors of Onate as they threaded 

 these forests, now give an umbrageous 

 shelter to the macaw and loro, who 

 scream a discordant protest against all 

 invasions of their chosen haunts. vSleepy, 

 contented and serene ; no intrusion of 

 Northern visitors can disturb thy calm; 

 the parrots may scream, and the mag- 

 pies protest in the treetops, but your 

 languor-possessed citizens neither heed 

 nor care. 



Special car "99 " was switched out of 

 the down passenger train one winter 

 afternoon at this somnolent relic of 

 ancient grandeur. The " 99 " was 

 freighted with Northern fugitives fly- 

 ing from the blizzard stricken plains 

 and howling snowstorms of the great 

 North. A judge of the Supreme Court, 

 a railroad magnate, a retired capitalist 

 or two and a few of the gentler .sex 

 comprised the band of semi-tropical 

 explorers, chaperoned by an ancient 

 dweller in this home of the " dulce far 

 niente." The more adventurous of the 

 party proposed a horseback trip to the 

 south. They had heard of the Huas- 

 teca, that region of perpetual spring ; 

 of the " Nacimiento de la Coy," where 

 a river springs full-grown from the foot 

 of a mountain ; of ancient villages ; of 

 streams fvill of fish and forests teeming 



with game, and little brooks along 

 whose banks no empty salmon cans or 

 beer bottles were strewed to remind one 

 of a distant civilization. The blue and 

 cloud-capped mountains to the south 

 challenged exploration ; the forest- 

 covered foothills oft'ered coolness and 

 shade and the blue river below the 

 bluff suggested what might be in the 

 depths of green and tangled forest that 

 stretched far away. Beneath such 

 stimulation, the spirit of Old Nimrod 

 was awakened. The blood of Davy 

 Crocket began to race, and these mod- 

 ern leatherstockings resolved to abandon 

 the palace car for the pack train. 



To hire a horse in a little Mexican 

 town is quite an undertaking, but to 

 hire five with saddles and bridles is 

 infinitely more so. At last, however, pre- 

 liminaries were concluded and we were 

 ready to start. The judge, the railroad 

 man, the kid (a youthful aspirant for 

 adventure), together with the guide and 

 packer, formed the party. The ford at 

 Valles is an easy one. The river bed is 

 of smooth slate and the water in the 

 winter season is not above the girths, so 

 we were soon across and trotting along 

 the vega on the other side. The road 

 was cut through a forest and in many 

 places so narrow that the trees inter- 

 locked overhead forming a veritable 

 arbor and giving a most agreeable 

 shade to the traveler. These roads are 

 not made for wheeled vehicles, but only 

 for horsemen and pack-trains, and are 

 entirely covered with grass and weeds 

 except the foot paths for the animals 

 that travel them. These paths are in 

 several parallel lines, sometimes on one 

 side and sometimes on the other and 

 are beaten hard by the hoofs of the 



