MEXICAN 
 
 SIERRAS 
 
 DILLON WALLACE 
 
Hugh Craggs 
 

Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 in 2015 
 
 https://archive.org/details/beyondmexicansieOOwall 
 
BEYOND THE MEXICAN SIERRAS 
 
We stood on the throne of the gods, with their kingdom at our feet 
 
BEYOND THE 
 MEXICAN SIERRAS 
 
 BY 
 
 DILLON WALLACE 
 
 Author of “The Long Labrador Trail/* 
 “Ungava Bob,” Etc. 
 
 WITH 75 ILLUSTRATIONS FROM PHOTOGRAPHS BY 
 THE AUTHOR , AND A MAP 
 
 CHICAGO 
 
 A. C. McCLURG & CO. 
 1910 
 
Copyright 
 
 A. C. McClurg & Co. 
 1910 
 
 Published, April 23, 1910 
 
 Entered at Stationed Hall, London, England 
 
 THE • PLIMPTON • PRESS 
 
 NORWOOD • MASS • U • 8 • A 
 
THIS BOOK 
 
 IS AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATED 
 TO 
 
 REVEREND THERON BRITTAIN 
 
 MY BOYHOOD PASTOR AND 
 LIFELONG FRIEND 
 
White crosses in the mountain pass, 
 
 Mules gay with tassels, the loud din 
 Of muleteers, the tethered ass 
 That crops the dusty wayside grass, 
 
 And cavaliers with spurs of brass 
 Alighting at the inn. 
 
 • • • • • 
 
 Ah yes, the hills are white with snow, 
 
 And cold with blasts that bite and freeze; 
 But in the happy vale below 
 The orange and pomegranate grow, 
 
 And wafts of air toss to and fro 
 The blossoming almond-trees. 
 
 Longfellow’s “Castles in Spain.” 
 
ACKNOWLEDGMENT 
 
 In presenting this volume I desire to acknowledge 
 with gratitude assistance rendered me by the following 
 gentlemen in collecting much of the material which it 
 contains : 
 
 Mr. Louis Kaiser, United States Consul at Mazatlan; 
 Mr. Eugen Hildebrand, German Consul at Tepic; Mr. 
 Edwin Emerson; Mr. J. C. McCarthy; Mr. Boon 
 Barker; Dr. A. R. Goodman, Surgeon General Mexi- 
 can National Line Railway; Mr. Warren H. Fiske; 
 Mr. Caryl Davis Haskins and Mr. Wilmot Randall. 
 
 New York, 
 
 February 1 , 1910 . 
 
 D. W. 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 “ /^v F all that extensive empire which once ac- 
 I 1 knowledged the authority of Spain in the 
 New World, no portion, for interest and im- 
 portance, can be compared with Mexico — and this 
 equally whether we consider the variety of its soil and 
 climate; the inexhaustible stores of its mineral wealth; 
 its scenery, grand and picturesque beyond example ; the 
 character of its ancient inhabitants, not only far sur- 
 passing in intelligence that of the other North Ameri- 
 can races, but reminding us, by their monuments, of 
 the primitive civilizations of Egypt and Hindustan; 
 or, lastly, the peculiar circumstances of the Conquest, 
 adventurous and romantic as any legend devised by 
 Norman or Italian bard of chivalry.” 
 
 These are Prescott’s words of introduction to that 
 fascinating classic, “The Conquest of Mexico.” In- 
 accurate as he may have been in his estimate of the 
 extent and magnificence of the Aztec Empire, Pres- 
 cott made no exaggeration in his measure of the 
 country itself. Indeed, I am tempted to enlarge his 
 comparison, and assert that in all the two continents 
 of the Western Hemisphere there is no area of equal 
 extent that can approach Mexico in wealth of natural 
 resources, variety of climate, grandeur of scenery, 
 prehistoric ruins, and romantic history. 
 
 How many of us who live north of the Rio Grande 
 know that within the borders of our neighbor republic 
 
 IX 
 
X 
 
 INTRODUCTION 
 
 to the south there is embraced a territory larger than 
 that of France, Germany, Italy, Spain, The Nether- 
 lands, Belgium, and Switzerland combined? That 
 Mexico is one-quarter as large as the United States? 
 That she has a coast line of six thousand miles? That 
 within her borders practically every product of the 
 soil of the tropical and temperate zones can be grown 
 to perfection? That she has vast primordial forests 
 and incalculable, inexhaustible wealth of minerals? 
 That here are the remains of cities that were ancient 
 ruins, and whose buildings and origin had been lost 
 in the dust of dead and mouldering centuries, before 
 the foundations of Rome were laid? 
 
 Cut in twain by the Tropic of Cancer, lying par- 
 tially in the torrid and partially in the north temperate 
 zone, we are wont to class Mexico as an equatorial 
 country, and ascribe to her generally the unhealth- 
 ful climatic conditions to which such lands are sub- 
 ject. While this is true to a greater or less extent of 
 the States in the extreme south, and of a lowland belt 
 that lines both the Atlantic and Pacific seaboards, it 
 is an entirely erroneous impression as applied to Mexico 
 as a whole. Her great central plateau lies at an aver- 
 age altitude of more than six thousand feet above 
 the sea, with an even and salubrious climate that 
 approaches the ideal. 
 
 That Mexico has been so long misunderstood is 
 due largely, if not wholly, to the unfortunate methods 
 of her early colonization and the heritage of bad laws 
 and bad government that her Spanish conquerors 
 left behind them. The Spaniards were never colo- 
 nizers in the true sense of the word. They neglected 
 agricultural possibilities in their search for gold and 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 xi 
 
 a fabled fountain of perpetual youth, and lost sight 
 of the real wealth inherent in the countries they con- 
 quered. When the English planted their colonies in 
 New England their sole attention was turned to agri- 
 cultural pursuits. With untiring energy they cleared 
 the rugged hills of forest and rock, and transformed 
 the wilderness into fertile farms that were the basis 
 of the New World’s wealth. When Brigham Young 
 led his little band into Salt Lake Valley, and planted 
 his settlements amidst sage-brush and sand in the 
 Great American Desert, he said to his followers: 
 "Leave the hunt for gold to others. Bring down the 
 waters from the mountains, irrigate and make these 
 wastes fertile. Raise grain and cattle, sell your 
 product to the miners, and soon you will possess all 
 the gold they gather in the hills.” It was strict 
 observance of this sage advice of the far-seeing prophet 
 that turned the barren sands of the desert valley into 
 one of the richest garden spots upon the continent, 
 and built into the Union the great State of Utah. 
 But Spain in her insatiable thirst for gold was blinded 
 to the possibilities held out to her by the fertile lands 
 of her tropical and sub-tropical possessions, and these 
 rich lands with all they held of wealth and power were 
 left untamed and uncultivated. 
 
 Another grave error in Spanish colonization was the 
 Spaniards’ failure to take their women with them. 
 Without women no colonization can be successful or 
 permanent. This our English forbears in their wis- 
 dom foresaw, and no English colony was planted in 
 the New World without its quota of women. The 
 Spaniards consorted with Indian women, and the 
 resulting offspring was Indian, not Spanish; for in 
 
xii INTRODUCTION 
 
 the mixture of races it is the mother’s blood that pre- 
 dominates, and it is from the mother who rears the 
 offspring in the land of her nativity, not from the 
 alien father, engaged in his own selfish pursuits, that 
 children inherit their instincts, or at least receive their 
 training. Therefore it came about that in time the 
 conquered vanquished the conqueror, and more than 
 three-fifths of the population of Mexico to-day is 
 Indian. 
 
