第57部分(第2/7 頁)

very　rough。　Sometimes　the　road　ran　along　the　dry　bed　of　a　river；　where　the　animals　stumbled　from　stone　to　stone；　while　at　others　it　wended　on　the　edge　of　precipices。　Down　one　of　these　precipices　I　nearly　disappeared；　for　my　horse；　a　wooden　brute；　took　the　opportunity　to　fall　at　a　spot　where　the　two…foot…wide　path　had　been　washed　away　by　rain；　in　such　a　fashion　that　his　front　legs　were　on　one　side　of　the　gap　and　his　hind　part　on　the　other。　How　I　escaped　I　am　sure　I　do　not　know。　Mr。　Stockdale　used　to　gallop　along　these　paths；　although　once　he　and　his　horse　fell　over　the　edge　and　were　saved　only　by　being　caught　in　the　flat　top　of　a　thick　thorn　tree。　He　laughed　at　my　dislike　of　them。　A　while　afterwards　I　heard　that　he　had　fallen　from　such　a　path　and　been　dashed　to　pieces。　He　was　a　young　Englishman　of　the　best　sort；　one　of　that　gallant　breed　whose　bones　whiten　every　quarter　of　the　earth。

The　traveller　on　these　mountain　paths　in　Mexico　will　notice　many　wooden　crosses　set　up　against　the　rocky　walls。　Each　of　these　shows　that　here　a　death　has　occurred；　sometimes　by　accident；　more　frequently　by　murder；　which　amongst　these　half…savage　and　half…bred　people　—　the　product；　many　of　them；　of　intercourse　between　the　Spaniard　and　the　Indian　—　is　or　used　to　be　of　mon　occurrence。　（Now　I　observe　that　under　the　name　of　Revolution　the　Mexicans　are　butchering　each　other　wholesale　in　the　hope　of　securing　the　plunder　of　the　State；　which　has　grown　wealthy　under　the　rule　of　the　fugitive　Diaz。）

I　remember　that　we　reached　Pinal　on　a　Saturday；　the　night　on　which　the　peons　get　drunk　on　mescal　and　aqua　ardiente　and　fight　over　gambling　and　women。　On　the　Sunday　morning　I　walked　down　the　street　of　the　village；　where　I　saw　two　men　lying　dead　with　blankets　thrown　over　them。　A　third；　literally