This was the volcan Xaca, or the
Queen, and though it is not so lofty as its sisters Orizaba, Popo, and
Ixtac, to my mind it is the loveliest of them all, both because of its
perfect shape, and of the colours, purple and blue, of the fires that
it sends forth at night or when its heart is troubled. The Otomies
worshipped this mountain as a god, offering human sacrifice to it, which
was not wonderful, for once the lava pouring from its bowels cut a path
through the City of Pines. Also they think it holy and haunted, so that
none dare set foot upon its loftier snows. Nevertheless I was destined
to climb them--I and one other.
Now in the lap of this ring of mountains and watched over by the mighty
Xaca, clad in its robe of snow, its cap of smoke, and its crown of fire,
lies, or rather lay the City of Pines, for now it is a ruin, or so I
left it. As to the city itself, it was not so large as some others that
I have seen in Anahuac, having only a population of some five and thirty
thousand souls, since the Otomie, being a race of mountaineers, did
not desire to dwell in cities. But if it was not great, it was the most
beautiful of Indian towns, being laid out in straight streets that met
at the square in its centre. All along these streets were houses each
standing in a garden, and for the most part built of blocks of lava and
roofed with a cement of white lime.
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