His posture and
predicament were naturally a good deal more amusing for his companions
than for himself. Yet some of these roads in dry weather are excellent
dirt roads. On a road in the Cibao I made a trip of fifteen miles in
the rainy season in five hours of hard riding and arrived with an
exhausted horse; six months later when the road was dry I made the
same journey comfortably in an hour and a half. On the first of these
occasions--it was in the course of a vacation trip for the purpose of
studying the country--I happened upon two other travelers and together
we floundered for many weary miles through black mud varying from the
consistency of soup to that of pudding. The road was indescribably
bad, and riders and horses were covered with mire and thoroughly
fatigued. That evening at the inn, through the open door between our
rooms, I heard my traveling companions discussing me. One of them
asked: "What is his object in coming here?" The other answered: "He
says he is traveling for pleasure." "Then," responded the first
solemnly, "he is either lying or he is insane.
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