I continued beneath the broiling sun for nearly a league farther, passing through patches of chapparal, or thorny bushes, resembling the willow in the shape and color of their leaves, which found a precarious hold amongst the rocks and in the barren sands. Beyond these the track divided, one branch running up a ravine into the woods, and the other keeping along the lake. I was at a dead loss as to which to take, and did not much relish the idea of sitting there solus until the party came up. While in this perplexity I heard the crowing of cocks in the direction of the ravine, and riding in, soon found myself in a broad path which led to a cluster of huts, situated so as to command a full view of the lake, without being seen from the shore. I despatched one of the niños, under promise of the magnificent reward of one medio, to watch for my companions, and tossing the bridle to a mozo, walked into the best hut and took possession of the best hammock, which a motherly old lady undertook to swing backward and forth for me, while I should endeavor to compensate myself for my broken slumbers of the preceding night. Sleep came without coaxing, and I had a grand siesta there amongst those kind Indians. I was roused by our _comisario_, who was hurrying on to order dinner for us at Nagarote, and I determined to push on with him. He had seduced one of the party to take his old mule, and had now got the best horse in the company, my own excepted. It was a sharp proceeding, as will be seen in the sequel.