p 
; Aug. 22, 1908,] FOREST AND STREAM. 
'|son, this ride took place. When it rains every 
day for more than five months at a stretch one 
rather misses the drops when it does refrain. If 
in the rainy season the riders donned the capore, 
a big rubber blanket with a hole in the middle 
for the head to go through. This kept the rain 
from the body, only to shed it into the riding 
boots. The broad-brimmed sombrero prevented 
the water from running down the neck. The 
I surest way in the world to render oneself an ob¬ 
ject for the sneers of the Guatemaltecos is to 
use * an umbrella. When it rained particularly 
hard the natives were content to use the broad 
leaves of plantains. 
One of the invariable accompaniments ©f the 
Carolina white finca dv. ellers who ventured over 
the plantation or away from it on horseback was 
the revolver in its holster. This was necessary 
against wild beasts or wilder humans. The son 
of a United States consular agent, who was un¬ 
armed, was shot and painfully wounded by a 
native who knew that he had no weapon. The 
act was committed in sheer wantonness, or be¬ 
cause the native wished to kill the Gringo. The 
shooting was passed over by the authorities as 
an “accident.” Nothing was ever done with the 
offender, which serves to show the prevailing 
spirit of lawlessness and why a. weapon is needed 
for self-protection. Occasionally an aguadiente 
crazed rnozo may take it into his head to attack 
a white man, and such instances have been by 
no means uncommon. 
Pumas and jaguars infested the canyons and 
chaparral near Carolina. A gentleman who had 
left South Carolina to transplant himself to 
Guatemala had rather a startling adventure. A 
deer plunged through the forest near where he 
was standing with rifle, and being an expert shot 
! he bowled it over. A few moments later there 
was a crashing through the bush and a full- 
gro'wn jaguar, evidently having been on the dead 
animal’s trail, sprang upon its body. Mr., C. 
pumped several bullets into it from his rifle, kill¬ 
ing it. He cut off the huge front paws and ex¬ 
hibited them on his return to the plantation, 
j The jaguar was skinned later. 
On one occasion a red deer, which had stopped 
to gaze curiously at the horsemen as they passed 
through a patch of forest, was bowled over by a 
| well-directed revolver shot. Deer could be 
found always on the thickest part of the finca. 
A few miles away on the lowlands at certain 
' seasons the best of duck shooting was to be had 
: by the planter-sportsmen, who invaded the salt 
i water lagunas. During one of these trips 
j through the bayous, with a crash and a snort, a 
full-grown tapir plunged into the water ahead 
i of the motor boat. The danta, as the natives 
call it, quickly received its quietus in the shape 
of a .30-30 soft-nosed bullet. These hunting trips 
served admirably to break the monotony. 
If the morning ride from Carolina was not 
spent in an inspection of the finca itself, a visit 
was paid to Las Luces, a neighboring plantation, 
owned by a couple of American brothers. If in 
Guatemala a visit should be paid a man and he 
should fail to offer a drink of whiskey or 
comiteco, a native liquor, or aguardiente, a true 
fire-water, either it would mean that insult was 
intended or the host unexpectedly had run out 
of liquor. 
Perhaps the brothers would accompany the vis¬ 
itors back to Carolina for “breakfast.” It was 
, preceded by drinks of imported whiskey. The 
1 
meal led off with the inevitable soup, and con¬ 
sisted of a number of native dishes flavored with 
chile, and the most expensive table delicacies 
imported from California and Europe. The 
meal finished, all hands would repair to the up¬ 
per corridor and indulge in cigarros, or puros, 
Mexican cigars. 
Probably after the siesta it would be suggested 
that the party ride over to the finca of Don 
Diego, a native planter. Don Diego would be 
persuaded to accompany his friends to Carolina 
for dinner. Don Alejandro’s fare was known 
for its excellence over the Pacific slope of Gua¬ 
temala. 
About 7 P. M. when the pangs of hunger be¬ 
gan, Raimundo would appear, attired in cotton 
shirt, trousers and crimson sash, with a snowy 
napkin thrown over one shoulder. Striking a 
pose before his master he would say, “Hay esta 
puesta la comeda” (dinner is served). The meal 
was practically a duplicate of the midday one, 
with additional dishes. After dinner the ham¬ 
mocks and more smoking. 
To vary the monotony, but usually for purely 
business reasons, visits were made to the port 
Ocos, and to Quezaltenango. This town, some 
8,000 feet in elevation, is seventy-five miles from 
the finca and was reached only by horseback. 
These rides, on account of the danger and strain 
involved, were taken as infrequently as possible. 
