Two days later, half the Indians deserted me in the night. But the chief remained. Ever since he had seen the codex, he had acted as though he were my slave. He fairly shook with terror when he tried to explain that he had no part in the desertion of his men, and to show his anxiety to make up for it, he ordered his remaining men to carry double loads, and loaded his own back until he was bent nearly double. It was impossible to go on in that way. No matter how willing the Indians were, no human beings could traverse the country with such overloads. A few hours proved it. One of the men tripped, fell, and unable to recover himself with his burden, he plunged over the verge of a cliff into the roaring torrent in the depths of the ravine below. And each moment the traveling was getting worse, more difficult, more dangerous. The loss of the load carried by the unfortunate Indian was serious. With him had gone my hammocks, most of my supplies. It was far better to abandon half the baggage and carry the other half in safety, than to lose a whole load at a time. I ordered the men to halt, unpacked the bags and bundles, redistributed the contents, and repacked enough to load the men to the limit of what could be carried in safety. It left me short, but not so badly off as I would have been with my Mayas along. These savages could live off the country; I had only my own wants to look after, and I felt so confident that I would either find my goal or would know the city did not exist, when I reached the volcanoes, that I felt little worry about running short of necessities. The ravine into which the Indian had fallen to his death was impassable, and, hoping to find a spot where we could descend, we followed along its brink. At last, after miles of walking, we came to a spot where, during some period of heavy rains, a tree had been uprooted, and the water, rushing into the cavity left by its fall, had cut away the soil and had formed a gulley leading down the side of the ravine. Slipping, stumbling, sliding, we made the descent to the depths of the narrow cañon nearly two hundred feet below. But we were no better off. The opposite side was utterly impassable. There was nothing to do but to follow along beside the roaring, rushing river until an exit could be found. In the semi-twilight of the cañon we toiled on. Often wading, sometimes up to our waists in the water, we made our slow and weary way upstream. Sundown found us still within the cañon whose sides seemed higher, more precipitous than ever. It was a dismal, an oppressive spot, and I could see that the Indians were nervous and ill at ease. But there was no other course than to pass the night where we were--to camp in the cañon. * * * * *