"not Mexico: here we are all Carrera's people." This, of course, was
sheer treason. Carrera, the pure-blood indian who in the stirring days
of 1839 seized the power in Guatemala, a strange and wild being who had
a real love for his country, has left a profound impression. At times an
exile, he had lived at Comitan, where his name was familiar to all the
indians around. His coins are much prized by the indians for necklaces
and earrings, and even at Tehuantepec we had seen women wearing his
little gold pieces in their ears.

It should have been an easy matter to go from Comitan to Nenton (in
Guatemala) in a single day. As it was, we made it with great difficulty
in two, our mule Chontal apparently being completely worn out. We
crossed the _llano_, passed through patches of pines, and then came out
upon a terrible country of limestone hills. In our last day's journey we
had to coax, threaten, beat, drag, and push that mule until our voices
were gone and our arms were tired. Immediately on passing the line into
Guatemala, we found the telegraph wires cut and poles down, a result of
the late unpleasantness with Mexico. The mountain mass before us, which
had been in view for two days past, loomed up frightfully before us.
Would our little mule be able to pass it? We remembered what an American
tramp, whom we had met at Tuxtla Gutierrez and who had walked on foot
from Guatemala City, had said: "Between Nenton and Huehuetenango you
will pass over a mountain that will make your heart sick; may God help
you." Just at dusk we looked down upon Nenton in a little valley, with a
fine stream crossed by a pretty bridge, where mountains rose steeply on
every side. Having been registered by the custom officials, we slept
that night, our first in the new republic, in the municipal house.

Next morning we started bravely, the whole town having assembled to
see us off. We safely reached the foot of the mountain, where the mule