 Had Spain followed the English method of settling 
 and developing her American possessions, it is safe to 
 say that history would not have recorded her ignomini- 
 ous fall from power, and the United States would 
 never have wrested from Mexico that vast empire 
 beyond the Rockies. 
 
 During the three centuries of Spanish occupation, 
 the mass of native inhabitants of Mexico, reduced to 
 slavery and serfdom, bowed under the lash of the 
 hidalgo and cowed by the sword of a cruel and inhuman 
 soldiery, lost their initiative and self-reliance. They 
 were denied freedom of thought as well as of action. 
 Under the pain of death they were forced to relinquish 
 their old ideals of morality and religion, and accept 
 instead bigotry, sensualism, and superstition. 
 
 Their ancient temples, of no mean architecture, 
 their artistic handiwork, their laws and government, 
 demonstrate that these people were not lacking in 
 genius. The Abb6 Clavigero declared that their 
 mental qualities were not in the least inferior to those 
 of the Europeans, and that with proper educational 
 opportunities and training they would rival the first 
 in Europe in science, philosophy, and the arts. But 
 what progress can be made by any people existing in 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 xiii 
 
 poverty above which they are not permitted to rise, 
 bound to servitude, and hounded by oppression? At 
 last Spain, through her selfish methods of govern- 
 ment, her failure to colonize and develop, and her 
 profligacy, was banished from the land, and the people 
 came into their own. Smothered, but not dead, the 
 spirit of liberty asserted itself, the slaves flew to arms, 
 and freedom was won. 
 
 For more than sixty years after gaining her inde- 
 pendence, Mexico, like all of the Spanish-American 
 countries, was subjected to an almost incessant up- 
 heaval of civil war and change of government. 
 She was the prey of adventurous politicians and 
 ambitious soldiers who instituted revolutions with or 
 without cause, but generally with no other object in 
 view than personal aggrandizement and pecuniary 
 profit. This was the period of adjustment. It takes 
 long to raise a people from the condition of ignorant 
 slaves to that of enlightened freemen. The traditions 
 of three hundred years of oppression and subjection 
 to stringent military rule cannot be overcome in a gen- 
 eration. One form of government followed another 
 in quick succession, each rising or falling according to 
 the strength of the militant faction which supported 
 it. Regents, emperors, presidents, and dictators 
 came and went, until at length a Moses was raised in 
 Porfirio Diaz to lead his people out of the wilderness 
 of intrigue and war to the portals of peace and 
 material prosperity. 
 
 We are all familiar with the history of the French 
 invasion, the banishment of President Benito Juarez 
 from Mexico City, and the attempt to establish in 
 Mexico an hereditary monarchy with the unfortunate 
 
XIV 
 
 INTRODUCTION 
 
 Maximilian on the throne as emperor. This was during 
 the period of the Civil War in the United States. It 
 was not until that struggle had ended and peace was 
 declared, that the United States finally found itself 
 in position to defend the Monroe Doctrine and inci- 
 dentally to free Mexico. With a hundred thousand 
 veterans held in readiness to be thrown across the 
 Mexican frontier against the French invaders, France 
 was notified by the United States that continued or 
 further interference on her part in the affairs of this 
 continent would not be tolerated. The French army 
 was promptly and discreetly withdrawn, the republi- 
 can army of Mexico overthrew the Empire, captured 
 and shot Maximilian, the Emperor, and established a 
 new republic. 
 
 After the fall of the Empire the long-banished Presi- 
 dent, Benito Juarez, returned to the capital and re- 
 sumed control of the government. In 1872 he died 
 and was succeeded by Lerdo de Tejada. During 
 Juarez’s term of office incipient fighting between fac- 
 tions was almost constantly in progress throughout the 
 country. After Lerdo de Tejada assumed the Presi- 
 dency the smouldering ashes of discontent broke out 
 into the flame of war, and in 1876 the insurgent army, 
 led by General Porfirio Diaz, obtained a sweeping 
 victory over the regulars and triumphantly took pos- 
 session of Mexico City. Lerdo de Tejada fled to the 
 United States and Diaz was proclaimed President. 
 
 Diaz, with the exception of a few months’ inter- 
 mission, when he was relieved by General Juan N. 
 Mendez, served until 1880, when he was succeeded by 
 General Manuel Gonzalez. In 1884 the populace again 
 called for Diaz, who was looked upon as liberator, 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 xv 
 
 and he was overwhelmingly reelected, and returned to 
 the Presidency, to lead his country out of its meshes 
 of revolution, and weld it into a solid whole. 
 
 No imaginative writer has ever created for his hero 
 a more romantic life of stirring adventure than has 
 fallen to the lot of Porfirio Diaz. When he was but 
 three years of age his father died, and in the midst 
 of poverty the boy grew to manhood. His mother 
 desired that he should enter the priesthood, and he 
 began his studies with that in view. But he was not 
 designed for a priest. The blood of battle was in his 
 veins, and at an early age he threw himself with all 
 the impetuosity of his Indian ancestors into the revo- 
 lutionary struggles of his country. No one can doubt 
 his patriotic motives. He had a keen sense of right 
 and wrong, and the moral and physical courage to 
 espouse the side that he believed to be in the right, 
 irrespective of its weakness or power. He rose to 
 prominence during the struggle against the French. 
 Many times he was captured but always succeeded in 
 making miraculous and thrilling escapes. More than 
 once he was condemned to death. With scorn he 
 refused bribes that would have made him rich but a 
 traitor to his conscience and his country. At last he 
 conquered. Right always conquers in the end. Por- 
 firio Diaz is to-day perhaps the most remarkable man 
 in the world, and a man whom all the world honors 
 and respects. 
 
 When Diaz came to the Presidency of Mexico in 
 1876 the country was infested with bandits. No man’s 
 life was safe in the rural districts. Every stranger 
 was watched with a view to robbery, and the haciendas 
 were constantly subject to attack by armed brigands. 
 
XVI 
 
 INTRODUCTION 
 
 The treasury was empty and the country was bank- 
 rupt. War had laid waste the land; and the people, 
 so long accustomed to strife, were turned from peace- 
 ful living. 
 
 To put the new government upon a stable and firm 
 foundation was no easy task. Ambitious politicians 
 who had formed the habit of revolution had to be 
 watched, and subdued with a firm hand. Laws were 
 passed abolishing the death penalty for political 
 offences, but it is an open secret that unwholesome 
 aspirants to power mysteriously disappeared and were 
 heard of no more. Diaz, President in name, became 
 Dictator in fact. One-man power was perhaps the 
 only way to secure peace and material advancement in 
 a land with so emotional a population, made up of 
 an incongruous mixture of Indian and Spanish blood, 
 with the former’s instinct for fighting and the latter’s 
 love for show and power, and both with quick and 
 fiery tempers. Such a population could not be 
 depended upon to at once appreciate true republican- 
 ism. It is not in the nature of such people to relin- 
 quish individual aspirations without a struggle and 
 become at once quiet citizens of a republic. It is no easy 
 undertaking to overcome traditions of revolutionary 
 strife in any land where the strife has lasted through 
 generations. 
 
 Diaz began with a thorough reorganization and dis- 
 tribution of the army. The rurales (the famous and 
 efficient mounted police force) relentlessly hunted the 
 bandits to their retreats, with the result that travel 
 is as safe in Mexico to-day as in the United States, 
 save perhaps in a few outlying and isolated districts. 
 Revolutionary uprisings were promptly quelled, and 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 xvu 
 
 the people turned to peaceful pursuits and the develop- 
 ment of their country. 
 
