The pestiferous wood-ticks were annoying us persistently, and it looked as though we had changed for the worse in leaving the boat. At length we came out into the open along the Gulf, and traveled several miles down the coast by the water's edge. It was in the wooded district at our right along here that the lions were so abundant, but I have my doubts if there was a lion, or tiger, or panther anywhere within a mile of us at any time. In my weakened physical condition the exertion was proving too strenuous, and at three o'clock in the morning we all stopped, tied the horses at the edge of the thicket and lay down for a nap beside a large log that had been washed ashore on the sandy beach. The natives assured us that the lions were less likely to eat us if we remained out in the open. A stiff breeze blowing from off the water whirled the dry sand in eddies all along the beach. We nestled behind the log to escape the wind and sand, and in a few minutes were all fast asleep. When we awoke a couple of hours later we were almost literally buried in sand. The wag of the party said it would be an inexpensive burial, and that he didn't intend ever to move an inch from the position in which he lay. Unaccustomed as we were to horseback riding, it required the most Spartanlike courage to mount our horses again. After going a few miles it came time for breakfast and our interpreter asked one of the guides to prepare the meal. He responded by reaching down into a small bag hanging at his saddle-horn and pulling out four _tortillas_, one for each of us. This was the only article of food they offered us.