Fire and brimstone! It is nothing to the torments of an American prisoner in a Mexican jail. Two meals, not enough to sustain life in a sick cat, must suffice him for an entire week. There are no beds, and not even water. Prisoners also have the not very comfortable knowledge that, if they get too troublesome, the keepers have a nasty habit of making them stand up and be shot in the back. The reports made out in these cases are "shot while trying to escape."
In the afternoon I exchanged my money for Mexican coin, getting a premium of twelve cents on every dollar. I had a lunch prepared, and as the shades of night began to envelop the town, we boarded the train for Mexico. After we crossed the Rio Grande our baggage was examined by the custom-house officers while we ate supper at a restaurant which, strangely enough, was run by Chinamen. This gave us a foretaste of Mexican food and price.
It was totally dark when we entered the car again, and quite ready to retire. There were but two other passengers in the car with us. One was a Mexican and the other a young man from Chicago.
We soon bade them good-night, and retired to our berths to sleep while the train bore us swiftly through the darkness to our destination.
CHAPTER III.
ALONG THE ROUTE.
"Thirty minutes to dress for breakfast, was our good-morning in Mexico. We had fallen asleep the night previous as easily as a babe in its crib, with an eager anticipation of the morrow. Almost before the Pullman porter had ceased his calling, our window shades were hoisted and we were trying to see all of Mexico at one glance.
That glance brought disappointment. The land, almost as far as the eye could carry, which which is a wonderful distance in the clear atmosphere of Mexico, was perfectly level. Barring the cacti, with which the country abounds, the ground was bare.
"And this is sunny Mexico, the land of the gods!" I exclaimed, in disgust.