Between the finca and San Marcos the road 
wound around the sierra by little more than a 
narrow shelf, overhanging gorges thousands of 
feet deep. Traversing one of these defiles the 
tinkle of a bell announced the coming of a mule 
pack train. Soon the leader appeared around a 
rock. The mules of the train were laden with 
drainage tiles, each side of the packs sticking 
far out. The mountain was to my right, and in¬ 
stead of the advancing mule keeping to its right 
as it should have done, from instinct of self- 
preservation or pure “cussedness” it wedged 
itself into the space between my horse and the 
cliff. The horse was within an ace of going over 
into the canon, and only recovered his footing 
with the greatest difficulty. My leg was pain¬ 
fully injured byjaeing scraped by the tiles. 
Don Alejandro and myself had been to Quezal¬ 
tenango, had spent the night at San Marcos on 
the return, as it was about midway of the city 
and the finca. It was hardly daylight when we 
mounted. Rain was falling, and after a while 
it came down in torrents. At that time Don 
Alejandro weighed more thfin 240 pounds, but 
he was a fearless rider. On this occasion he 
rode like a fiend. The harder it rained, the 
harder he spurred his beast. We passed two or 
three Indian pueblos, but he evinced no desire to 
halt. Along about noon he drew rein alongside 
a ranch, called out the occupant and slipped a 
piece of silver into his hand. He received in 
return some tortillas. These be divided with 
me. “Don’t stop to eat. Push ahead as rapidly 
as you can go,” he said, and started as fast as 
his overweighted horse could carry him. 
So far as I knew there was no reason for 
such speed, for we could easily reach Carolina 
before dark. Still he urged on his horse without 
explanation. When we were within a couple of 
leagues of our destination a sudden roaring 
was heard. Soon we came to the banks of a 
stream, which had been placid enough before. 
Now it was a swollen, turbulent mountain tor¬ 
rent, partly filled with debris. Don Alejandro 
surveyed the muddy w r ater for an instant, then 
muttered something about “chancing it anyhow” 
and plunged in. 
There was nothing to do but follow. A short 
distance out the horses’ feet left the bottom and 
we were forced to swim them. We reached the 
other bank side by side and without mishap. ‘ As 
his horse staggered out of the water the planter 
dismounted and stood leaning against the weary 
animal. “I knew from the way the rain was 
coming that stream would be up, and I feared 
we shouldn’t be able to ford it,” he said; “in a 
short time it may be so high that nobody could 
get across, and unless we had hurried we might 
have had to camp out on the bank for two or 
three days—maybe more.” He paused before 
continuing: 
“It’s extremely treacherous. Two years ago 
one of my German clerks was coming from San 
Marcos just as we are. He was due to arrive at 
the finca one afternoon. He did not come. He 
was missing next day, and the day after. Know¬ 
ing the country and the locality so well, I rather 
suspected what had happened. His horse was 
found drowned a mile or so below here, and his 
own body was discovered further down tangled 
up in a lot of brushwood.” 
But that ride, as perilous as it was, was not to 
be compared with another. One morning Don 
Alejandro appeared with a telegram in his hand, 
the message having been brought over from 
Tumbador. 
“I wish you would ride down to Pajapita,” he 
said. “The representative of my coffee agent in 
San Francisco arrived at Ocos on yesterday’s 
steamer, and will come up to Pajapita on the 
train this morning. He can get a horse from 
Anderson there and ride up here with you.” Pie 
turned away, then faced around again. 
“The roads are so bad you two would better 
spend the night with Hill at the portrero,” he 
added. 
Pajapita then was the terminus of the little 
coffee railroad running from the port some six 
leagues up the sierra. The terminal was about 
midway between the port and the finca. 
Unfortunately a late start had to be made that 
morning. It was in the middle of the rainy 
season, and the road was the worst I had ever 
seen. Occasionally the horse I rode would sink 
almost to his belly in the muck and water. The 
road was not only muddy, but extremely slippery 
in spots where the clay predominated. In places 
it led around declivities where a slip would have 
meant destruction. 
The portrero, or pasture land where cattle 
were grazed, was about midway between Caro¬ 
lina and Pajapita, and Hill, an Englishman, was 
running the place for Don Alejandro. He had 
a fairly comfortable house, presided over by a 
Mexican wife. 
It was after noon when Pajapita was reached. 
The newcomer was there, a young American, 
with plenty of pluck. Some time was consumed 
in getting his traps arranged so they could be 
taken to the finca next day, a horse was bor¬ 
rowed from Anderson, and we started.. While 
my companion was no stranger to this part of 
the world, he was no horseman. He looked 
askance at the road, which really was fair at 
Pajapita, compared with its condition further up 
the sierra. 
Hill’s was reached, but the accommodations 
were so poor in contradistinction to those Caro- 
