It was four o'clock when we left Micatlan,and we traveled quickly until it became almost completely dark.It was our intention to return to our general quarters in Atlacomulco that night.We had a long journey ahead of us,especially because it had been decided there was no way we would try to cross the ravines again at night,since they were considered far too dangerous.Futhermore,an eclipse of the moon was expected,and,in fact,while we were crossing an open field,the moon appeared on the horizon,half in shadow,a rare and beautiful sight. After a few hours of riding,we suddenly realized that we had lost our way,and worse still,had no way of finding it again.Night had fallen and there was not a single hut in sight,only great plains and mountains and the lowing of distant bulls all around us.We continued on ahead,trusting in luck,though it was difficult to say where she had brought us.By good fortune,our advance riders ran into two Indians,a man and a boy,who agreed to guide us their village and no further. After an interminable and exhausting road,which we traveled at a brisk trot,the barking of several dogs announced an Indian village.In the dying light,we could just make out cane huts,firmly situated between the banana trees,with fenced gardens in front of each one.Our convoy stopped in front of one particular hut,a kind of inn or shop for alcohol,where a naked goblin-like figure,the ideal husband for a witch,was serving cheap brandy to the Indians,most of whom were already drunk. We dismounted and threw ourselves to the ground,too tired to even think.Someone found us,God knows how,a cup of dreadful hot chocolate.We began to realize that we were completely lost,and so it was agreed to give up our attempt to reach Atlacomulco that night.Instead,we should head for the village of "E1 Puente",where our guides know a Spanish family,made up of several unmarried brothers,who,without any doubt,would be delighted to offer us a safe refuge for the rest of the night.We remounted and began our journey,a little restored after the pause in our journey and the dreadful hot chocolate. Where did we travel to?
El Puente. The cane huts. Atlacomulco. An Indian Village.