GUATEMALA TO ESQUIPULAS. 193 
calabash-trees, lava streams and blocks. The surface of 
the ground was cracking open with dry shrinkage, and 
there was little to interest us. Our Yankee nature asserted 
itself, and we whittled at some of the little purple-spotted 
calabashes as we rode along. The rind is very hard, even 
in young fruit; and the inside is solid and consistent as 
an unripe squash. The odd-looking, speckled blossoms 
spring from the trunk of the crabbed-looking tree ( Cres - 
centia cujete). 
About noon we came to Jutiapa, situated on a plain 
through which the Rio Salado has cut a deep valley. 
We entered by a gateway and found the Plaza. This 
was paved, and in the midst a dribbling fountain indicated 
a very insufficient water-supply for the town. Before us 
was the church, behind us the Casa Nacional, and the 
other sides were occupied by stores and the house of the 
Jefe. Our anxious inquiries for a posada were met with 
the too frequent answer that there was no such thing 
here in this town of some twelve hundred inhabitants. 
Good fortune directed us to inquire of a person in a shop 
at a corner just beyond the church; and this resulted in 
a most hospitable invitation to the house of Senor Alonzo 
Rozales, a Spanish gentleman whose name will be always 
a charm to conjure by. He gave us a large room opening 
to the street as well as into the patio, and we at once felt 
at home. We had walked many miles, I leading, Frank 
driving, the poor tired animals. It was fifteen leagues 
from Cuilapa to Jutiapa, and the road was very hard and 
maiz very scarce. We were obliged to wait here for our 
mozos, whom we had sent from Guatemala but had not 
overtaken on the road; and we were happy enough that 
the necessary delay came in so comfortable a place. Our 
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