FKOM COBAN TO QUEZALTENANGO. H3 
a sudden turn on a sharp ridge brought us to another 
region and a different climate. The transition was 
astonishing, for only a few rods behind we had left the 
rainy season. Before us was a vast valley bounded by 
forest-clad mountains and grassy buttresses; but near and 
far no sign of human habitation. The path we were on 
was the only token of man’s presence, and that looked 
more like the dry bed of a mountain torrent than a 
public road. Broad-leaved agaves were very common, 
some crowned with golden blossoms on immense stems, 
some dead after flowering, still others wantonly hacked 
by the passer-by, — so we thought, in our ignorance, until 
the too-frequent mutilation of the tough stems showed 
a labor that could not be purposeless; and then we 
remembered that these “ century plants ” flower but 
once, after years of growth exhausting their entire sub¬ 
stance in that supreme effort, and leaving a withered 
stem and shrivelled leaves, to be swept down the hillside 
by the next storm. Foiled in its attempt to flower by 
the decapitating machete of the mozo, the plant lives on 
for a longer period, furnishing fibre and drink from its 
leaves. Anona-trees grew at the very summit of the 
pass, although we were assured that frosts sometimes 
occurred. Oaks of two species were abundant, and 
laurels were in blossom. A rancho built by the road¬ 
side, a sad travesty of the Dak Bungalows of India, 
gave us at least a chance to boil our coffee. 
A long and rough descent brought us to a pine-forest, 
whence at an elevation of six thousand feet we again 
looked down upon the valley of the Chixoy. Among the 
pines and oaks I photographed the view. The little 
white-housed town of Sacapulas on the hillside above the 
8 
