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All the men were drunk; some were so helpless that they sprawled upon the road, while others were being helped by their more sober comrades. I reached the plaza just thirty-seven minutes after leaving Tamalin, and at once telegraphed to Ozuluama about the baggage.
This seemed an opportunity for a new experience, and, though the price was little, if any, less than we were asked to pay for animals, we decided to try it. Arrangements were begun at once, breakfast ordered, and a light lunch prepared for carrying. Meantime, the jefe told us that there were few Indians in Ozuluama, but that in Citlaltepec we would find abundance.
At first, we thought to visit the latter, but the difficulty of reaching it was presented so forcibly, and the ease of reaching the Huaxteca Veracruzana so emphasized, that we determined upon the latter, and selected the town of Ozuluama for our central point. We could go by canoes across the river to Pueblo Viejo, where we could secure horses for the further journey.
From it, we looked out over an extensive stretch of dark green plains, broken, here and there, by little wooded hillocks, none of them so large as that upon which Ozuluama itself is situated. Riding to the town-house, the secretario was at once sent for. He ordered supper, and put a comfortable room, behind the office, at our disposal. On the back porch, just at our door, was chained a tiger-cat.
At about eleven, we started on what was called seven leagues, but what was certainly the longest nine leagues we had travelled for a long time. We had excellent horses that kept up a steady jog. Still, it was after five when we reached Ozuluama.
Believing that the owner of animals to whom we had been referred was demanding too high a price for his horses and mules, we decided to see what the town authorities would do for us, and went to the municipio. The presidente told us, with delight, that the jefe politico of Ozuluama was there with his family, rusticating, and at once summoned him to meet us.
In the course of our conversation, I was reminded that Ozuluama is the home of Alejandro Marcelo, a full-blooded Huaxtec, who once published a book upon the Huaxtec language. Expressing an interest in meeting this man, he was sent for. He is far older than I had realized, celebrating his 74th birthday that very week. He was a man of unusual intelligence and most gentle manner.
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