 Then came the process of forming and passing 
 liberal laws for the protection of property and the 
 attraction of foreign capital. Mexico was poor, and 
 the Government realized that no great advancement 
 could be made in her material prosperity without 
 foreign aid. The railroad is the great civilizer of the 
 present day. Until it comes little can be hoped for 
 in national upbuilding, and here was driven the enter- 
 ing wedge. 
 
 Two or three minor roads were in operation when 
 Diaz began his first administration. A British com- 
 pany undertook the construction of a line from Vera 
 Cruz to the capital in 1857, but the vicissitudes of 
 war delayed its completion until 1873; and in the 
 West, in the early seventies, an insignificant railroad, 
 forty-five miles in length, was built between Culiacan, 
 the capital of the State of Sinaloa, and its seaport, 
 Altata. 
 
 But the first real beginning in Mexican railroad 
 enterprises took place on February 25, 1880, when the 
 State of Massachusetts granted a charter to the 
 “Mexican Central Railroad Company, Limited.” This 
 company was organized by a group of United States 
 capitalists for the purpose of connecting Mexico City 
 with the United States, and opening to development 
 the wide area of plateau that intervened. With the 
 far-sighted, broad-minded policy that has character- 
 ized the administration of President Diaz, the most 
 liberal concessions and fullest encouragement were 
 given the new enterprise. In addition to extensive 
 land grants and an average subsidy of about $15,000 
 
XV111 
 
 INTRODUCTION 
 
 per mile, it was agreed that all material necessary for 
 the construction and operation of the railroad should 
 be admitted free of duty for a period of fifteen years, i 
 and for fifty years after its completion the line should 
 be free from taxation. 
 
 To-day the Mexican Central Railroad owns a total j 
 of 3,426 miles of line, and the “National Lines,” com- I 
 posed of the National, International, and Interoceanic 
 Railroads, 3,500 miles, to say nothing of two new 
 trunk lines, the Kansas City, Mexico, and Orient Rail- j 
 road, and the new Pacific Coast Line, the latter when 
 completed to connect the Southern Pacific Railroad in 
 the United States with Mexico City, and a dozen or so 
 smaller railroads in the East and South, giving Mexico 
 in all nearly eighteen thousand miles of railway. 
 
 The Mexican Government a few years ago secured 
 a controlling interest in the National Lines, and within 
 the last three years of the Central Lines, resulting in 
 a recent merger of the two systems. The manage- 
 ment, however, is still, and doubtless will remain, in 
 the hands of Americans. 
 
 The liberal laws as to railroads have been extended 
 in other directions. Foreigners can now own real 
 estate as freely in Mexico as in the least restricted of 
 our States. 
 
 Since Mexico gained her independence from Spain, 
 it has been her effort to attract immigration. The 
 “Prosperidad General” passed in 1827 was designed 
 to give impetus to this, but failed in its object. Other 
 efforts were made in 1846, again in 1868 and in 1877, j 
 but without success. These failures to attract immi- 
 grants may be assigned to various reasons. During 
 the half-century between 1827 and 1877, when the 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 XIX 
 
 country was almost continually in the throes of revo- 
 lution or incipient uprisings, settlers had no guarantee 
 that they would be protected from pillage. Brigand- 
 age was rife and prospective settlers in agricultural 
 districts had no assurance of security from raids of 
 bandit bands. Markets for produce were limited. 
 Railroads had not yet opened up any considerable 
 sections of the country, and transportation of goods 
 and passengers could be accomplished only on mule 
 or horseback. These obstacles in themselves were 
 sufficient to deter the ordinary immigrant. 
 
 In 1883 a new immigration law was passed and a 
 fresh effort made to attract foreign settlers. This 
 enactment guaranteed exemption from military ser- 
 vice and provided for the admission duty free of 
 agricultural tools, implements, and machinery, animals 
 for breeding purposes, household furniture, and articles 
 for consumption not manufactured or produced in the 
 country. It further relieved the settler from all except 
 municipal taxes. But still no satisfactory influx of 
 immigrants took place, or has taken place to the 
 present day. 
 
 This lack of response I believe may be traced to 
 several underlying conditions. In its effort to col- 
 onize undeveloped sections of its territory every nation 
 must look for settlers amongst people of moderate 
 means — those who wish to acquire homes for them- 
 selves, and laborers seeking profitable employment. 
 The wealthy investor is not the man that builds up 
 a country, but is only a minor factor to that end, and 
 follows the homeseeker. 
 
 Mexico has failed to see this. Her public lands have 
 never been surveyed into sections and quarter-sec- 
 
XX 
 
 INTRODUCTION 
 
 tions, available at small initial cost, but have been 
 offered in immense tracts embracing thousands of 
 acres, the acquirement of which has been quite out 
 of reach of the poor man. She has depended upon 
 capitalists, purchasing large estates, to survey their 
 purchases at their own expense, and at their own 
 expense lure colonists to settle upon them. This capi- 
 talists have not done. They have been content to 
 develop with native labor only sufficient acreage to 
 carry running expenses and pay a small percentage 
 on the capital invested, leaving the greater portion 
 of their haciendas wild and unreclaimed wilderness. 
 Therefore Mexico’s fertile soil has lain idle, while the 
 homeseeker has been populating our own unsettled 
 West and building Canada into a great and powerful 
 nation. It is true, a few isolated colonies have been 
 formed, notably those of the Mormons and Boers, but 
 they are comparatively small and insignificant. 
 
 Another reason for the failure of Mexico to attract 
 immigration is the general misconception of her cli- 
 mate. The average American and European believes 
 Mexico to be a hot and humid equatorial land, reeking 
 in fever and disease, and nothing has been done by 
 the Government in the way of judicious advertising 
 to disabuse the world of this belief. Mexicans them- 
 selves know that the larger portion of their country 
 has a climate corresponding to that of Southern 
 France and Italy, and they have taken it for granted 
 that all the earth knew it too. 
 
 The Pacific State of Sinaloa is about to try the experi- 
 ment of introducing American colonization methods. 
 The late enlightened Governor of that State a few 
 years ago granted an American corporation a con- 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 XXI 
 
 cession to survey the agricultural lands of Sinaloa, 
 giving a certain proportion of the lands surveyed as 
 compensation for the work. The survey is now prac- 
 tically completed, and the American company, with 
 title to considerably more than two millions of acres, 
 has already begun the installation of irrigation plants, 
 and proposes to offer its holdings, in small ranches, 
 to prospective settlers from the United States. The 
 officers of this company have developed sections of 
 the fruit-growing country of Southern California, and 
 are men of experience. I can see no reason why their 
 undertaking should not meet with entire success. 
 
 Sinaloa has a deeper, richer soil than Southern Cali- 
 fornia, it has a wider range of crop possibilities, there 
 is an abundance of water, for eight months of the year 
 the climate is ideal, and the new railroad will open 
 markets for corn, fruit, sugar, and other products of 
 the temperate and torrid zones, which grow here to 
 perfection. It is particularly adapted to banana, 
 orange, and pineapple culture. Corn, barley, and 
 alfalfa yield enormously — in some instances three 
 crops of cereals a year; coffee of good quality, excep- 
 tionally fine sugar-cane, tobacco, and cotton give large 
 returns, while sisal fibre grows spontaneously. Lack 
 of transportation facilities has hitherto left Sinaloa 
 State and Tepic Territory isolated, little known, and 
 undeveloped; but with the railroad in operation, this 
 should bloom into the richest and most prosperous 
 district in all Mexico. 
 
