Stones, by the way, do not affect agriculture. The soil grows its crop whether cleared of stones or not. They hitch a squad of bulls onto a plow and literally rip up the face of the earth. Then they plant sugar cane. After a while they come around with machetes and cut it down. Next they load it, in half-ton bunches, on ox carts and haul it to the mill. If the roads become worse, by the deepening of the immense ruts, they put on higher wheels and more oxen. The clearance of an ox cart is thirty-eight to forty-eight inches. When it is wet the carts sink into the earth up to the hubs. They travel in groups, so that when an extremely bad place is reached, the oxen from several carts may be hitched onto each cart in succession. It takes from four to twelve oxen to pull an ordinary cart. We surveyed that particular hill from all angles, reconnoitering the railway track, the fields, and the hill itself. A native, who happened along, showed us how to cut off the tail of a scorpion with a machete so that he becomes a safe companion. There are scorpions under most of the rocks and there are lots of rocks. Centipedes are correspondingly numerous. We climbed the hill itself, filling the jutting surfaces of the step-like rocks with loose stones and, then, driving up the rough, perilous incline by sheer power. Next we found that getting down the opposite side of some of these stepped hills was likely to be harder than getting up. They are so steep that the car slides with the wheels locked. Once we had to fasten a rope to the rear end of the car, give it a couple of turns around a palm tree and let the car go bumping down, a yard at a time. At one place we were lucky enough to find a couple of planks which had been used to bridge a shallow creek, so we drove down the hill by using the planks for skids from one step to the next. Our first ford was a wide, shallow stream with a hard rock bed. Through the clear rippling water of this first river the car shot with a great splurge and spreading of white spray. We had dreaded the rivers which had been pictured to us as impassable. By this stream was a country grocery, in front of which lounged a rural guard. We asked him if this was a typical river. He laughed and started to tell us about deep torrents that flowed over beds of stone, between wall-like cliffs. We changed the subject and dickered with him for his machete, with which he claimed to have killed seven Spaniards during the last war. Rural guards are near soldiers. They get more money than United States regulars and wear better clothes, with celluloid collars that are wiped clean every day. They carry machetes and revolvers. They will sell either or both. They ride good ponies and go to country dances. They are not impressive. [Illustration: “_Through the clear rippling water of this first river the car shot with a great splurge._” SEE PAGE 34.]