My poor Lucien lay panting on the hard stones, with his mouth dry, his lips bleeding, and his face purple with the heat; he had thought the day's work was over. Nevertheless, as soon as he saw us starting again, up he got and followed us without a word of complaint. I wished to lighten his burden; but he heroically refused, and proportioned his pace to that of l'Encuerado. Gringalet was continually sitting down, and hanging out his tongue to a most enormous length; it was, doubtless, his way of testifying that he moved an amendment against the length of the journey. "We were quite wrong in finding fault with the shade," said Sumichrast; "for in this unsheltered spot the heat is more insupportable than under the trees. The sun seems to dart into us as if its rays were needles' points." "Don't drink, Chanito! don't drink!" cried l'Encuerado to Lucien. The poor little fellow replaced the gourd at his side, and bent on me such a heart-rending look that I caught him up in my arms. "Let us make a halt," said my friend, who was sheltering himself under a gigantic rock; "I confess that I am dead-beat." It was a great relief when we were seated down and deprived of our burdens; but, instead of setting to work, according to our usual custom, to collect wood for our fire and to construct our hut, we remained idle, looking at the horizon, without exchanging a single word. At our feet extended, as far as we could see, the tree-tops of an immense forest. We had turned our backs upon the volcano of Orizava; on our right the black summits of the Cordillera stood out against the red sky; the _urubu_ vultures were whirling round and round high up above us--the only living creatures we had set eyes on since the evening before. It was now four o'clock; a kind of hot blast beat into our faces, producing the same sensation as that experienced in front of a furnace when the door is suddenly opened. The south wind sprung up again, and squall succeeded squall--the forest undulating like a liquid surface. I in vain endeavored to overcome the state of nervous prostration which had come over me; the terrible wind which parched and burned us took away all power of will. Our eyes were inflamed, our lips cracked, and our heads heavy, and no one cared about eating; all we longed for was water, and we were obliged to watch Lucien, to prevent him emptying his gourd. He was nibbling a morsel of _totopo_, which he, like us, could hardly swallow. Sheltered behind the rock, we contemplated with dread the colossal trees round us, which swayed and bent, sprinkling the ground with their scattered boughs.