 In this connection a word of warning should be 
 sounded to small investors. The average American 
 knows less about Mexico and the conditions that pre- 
 vail there than he knows of South Africa. In a 
 
XXII 
 
 INTRODUCTION 
 
 vague, uncertain way he has come to believe in the 
 country’s wonderful possibilities, but he has no defi- 
 nite knowledge. 
 
 Placing their faith in this lack of information, get- 
 rich-quick operators, chiefly in Chicago, New York, 
 and our northeastern States, have widely advertised 
 shares in rubber plantations, orange or banana groves, 
 and sent out alluring circulars promising a life income 
 to investors who are usually permitted to pay for 
 stock in instalments. Nearly all of these schemes are 
 fraudulent. Owners of Mexican haciendas that pay 
 reasonable dividends are not philanthropists, and pre- 
 fer to keep the dividends themselves. They do not 
 let outsiders in. Companies organized to purchase and 
 develop haciendas on the instalment or general stock 
 distribution basis are organized only for the enrich- 
 ment of the promoters. As a rule they are chimerical 
 and no dividend is ever paid upon stock from the actual 
 earnings of the hacienda, though sometimes, for the 
 allurement of new victims, dividends are declared and 
 paid out of moneys collected for stock sold. It rarely 
 occurs that promoters ever make an honest effort to 
 develop the properties purchased. That would cost 
 money, and they prefer to put the ready cash directly 
 into their pockets. 
 
 This is too frequently the case, also, with Mexican 
 mining companies. The recent colossal copper, gold, 
 and silver mining failures, reported by the news- 
 papers, were conceived in fraud. I do not wish to be 
 understood here as asserting that all mining proposi- 
 tions, or even a considerable proportion of them, are 
 fraudulent; I am simply sounding a warning against 
 dishonest promoters, and suggesting a thorough inves- 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 xxiii 
 
 tigation on the part of prospective investors. Un- 
 doubtedly the richest mineral lands on this continent 
 lie in Mexico, and large amounts of American capital 
 are invested in many well paying mines now in opera- 
 tion; and they represent only a beginning of what may 
 be expected. 
 
 Here, too, the Government is awake. Exceedingly 
 liberal laws have been passed, for the purpose of indu- 
 cing development — more liberal laws than our own. 
 The troublesome restrictions laid down in former 
 statutes have been repealed, and government officials 
 are instructed to aid American investors with accurate 
 information. Their duty is to see that mining claims 
 are correctly registered, papers drawn in due legal 
 form, and in general to protect those who undertake 
 mining operations. The mining laws have been printed 
 in English and Spanish for general distribution, and 
 may be had at nominal cost upon application to the 
 Government. 
 
 There is great need of custom smelters in Western 
 Mexico. The erection of these will be made possible 
 as railroad construction progresses, and mines now in 
 operation are made more accessible and new mines 
 opened. 
 
 Americans are discovering that Mexico offers large 
 inducements to manufacturing industries, and con- 
 siderable American capital is already invested in vari- 
 ous parts of the country. But it is only a beginning. 
 Water powers are numerous and open to denounce- 
 ment. Innumerable opportunities await the enter- 
 prising manufacturer who takes advantage of this 
 new field, and he may be well assured of Government 
 protection and liberal treatment. 
 
XXIV 
 
 INTRODUCTION 
 
 The best cotton in the world is grown in Mexico, 
 and there is room for many mills. The entire crop 
 is now required for local consumption, with a rapidly 
 growing demand. There is wide opportunity for sugar 
 mills, fruit canning, iron and wood working, and very 
 many other lines of manufacture, and their establish- 
 ment is courted by the Government. Vast coal fields 
 await exploration and exploitation, and when the work- 
 ings are opened steel and iron industries should spring 
 up. At present the large iron deposits are practically 
 untouched and nearly all the coal consumed in the 
 Republic is imported from the United States and 
 England. 
 
 Peon labor is cheap. The usual rate is from twenty- 
 five to seventy-five cents (gold) per day (depending 
 upon local conditions and sections), for the ordinary 
 laborer, and ranging to a dollar and a half for more or 
 less skilled workmen. Generally speaking, the peon 
 lacks thrift. His needs are small, his opportunities 
 limited, and he is content with what he has. Save on 
 the numerous fiesta days he works steadily, however, 
 and on the whole can be depended upon. On fiesta 
 days he gives himself over to pleasure, partakes freely 
 of the native intoxicants, pulque and mescal, and 
 gambles away his earnings. He may not be held up 
 to the world as an example of honesty. 
 
 Previous to 1888, Germany, France, and Great 
 Britain controlled a large share of the trade of Mexico. 
 Forty years ago Great Britain practically monopolized 
 it. In recent years these countries have made com- 
 paratively small advance, while the United States has 
 come strongly to the front. In the fiscal year ending 
 with June, 1907, the imports from Germany, Great 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 XXV 
 
 Britain, and France were each less than one-sixth 
 those from the United States. During that year the 
 imports from the United States amounted to $146,- 
 376,585.60, while the exports to the United States 
 reached $175,809,123.63. Germany, on the other 
 hand, sold Mexico considerably more than she pur- 
 chased from her, as did France. 
 
 There is no reason why the United States should 
 not sell Mexico practically everything she needs. Our 
 goods are equal to the European product, and often 
 superior. Close proximity, lower transportation rates, 
 and quick delivery are all in our favor. One obstacle, 
 however, that frequently stands in the way is the 
 failure of our shippers to pack goods in accordance 
 with instructions. In this respect the Europeans are 
 much more particular, and on this ground alone often 
 capture orders that normally would come to us if we 
 would conform strictly to directions. All goods des- 
 tined for outlying cities and towns, at a distance from 
 the railroad, must be packed on muleback to their 
 destination. With this in view, the Mexican mer- 
 chant gives with his orders exact instructions as to 
 the size or weight of packages in which he wishes 
 goods put up. Our shippers disregard these instruc- 
 tions, and not infrequently goods arrive in Mexico in 
 great unwieldy cases, necessitating repacking before 
 transshipment can be made. 
 
 Customs on nearly all imports are reckoned upon 
 weight, irrespective of cost. All invoices should there- 
 fore state this, according to the metric system. That 
 is the system used in Mexico, and generally the only 
 one understood there. 
 
 Financial failures in Mexico are rare. It may be 
 
XXVI 
 
 INTRODUCTION 
 
 said, almost without qualification, that the Mexican 
 merchant is conservative, trustworthy, and thrifty, 
 and discounts his bills promptly. When he sells 
 goods on credit he is well assured that his customer 
 is responsible, and when he purchases he knows abso- 
 lutely that he will himself be in a position to meet his 
 obligations. Monopolies, trusts, and corners are not 
 permitted in the Republic, and the merchant and broker 
 have not learned, and are not tempted, to venture 
 into high finance. 
 
 In her currency reform Mexico is approaching the 
 gold standard, and it may be said is even now upon 
 a gold basis. She has established and guaranteed by 
 law a fixed ratio between her gold and silver mediums. 
 The peso is the standard of value, and is worth fifty 
 cents United States money. Gold coins are rapidly 
 coming into circulation. These are, however, of so 
 recent coinage that during my journey in the Winter 
 of 1907-1908 1 had difficulty on more than one occasion 
 in persuading the folk of isolated towns that they 
 were really coins of the country and legal tender. 
 
