Ten minutes later we were riding in the great courtyard. The place
seemed strangely lifeless and silent; indeed, the plaintive mewing of a
cat was the only sound to be heard. Presently, however, a dog appeared
out of an open doorway. It was a large animal of the mastiff breed, such
as might have been expected to bark and become aggressive to strangers.
But this it did not do; indeed, it ran forward and greeted us
affectionately. We dismounted and knocked at the double door, but no
one answered. Finally we entered, and the truth became clear to us--the
_hacienda_ was deserted. A little burial ground attached to the chapel
told us why, for in it were several freshly-made graves, evidently of
_peons_ or other servants, and in an enclosure, where lay interred
some departed members of the Gomez family, another unsodded mound. We
discovered afterwards that it was that of the Senor Gomez, Emma's uncle
by marriage.

"The footsteps of smallpox," I said, pointing to the graves; "we must go
on."

Emma was too overcome to object, for she believed that it was her aunt
who slept beneath that mound, so once more we mounted the weary mules.
But we did not get far. Within half a mile of the _hacienda_ we were met
by two armed _rurales_, who told us plainly that if we attempted to go
further they would shoot.

Then we understood. We had penetrated a smallpox cordon, and must
stop in it until forty days after the last traces of the disease had
vanished. This, in a wild part of Mexico, where at that time vaccination
was but little practised and medical assistance almost entirely lacking,
would not be until half or more of the unprotected population was dead