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Updated: June 6, 2025
I called Sumichrast and Lucien, and, under the guidance of Torribio, the Indian who every year drove the donkeys to Puebla, we ascended the course of the stream. Our guide first led us to his hut, surrounded by Bourbon palms. This beautiful tree, belonging to the palm family, has a strange and yet an agreeable appearance.
Behind the maize-field there was a hedge covered with long filaments of a golden-yellow color. These filaments, which were entirely devoid of leaves, grew all over the shrubs almost like a thick cloak. "What is the name of this wonderful plant?" asked Lucien. "It is the sacatlascale," answered Torribio. "It is a sort of dodder," added Sumichrast, "a plant of the Convolvulus family.
"What could you give me?" replied Torribio, with affected indifference; "I don't want any of your birds, and my gun is quite as good as yours, if not better." "That's true enough, therefore say no more about it." And I continued to follow my guide, who walked slowly on. He soon turned round again. "The magic glass," said he, with a great effort.
I explained to Torribio, who was to start at day-break, how to handle the cases, and then intrusted to him letters which were to announce our early return. Lucien had written to his dear mother and his sister Hortense, and he had to open his letter at least twenty times to add postscripts, often dictated by l'Encuerado. In the evening we bade adieu to our kind hosts, for we were to start early.
Two or three times I put out my hand to take back the telescope, but Torribio hugged it to his breast, just like a child when any one attempts to take a plaything away. At last he consented to give it to me, and I felt really sorry that I had not another glass to offer him. Sumichrast led the way round the end of the ravine.
As soon as Torribio entered his own plantation, he bent down a few twigs of the masorcas without dividing them from the stem. "Why do you bend those poor plants like that? Won't they die?" cried Lucien.
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