 When Diaz came to the Presidency the National 
 Treasury was empty and the country was without 
 credit. Under his wise administration progression 
 began at once, but the country was very poor and there 
 seemed no way to equalize the receipts and disburse- 
 ments of the Treasury. Year after year her Finance 
 Ministers budgeted to a deficit, and the Budget Com- 
 mittees accepted the condition as one that could not 
 be remedied. In presenting the budget for the fiscal 
 year 1888-1889, the Committee remarked: 
 
 “Though in previous years the members of the 
 Budget Commission have been the most prominent 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 xxvu 
 
 men in the country in a political sense — enlightened 
 financiers, possessing great experience in the manage- 
 ment of public revenue — they have been unable to 
 establish equilibrium between the receipts and dis- 
 bursements of the Federal Treasury. The under- 
 signed commission does not flatter itself, nay, cannot 
 flatter itself, at having achieved that earnestly desired 
 consummation, for it is almost an impossibility in the 
 present circumstances of the country.” 
 
 In 1893 Senor Jose Yves Limantour was appointed 
 Minister of Finance, and within three years after he 
 entered President Diaz’s Cabinet accomplished the 
 “impossible.” At the close of the fiscal year 1895- 
 1896, a surplus of $5,451,347 was reported. No one 
 could credit it. It was too great a novelty and too 
 extraordinary an occurrence for belief. Steadily the 
 surplus has grown under the wise financiering of 
 Limantour, until in the fiscal year 1906-1907 it 
 reached $29,000,000. 
 
 When Porfirio Diaz took the presidential chair in 
 1884, Mexico could not have floated a loan upon any 
 terms, either in Europe or the United States. In 1904 
 banking houses in Europe and the United States 
 entered into keen competition to secure the placing 
 of an 80,000,000 peso ($40,000,000) loan. Representa- 
 tives of Berlin, Paris, and New York banks visited 
 Mexico City to bid for it. A New York house suc- 
 ceeded, to the chagrin and disappointment of the other 
 competitors. No government of Europe could have 
 obtained better terms than those upon which Mexico 
 secured her loan. 
 
 A close and cordial relationship has grown up be- 
 tween ourselves and our sister Republic. While there 
 
XXV1U 
 
 INTRODUCTION 
 
 is a feeling amongst the unversed — a feeling engen- 
 dered and kept aflame by a few yellow journals of 
 provincial cities, particularly west of the Sierras — 
 that the United States has designs upon Mexican ter- 
 ritory and hopes for ultimate annexation, I am happy 
 to say that the Administration and the intelligent citi- 
 zens of Mexico do not entertain it, and in sincerity 
 express the most cordial feeling of good-fellowship for 
 us, and heartily welcome Americans to their land. 
 They recognize our mutual interests, and their friend- 
 ship could not be more pronounced. 
 
 Mexico is building her progress upon a firm founda- 
 tion. She is taking long strides toward a great future. 
 She is making her place as a power, not only in North 
 America, but amongst the nations of the world, and 
 we of the United States are glad of it. She has prob- 
 lems still to face, first of which is perhaps the regenera- 
 tion and uplifting of her peon Indian population. 
 
 In the Spanish days the peon was worked under 
 the lash, like political prisoners in Siberia. His life 
 was held at little value. He was kept in the densest 
 ignorance, and has never risen above it. I have known 
 peons in Western Mexico who did not know whether 
 their country was a monarchy or a republic, whether 
 Montezuma was Emperor or Diaz President. Free 
 public schools are being established as rapidly as pos- 
 sible in cities and towns, and will doubtless later be 
 extended to villages. It is the policy of the Govern- 
 ment to educate and enlighten its people by this 
 method, and bring them out of the dead past into 
 the living present. Very conservative are these peons. 
 They are slow to accept new methods or new ideas. 
 As their ancestors ploughed and tilled, so they plough 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 XXIX 
 
 and till; as their ancestors lived and dressed and 
 thought, so do they. 
 
 A visit to Mexico is a revelation to the traveller 
 and the tourist. Turning for a season from Europe to 
 the South, he witnesses the incomparable scenery of 
 this old new land, with its snow-capped peaks, its 
 magnificent mountain heights, its awe-inspiring can- 
 yons, its vast plains, its picturesque villages, its ancient 
 ruins, its historic towns, and quaint corners. He 
 tarries for a while in the cool and flowery gardens, and 
 pauses under the mighty trees that threw their shade 
 a thousand years ago. Mexico City and all the sur- 
 rounding country is rich in legend and romantic 
 history. 
 
 And the hunter and sportsman? Let him pitch his 
 camp in some vast pine forest, amid the lofty peaks 
 of the Sierras, where the air is pure and the brooks run 
 clear as crystal. He will find his ideal hunting-ground 
 in these primeval solitudes, for it is a wilderness 
 abounding in game, and almost unknown and un- 
 explored. 
 

 
CONTENTS 
 
 Chapter Page 
 
 Introduction ix 
 
 I A Forgotten Land 1 
 
 II In Old San Blas 11 
 
 III The Past and the Present .... 26 
 
 IV A Land of Promise 37 
 
 V The Santiago River Trail .... 47 
 
 VI A Look at the Indians 54 
 
 VII The Mystery of Treasure Hill . . 64 
 
 VIII The Indian and the Land .... 69 
 
 IX On the Old Stage Road 82 
 
 X The Hotel and the Barber .... 92 
 
 XI The Capital City of Tepic .... 98 
 
 XII The Fiesta of All Souls .... 109 
 
 XIII A Tragedy in Five Acts 121 
 
 XIV Comedy and Tragedy of the Trail . 131 
 
 XV Amongst the Lagunas 137 
 
 XVI Mexcaltatan, the Mexican Venice . 143 
 
 XVII The Parting in Mazatlan Harbor . . 157 
 
 XVIII North of the Tropics 166 
 
 XIX A Wedding and a Bull-Fight . . . 175 
 
 XX On the Edge of a Boom 184 
 
 XXI The Trails and the Prospectors . . 190 
 
 XXII Into the Foothills 196 
 
 XXXI 
 
XXX11 
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 Chapter Page 
 
 XXIII Under the Shadow of the Sierras . 205 
 
 XXIV The Throne of the Gods .... 213 
 
 XXV Lost in the Snow 221 
 
 XXVI An Old Town and the Mines . . . 229 
 
 XXVII The Indians of the Mountains . . 239 
 
 XXVIII A Glimpse of the East 248 
 
 XXIX The Canyon Trail 262 
 
 XXX Mazatlan and Homeward Bound . . 272 
 
 Appendix: Mexico’s Unhunted Wilderness . . 279 
 
 Index 295 
 
ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 “ We stood on the throne of the gods , with their kingdom 
 at our feet ” Frontispiece 
 
