::::::::3g; THE TROPICS m-""" 



The sister peak presented a very different appear- 

 ance. Its pine forest was as black and dense as that of 

 the other volcano, but at the higher elevations the 

 black faded to dark gray, this to lighter, where the 

 shrubs and dwarfed growths gave place to moss and 

 barren rocks, and above all rested the gleaming cap of 

 snow. 



As we rode on, hour after hour, the aspect of the 

 two peaks constantly changed, and as we looked up 

 from time to time, it seemed as if we were encircling 

 many mountains instead of one. That night found us 

 at the city of Colima, with the volcano at our backs. 



Next morning: a little enarine drew us along- the 

 narrow-g-auo-e track toward Manzanillo and the Pacific. 

 The mountains were left behind and we were in the 

 lowlands bordering the coast. We passed plantations of 

 coffee and rice and thick jungles of trees, unnameable 

 to us. Our bags and tents were unloaded at a forlorn lit- 

 tle station with the euphonious name of Coquimatlan. 



In choosing our destination we had trusted to luck, 

 and had selected the wildest country of which we could 

 learn, taking a letter of introduction to the owner of 

 a small isolated hacienda. 



The train went on and left us. The natives drew 

 near, and we mounted guard over our baggage and 

 began to palaver for information and for mules. The 

 latter would not be forthcoming until late afternoon, 

 and information was extracted painfully and unsatis- 



«4- 265 ^ 



