We arrived at Agua Blanca about eight o’clock, and stopped to feed our bestias on cornstalks and squashes. The former were kept high up in the trees, which neither cows nor pigs could climb, while the squashes in endless variety nearly filled a small house, through whose bambu walls the wandering hogs could smell the coveted food. The town is appropriately named “White Water,” for the only supply was very milky in appearance and very clayey in taste. Almost directly over the town, the volcano of Monte Rico, long extinct, is the most striking feature in the landscape. Cultivated to the very edge of the crater, which is said to contain a large lake, the fertility of the fields was greatest at the top,—due, no doubt, to the waters of the crater; while the lower slopes are comparatively dry and barren. Around the base are many smaller cones, which remind one of those which dot the slopes of Ætna and give the Sicilian volcano the name “Mother of Mountains.” Not a league beyond we crossed the only clear stream we saw all day; but even this water was not very pleasing to the taste. Bars across the road made us fear we had missed the path and were no longer in the “camino real;” we were, nevertheless. At Piedras Gordas, in the afternoon, we stopped for food, in hopes of hearing tidings of our guide and mozos, who had started before us. Our frugal meal of plantains, tortillas, and red bananas was constantly interrupted by the pigs who were stealing the sacaton from our hungry animals. For miles there were booths and stone fireplaces marking the camps of the pilgrims who journey to the sacred Sanctuario de Esquipulas. At six o’clock we camped in a fine pine-forest high up in the mountains. No human habitation was near, but a few cattle were seen here and there. The pasturage was good between the scattered trees of this grand park. We built a roaring fire, which cast curious shadows from the trees, pegged our bestias securely, enjoyed a good _lomilomi_, or Hawaiian massage, and both fell asleep. Suddenly I awoke with the strong impression that something was wrong. There was no noise, not even the cry of a night-bird; only the soft sough of the night-breezes in the pine-tops. Frank was breathing quietly at my side, the fire was out, and the night was cold outside the blankets. As I sat up to look about, a dark object caught my eye in the dim distance, and without much thought or reason I went towards it, simply because I felt impelled to do so. There was no consideration of personal danger, but an overpowering feeling that all was not as it should be. The first thought as I got near the black object, which seemed to move towards me, was amusing,—it looked like the devil; there were the short, straight horns, the hoofs, and I saw the switch of a tail. It was very like a dream. I had seen the “father of lies” in many a human form, but never so undisguised; and I was filled with curiosity. The next moment a joyful hinny discovered our