 Page 
 
 Mazatlan harbor 8 
 
 A cargadore 9 
 
 Map of Mexico , showing author’s route .... 12 
 
 Cocoanut palms 14 
 
 A corner of the market-place, San Bias .... 15 
 
 “The officer halted and smiled” 18 
 
 Custom house , San Bias 19 
 
 The ruins of the old cathedral 22 
 
 A corner of the ruined fortress 23 
 
 A ruin of old San Bias 28 
 
 A god of the ancients 29 
 
 Pack train on the road to Tepic 38 
 
 “ Stately palms and gigantic ferns lined our trail” . 39 
 
 Waiting for the ferry at La Presa 44 
 
 A typical wooden cart ( each wheel is made from a log 
 segment , the pole is mahogany , and no iron whatever 
 
 is used in construction) 45 
 
 A water pedler 50 
 
 The ferry at the Caimonaro 51 
 
 Water carriers 58 
 
 Canoe dug out from a single log , capable of carrying six 
 
 thousand pounds 59 
 
 The ploughman 70 
 
 Jose , our waiter — an Indian youth of twenty ... 71 
 
 The Tepic stage on the longest stage line in the world . 84 
 
 A pack train 85 
 
 The baby mule 88 
 
 xxxiii 
 
xxxiv ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 Page 
 
 A type suggestive of the Semitic 89 
 
 Calle de Mexico , Tepic 94 
 
 Hotel del Bolo de Oro , Tepic City 95 
 
 The plaza, Tepic City 100 
 
 A street in Tepic 101 
 
 The policeman posed for his photograph . . . .106 
 
 The cemetery and chapel, Tepic 107 
 
 “ Boldly they have carved Lozado’s name upon the tomb” 112 
 
 A view over Tepic City 113 
 
 The ferry at Santiago Ixcuintla 132 
 
 Gardens of tuna cactus 133 
 
 u Under the uncertain shade of one scrubby and solitary 
 
 tree, we deposited our belongings ” 140 
 
 “ In a dug out canoe , poling away with a cargo of mer- 
 chandise” 141 
 
 Going ashore at Altata 168 
 
 A scene in Altata 169 
 
 Cave with adobe front, used as a dwelling, near Culiacan 176 
 An American ranch-house near Culiacan .... 177 
 
 The bull-fight 182 
 
 Indian pottery vender 183 
 
 On the canyon trail 192 
 
 Wilkinson 193 
 
 u Each animal carried two great planks” .... 198 
 
 “ Mucha gracias, sehor” 199 
 
 Hedges of organ cacti 216 
 
 On the trail 217 
 
 Guava trees in a garden, Canelas 230 
 
 A street in Canelas 231 
 
 A characteristic hut 242 
 
 A typical Yaqui Indian 243 
 
 Pack trains laden with bars of silver 246 
 
 u Adobe huts took the place of log cabins” .... 247 
 
 Tepehuanes, bathed in brilliant December sunshine . 250 
 
 A view of Tepehuanes 251 
 
ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 XXXV 
 
 Page 
 
 The author and the youngest child of Mr. Boon Barker , 
 
 at Tepehuanes station 252 
 
 The lad who could ride and the lass who liked candy . 253 
 
 Irrigated gardens 254 
 
 The valley in which Monterey lies 255 
 
 The old church of San Francisco , Monterey . . . 256 
 
 The Bishop J s Palace , Monterey 257 
 
 The Cathedral , Mexico City 258 
 
 American Country Club , Mexico City 259 
 
 Molino del Rey , captured by American troops during 
 
 Mexican War 264 
 
 The Tree of the Dismal Night } under which it is said 
 
 Cortez wept 265 
 
 Cairn surmounted by cross erected by Cortez in memory 
 
 of wife he drowned 268 
 
 A view of Mazatlan harbor 269 
 
 The hotel at Altata 270 
 
 The “chambermaid ” cook , and waiter , Altata hotel . 271 
 
 The field hospital , Mazatlan 274 
 
 A view of Mazatlan 275 
 
BEYOND THE MEXICAN 
 SIERRAS 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 A FORGOTTEN LAND 
 
 half past one on the afternoon of October 16, 
 
 1907, the good ship San Jose, Captain Hans 
 
 Thompson, cast loose from her wharf, turned 
 her prow into the mist that hovered over San Fran- 
 cisco Bay, and made her course toward the Golden 
 Gate and the broad Pacific. I was one of the pas- 
 sengers leaning at her rail to watch the fog swallow 
 up the cliffs at “Land’s End” and the last bit of 
 hazy shore line fade from view. Mr. Wilmot Randall, 
 a friend of my boyhood days, was my travelling com- 
 panion. We were southward bound to that obscure 
 and little-known section of Old Mexico lying beyond 
 the Sierras, — that extensive area between the table- 
 land and the Pacific Ocean, Sonora and Jalisco States, 
 which has slumbered through the centuries undis- 
 turbed, and unmindful of the great world of progress 
 and activity just beyond its borders. 
 
 We desired to learn something of its commercial 
 prospects, but were called southward chiefly by the 
 promise of unique experience and adventure in a 
 country that had been to us in our youth one of 
 romance and mystery. We had dreamed then of the 
 time when we should see with our own eyes the won- 
 
 1 
 
2 BEYOND THE MEXICAN SIERRAS 
 
 derful mountains and gorgeous scenery of this wild 
 land, and should stand amid the fruits and flowers 
 of its tropical jungles. 
 
 That section of Western Mexico, comprising the 
 State of Sinaloa, Western Durango, and Tepic Terri- 
 tory, which we were to visit, may be termed the 
 Hinterland of the Republic. It is a counterpart of Cali- 
 fornia before the gold rush of ’49 — wild, little known, 
 isolated, and uncivilized — one might almost say a 
 forgotten land. But in these days of twentieth-cen- 
 tury enterprise and awakening no land like Western 
 Mexico can long remain in reposeful slumber. A 
 railroad is in course of construction through its very 
 heart. From Guaymas, in the northwest, to Gua- 
 dalajara in the central south, the Southern Pacific 
 Railroad is extending its lines. The engineers have 
 already surveyed a route, work is being pushed, and 
 in one or two years at the outside, it will be com- 
 pleted and trains will be thundering through the 
 mountain passes and awaking the jungles with their 
 rumble. 
 
 Colonizing schemes will spring into being as they did 
 in California, the great haciendas will be divided into 
 small ranches, and the country will be settled and 
 civilized. It will be robbed of its seclusion, its quaint 
 old Indian and Spanish customs, and, perhaps, of its 
 contentment. It will be roused from its repose to a 
 new era of push and enterprise. 
 
 Randall and I wished to see it in its wildest state, 
 and to enjoy its pristine beauty before the hand of 
 commercialism had begun the work of transformation 
 and civilization. And if it is to be settled by Amer- 
 icans, what American will not wish to learn some- 
 
A FORGOTTEN LAND 
 
 3 
 
 thing of its probable future, and of the opportunities 
 it may offer the would-be colonist or investor? 
 
 Our knowledge of the existing conditions in this 
 Hinterland of Mexico was meagre and indefinite. 
 The railroads of the East have never found their way 
 across the mighty barrier of the Sierra Madres, to 
 invade it. Save for one stage line which reaches its 
 length, — impassable for wheeled vehicles during half 
 the year, — rough jungle and mountain trails were 
 the only lines of communication between its scat- 
 tered settlements, and pack mules the only means of 
 transportation. The difficulties and discomforts of 
 travel, together with tales of brigandage and out- 
 lawry formerly committed here, which have from time 
 to time been whispered to the outside world, have 
 proved sufficient obstacles to turn from its borders 
 the ordinary traveller. Therefore, with all the books 
 that have been published upon Mexico and Mexican 
 travel, no first-hand description in English has yet 
 appeared of this isolated region. It is, in consequence, 
 to the world in general a practically unknown country. 
 Its chief characteristics may be summed up briefly. 
 
