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Show BY PATH AND TRAIL. 15 now, that I have returned after passing eight days amid the towering peaks, the perpendicular walls, the frightful abysses, the dark and gloomy depths of precipitous can yons, and, above all, the immense and awful silence of the Great Barranca, I confess I feel like one who has come out of an opiate sleep and doubts he is yet awake. From the quaint and tropical town of Guaymas on the Gulf of California still called by the Mexicans the Gulf of Cortez I began my journey for the Gran Barranca. Accompanied by a Mayo guide I joined, by invitation, the party of Don Alonzo Espinosa, who, with his son and daughter, was leaving to visit his mine in the La Dura range. With us went four rifle bearing Yaquis, Chris tianized members of the fierce mountain tribe that has given and is yet giving more trouble to the Mexican gov ernment than all the Indians of the republic. The distance from Guaymas to the Gran Barranca is about 200 miles, and it is idle to say that through these rough mountain lands, there are no railroads, no stages, nor indeed facilities for travel save on foot or mule back. Noble and serviceable as the horse may be, no one here would dream of trusting his life to him on the steep and narrow trails of the Sierras. The small Mexi can burro or donkey is as wise as a mountain goat, as sure of foot as a Eocky Mountain sheep, and when left to himself will, day or night, safely carry you by the rim of the most dangerous precipice. We left Guaymas at 4 a. m. At Canoncito we met a train of loaded burros driven by men cloathed in zarapes, white cotton pants and sombreros, and, like ourselves, taking advantage of the early morning and its refreshing coolness. Now and then we passed a solitary " jackal" or hut from whose door yelling curs sallied forth to dispute our right of |