By this time Carlos had filled his pack, fitted the head band over his forehead, and was waiting to start; so I said good-bye to the kind Padre, and as I turned round in the saddle to get a last glimpse of Jacaltenango, the most beautifully situated village that I had seen in Guatemala, I observed him watching us from the top of the convent steps. I had ridden about a league or more and had quite forgotten all about the housekeeper and her forecast of events, when I noticed that we were approaching a long row of tall aloes bordering the left side of the path, and soon afterwards an Indian—a most villainous and evil-looking scoundrel—jumped from his place of concealment amongst the aloes and stood before me on the road. At the same moment Carlos ran back close to the mule’s head and told me that this man was his brother who wished to go to Comitan and asked permission to join us. The scene was like the realisation of a dream. For a few moments I was in doubt as to the best course to pursue, but having been forewarned I was forearmed, and knowing that the Indians could not have the slightest idea that I was aware of their plans, I decided to go on without showing them that I had any suspicions. I said to Carlos “you tell me that this man is your brother and perhaps you are stating the truth, but he is a stranger to me and I do not like his appearance.” However I gave him permission to join us. Carlos thanked me, and the other Indian, who did not understand Spanish, gave a guttural sound of satisfaction, and then both men ran forward and kept their places well in front, at about a hundred yards distance. In the forenoon we passed St. Marcos and halted at St. Andres, in a district remarkable for the luxuriant growth of fruit trees and plantains. We then descended a long hill at the foot of which we halted for breakfast. As the mule had shown signs of distress, I took off the saddle and noticed that there was a broad low swelling upon her back. A muleteer happened to be passing by on his way to Jacaltenango, and I asked him to examine the swelling and give me his opinion about it. He told me that the mule was ill from a “pica de luna” or moonstroke, and that upon some previous night I must have tethered her out in the open air exposed to the light of the full moon, whilst her back was still warm after the saddle had been removed. I said that I remembered this having been done. The muleteer said that the injurious effects of the moon was well known, and that the mule ought not to have been exposed to it so soon after I had dismounted. He thought that the swelling would not prevent my riding her, provided that the pressure was taken off by resting the saddle upon pads placed upon each side of the swelling, and he arranged some rolls of padding for the purpose.