 Dense jungles cover the lower levels in the South, 
 where water is plentiful, while great areas of the less 
 favored North are semi-arid. In the higher altitudes, 
 above the foothills, vast primordial forests of live oak 
 and pine stretch away into dark distances over the 
 serrated peaks of the Sierra Madres, with their mighty 
 canyons and heights of magnificent grandeur. Ten 
 turbulent rivers flow down across the State of Sinaloa 
 in their course from the Cordilleras to the sea, and 
 three others traverse the Territory of Tepic. With 
 the exception of Mazatlan, the metropolis of Pacific 
 
4 
 
 BEYOND THE MEXICAN SIERRAS 
 
 Mexico, and the capital cities of Culiacan and Tepic, 
 the population is sparse and scattered. There are a 
 few small towns as distributing points for merchandise, 
 and here and there small collections of Indian huts, 
 where the natives live as their forefathers lived for 
 untold generations before them, with little change 
 in their habits or customs since the days when the 
 great Montezuma ruled over his so-called Aztec 
 Empire. But at the most, it is a thinly populated 
 wilderness. 
 
 The first port of call for the Pacific mail steamers 
 is Mazatlan, six days out from San Francisco, and to 
 this port Randall and I had booked our passage. 
 Here we had planned to purchase saddle and pack 
 mules, employ guides, and thence penetrate the in- 
 terior country north and south. 
 
 The air was raw and cold, the deck and rigging 
 dripped moisture, and with the final disappearance 
 of land, outside the Golden Gate, we turned shivering 
 from the steamer rail to seek the shelter of the smok- 
 ing-room. As we entered Randall remarked, with 
 optimistic and comforting assurance, 
 
 “Another week and we'll be bathing in the sun- 
 shine of tropical Mexico,” a remark which I remem- 
 bered later. 
 
 We had a cosmopolitan crowd in the cabin. There 
 were men from the Philippine Islands, China, Aus- 
 tralia, and New Zealand, Panama Canal officials, the 
 German Consul from Tepic, an artist and his wife, 
 lately from abroad, miners from Alaskan gold fields, 
 coffee growers from Central America, young Ameri- 
 cans in the employ of Central American republics, 
 two Chinese merchants, a woman lawyer, and by no 
 
A FORGOTTEN LAND 
 
 5 
 
 means the least among this world-wide aggregation, 
 a gentleman from Nome who knew how to play poker. 
 This game, the gentleman from Nome said, was his 
 favorite amusement. Some of the young men who 
 had an overplus of funds, and thought they could 
 play poker too, sat with him in friendly contest for a 
 while. He taught them wisdom, which they assimi- 
 lated sadly. As each came from the game he talked 
 about retrenching expenses, and I gathered that one 
 lesson they had absorbed from the gentleman from 
 Nome was how to economize. He was a very kind- 
 hearted man, and always sympathized deeply with 
 the unfortunate ones who had been divorced from 
 the contents of their wallets during the course of 
 instruction. 
 
 For two days dull, depressing weather remained 
 with us. Clouds obscured the sun, fog hung over the 
 sea, and the atmosphere was dank and dispiriting; 
 but when we went on deck on the morning of the third 
 day a wonderful transformation had taken place. 
 The cheerless, sodden world of the night had in some 
 mysterious manner turned into one of transcendent 
 beauty. The calm blue sea shimmered in the sunlight, 
 the air was mellow and balmy, not a cloud marred the 
 soft-tinted turquoise sky, and sleepy and warm the 
 coast of Lower California lay against the eastern 
 horizon. It was as if some fairy had touched the old 
 earth with her magic wand, and lo! a new world had 
 sprung into being in a night. The officers appeared 
 at breakfast in natty white duck uniforms, instead 
 of the regulation blue, and the young men passengers, 
 taking the cue, adopted a like dress. 
 
 We turned in at Magdalena Bay — not into the bay, 
 
6 BEYOND THE MEXICAN SIERRAS 
 
 but to the entrance — where we blew blasts of the 
 whistle as a signal to the men-of-war lying inside to 
 come out and get the mail we had for them. Pres- 
 ently the U. S. S. Perry appeared, swung about and 
 launched a boat, with six bluejackets at the oars, 
 and a nice new ensign all dressed in immaculate white, 
 sitting in the stern, arms folded and looking as though 
 he carried the dignity of the United States Navy 
 upon his shoulders. The boat pulled alongside the 
 San Jose, and the new ensign, still maintaining his 
 dignity, reached for the ladder, missed it, and the 
 immaculate uniform disappeared into the blue depths, 
 leaving a white cap, without a wearer, bobbing up 
 and down upon the waves. In a few seconds the 
 ensign rose, holding high over his head, in one hand, 
 some papers he was to deliver, and swimming grace- 
 fully and dexterously with the other, until he was 
 happily rescued by his men before the sharks caught 
 him. When he reached our deck, every bit of his 
 dignity had been washed away, and he seemed filled 
 with mortification and sea water. 
 
 On the twenty-first of October we made the turn 
 around San Jose del Cabo and Cape St. Lucas, pointed 
 eastward across the Gulf of Lower California, and early 
 the next morning came to our anchorage off Mazatlan. 
 Randall and I had everything packed, ready to go 
 ashore as soon as the port doctor gave us a clean bill 
 of health. 
 
 Three hours of impatient waiting elapsed before the 
 government officials appeared. At length they came 
 in three boats — the doctor and two customs officers. 
 And here we were doomed to disappointment and 
 vexation. We were adjudged undesirable citizens, 
 
A FORGOTTEN LAND 
 
 7 
 
 and told that we must not leave the ship unless we 
 were willing to have the undesirable qualities fumi- 
 gated out of us and our baggage, and then submit 
 to four days in limbo. This was hard indeed! We 
 were bubonic plague suspects, and they did not want 
 us. The yellow flag was hoisted at our masthead, 
 and all boats warned away. 
 
 Randall and I were in a quandary. Fumigation 
 would doubtless injure, if nor ruin, my photographic 
 films, and the quarantine pen for ourselves was hor- 
 rible to contemplate — four days with a medley of 
 Chinese, Koreans, and what not! It was a question 
 with us whether it would be better to face fumigation 
 and the pest-house here, or go on to San Bias, the next 
 port of call to the south, and take the chance of pass- 
 ing quarantine there without detention. The chief 
 consideration against going to San Bias was a rumor 
 that horses and mules were scarce at that port, and 
 we might not be able to get animals to carry us upon 
 our inland journey. We were discussing this when 
 a good friend came to our rescue, and decided it for us. 
 
 One of our fellow passengers, Mr. Edwin Emerson, 
 a ranchman of Mountain View, California, was bound 
 for San Bias, en route to the Hacienda San Nicolas, 
 a hacienda two days’ journey inland, in which he was 
 interested. Besides himself, his party consisted of 
 Lorenzo L. Gates, manager of the hacienda, and Charles 
 Bigelow, scientific farmer. Mr. Emerson suggested 
 that we join them. He offered to supply us with 
 saddle horses and pack mules, and invited us to accept 
 the hospitality of the Hacienda San Nicolas, and make 
 it our base of operations while in Tepic Territory. 
 
 This helped us out of our disagreeable situation, 
 
8 BEYOND THE MEXICAN SIERRAS 
 
 and at the same time offered unusual opportunities 
 to see the country under the guidance of Gates, who 
 had lived for several years in Mexico, and was familiar 
 with its language and customs. It is needless to say 
 that with due thankfulness and promptitude we 
 accepted Mr. Emerson’s invitation, paid our passage 
 to San Bias, and defied the port doctor and customs 
 officers to do their worst. 
 
