For some
days, at least, Mr. Catherwood would not be able to resume work. I was
really distressed by the magnitude of what was before us, but, for the
present, we could do nothing, and I determined at once to change the
scene. The festival of Ticul was at hand, and that night it was to open
with el bayle de las Mestizas, or the Mestiza ball. Ticul lay in our
return route, nine leagues from the village of Xul, but I determined to
reach it that evening. My companion did not sympathize in my humour;
his vaquero saddle hurt him, and he could not ride faster than a walk.
I had need to economize all my strength; but I took his hard-trotting
horse and uneasy saddle, and gave him mine. Pushing on, at eleven
o'clock we reached Xul, where I had my horse unsaddled and washed,
ordered him a good mess of corn, and two boiled eggs for myself. In the
mean time, Mr. Catherwood had a recurrence of fever and ague, and my
horse was led away; but the attack proved slight, and I had him brought
out again. At two o'clock I resumed my journey, with a sheet, a
hammock, and Albino. The heat was scorching, and Albino would have
grumbled at setting out at this hour, but he, too, was ripe for the
fiesta of Ticul.

In an hour we saw in the woods on our right large mounds, indicating
that here, too, had once stood an ancient city. I rode in to look at
them, but the buildings which had crowned them were all fallen and
ruined, and I only gained an addition to the stock of garrapatas
already on hand. We had not heard of these ruins at the village, and,
on inquiring afterward, I could find no name for them.

At the distance of three leagues we commenced ascending the sierra, and
for two hours the road lay over an immense ledge of solid rock. Next to
the Mico Mountain, it was the worst range I ever crossed, but of
entirely different character; instead of gullies, and holes, and walls
of mud, it consisted of naked, broken rock, the reflection of the sun
upon which was intense and extremely painful to the eyes. In some
places it was slippery as glass. I had crossed the sierra in two
different places before, but they were comparatively like the passage
of the Simplon with that of San Bernard or San Gothard across the Alps.
My horse's hoofs clattered and rang at every step, and, though strong
and sure-footed, he stumbled and slid in a way that was painful and
dangerous to both horse and rider; indeed, it would have been an
agreeable change to be occasiona