 We lay listlessly at anchor all day, during which 
 time the port authorities fumigated the freight in the 
 hold, and the baggage of the one cabin passenger and 
 the steerage passengers who were going ashore. 
 
 Mazatlan newspapers were brought aboard and 
 Randall translated for me. One of them contained 
 an editorial upon the granting of Magdalena Bay to 
 the United States Navy as a practice ground. “The 
 robbers have come,” the editorial read. “This is 
 their entering wedge. Mexico is at their mercy. Who 
 can doubt that they have designs upon our beloved 
 country? The Government in its weakness has 
 granted this concession of Magdalena Bay, and per- 
 mitted these brigands to gain a foothold upon our 
 soil. The history of Texas and California will be 
 repeated. The object of these Northern robbers is 
 plain. It is to grab our country and absorb it.” 
 
 Randall could read Spanish very well, and I was 
 comforted with the belief that he could speak it also, 
 and that he would be our mouthpiece in dealing with 
 the natives. He proudly informed me that he had 
 acquired a good knowledge of the language through 
 text-books and a phonograph, without the aid of an 
 instructor. The phonograph had taught him the 
 Castilian pronunciation, of which he was very proud. 
 
Mazatlan harbor 
 
Photograph by Charles N. Remington 
 
A FORGOTTEN LAND 
 
 9 
 
 and upon which he laid special stress. He assured me 
 that he could “fire it in long, well-rounded sentences 
 at will and with precision.” These were his own 
 words. He had even volunteered to teach me. For 
 an hour or so I studied hard, and succeeded in absorb- 
 ing one word — “si,” which means “yes.” There I 
 discontinued my efforts. “What is the use?” I asked 
 Randall. “You can do all the necessary talking for 
 both of us.” 
 
 Now, at Mazatlan, he had an opportunity for the 
 first time to experiment with his linguistic acquire- 
 ments. Venders in their dugout canoes crowded 
 about offering cigars, sugar-cane, tortoise-shell, and 
 fruits of various kinds for sale. Randall went boldly 
 to the rail, and sprung his Castilian Spanish, quite 
 without warning, upon one of them. The fellow 
 looked mystified for a moment, and then delivered a 
 lot of good Mexican Spanish in return. It was 
 Randall’s turn now to be mystified, and shocked. He 
 turned to me, an inscrutable look on his face, and 
 gasped, 
 
 “If that ’s Spanish, I can’t understand one word 
 of it!” 
 
 Mazatlan is a picturesque place. A lighthouse 
 stands high upon the small mount, Cerro del Creston, 
 at the north entrance of the shallow bay, — the 
 highest lighthouse in the world, save Gibraltar, — 
 and the south entrance is guarded by rugged rocks. 
 In the distance lies the town, with its cathedral spires 
 standing prominently against the sky; below, cocoa- 
 nut palms and thatched roofs; and in the blue distance 
 the towering peaks of the Cordilleras complete the 
 scene. A cooling breeze modified the rigors of the 
 
10 BEYOND THE MEXICAN SIERRAS 
 
 midday tropical heat, and the night was one of splen- 
 dor, with a gorgeous sunset followed by a full and 
 brilliant moon. 
 
 On our second morning at Mazatlan, the port 
 officers came aboard again and very inconsiderately 
 roused every one out of his bed at half past six, and 
 lined us up on deck — cabin passengers, steerage 
 passengers, and crew — while the doctor reexamined 
 us for bubonic plague. He found us still healthy and 
 vigorous, but did not remove the quarantine restric- 
 tions. He could not understand how we had escaped 
 the raging scourge of plague that every one here 
 believed existed in San Francisco. 
 
 We were told that once, several years before, the 
 plague had appeared in Mazatlan, and before it was 
 subdued the town was all but depopulated. Hence 
 their fear and apparent caution now. Isay "apparent 
 caution,” for later in the day cargadores came aboard, 
 discharged the cargo for the port into lighters, mingled 
 with the passengers, and passed back and forth, 
 between the ship and the city, at will; and yet passen- 
 gers were not permitted this privilege. They locked 
 one door securely, and left the other wide open. 
 
 Three days in Mazatlan, and we were off, and the 
 following morning anchored in front of San Bias, 
 where we were actually to disembark. Right before 
 us lay the thatched roofs, the palms, the fruits, the 
 flowers, and the forests of tropical America, the dream- 
 land of our youth, with its queer people and queer 
 customs, and we were to see it all with our own eyes 
 and be a part of it, too, for a while. 
 
CHAPTER II 
 
 IN OLD SAN BLAS 
 
 T HERE was little formality to be gone through 
 at San Bias. The port doctor came aboard, 
 looked at the whites of our eyes, and passed 
 us with the wave of a hand. We were more than ten 
 days out of San Francisco — the period of incubation 
 for bubonic plague — and they considered us harmless 
 and inoffensive now. We were no longer suspected of 
 harboring dark designs upon Mexico, and the self- 
 respect that we lost at Mazatlan was regained at San 
 Bias. 
 
 Emerson buckled his revolver on, and told us we 
 had better follow his example before going ashore, 
 as it was quite fashionable to wear them here. We 
 did so, but I felt very much as a young man does when 
 he dons his first evening clothes and appears in public 
 in them; and though I pushed my big Colt back under 
 my coat, to hide it as much as possible from the gaze 
 of the populace, it would protrude in spite of me, and 
 seemed like a ton’s weight upon my belt. However, 
 when the boat came that was to take us ashore, and 
 I saw that at least one of the boatmen wore a beltful 
 of cartridges, with a revolver in a leather holster 
 dangling from it, I felt better about it. 
 
 The boatmen were mozos (servants) from the 
 Hacienda San Nicolas, who had been despatched from 
 
 li 
 
12 BEYOND THE MEXICAN SIERRAS 
 
 the interior ranch with horses and mules to meet 
 Emerson and his party. 
 
 On the edge of the low, flat ground, which stretches 
 from the beach to the foothills of the Cordilleras, 
 punctuated by one abrupt bluff a mile from the sea, 
 the town lies, half hidden by an exuberant growth of 
 tropical foliage and stately cocoanut palms. Its main 
 street, running up from the sea, is lined with sub- 
 stantial, mortar-covered, whitewashed stone buildings 
 of Spanish architecture, flanked on either side by 
 crooked, narrow streets, along which are massed 
 fiimsily constructed huts, thatched with palm leaves 
 and sea grass. The effect of the whole is somewhat 
 Oriental, as one approaches the sandy beach, though 
 a more intimate view robs it of its Oriental aspect, 
 and makes it typically Mexican. This Oriental color- 
 ing led Randall to remark, 
 
 "Makes me think of Cairo or some other Bible town 
 that I Ve read of.” Randall is not strong on Biblical 
 history. 
 
 Barelegged, bareheaded cargadores and sandalled 
 peons, wearing skin-tight trousers and immense high- 
 crowned, broad-brimmed sombreros of straw or felt, 
 — a brown-skinned, black-haired medley, — crowded 
 around us in eager curiosity as we stepped ashore. 
 Emerson’s two mozos, with the help of half a dozen 
 of the cargadores, carried our baggage to the custom 
 house, where a polite officer, who spoke good English, 
 passed it with a very cursory examination; and the 
 first ordeal — one that every one dreads upon entering 
 a strange country — was over. 
 
 But Emerson had troubles of his own ahead, in the 
 shape of two pigs that he was taking to his hacienda. 
 

 
 
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IN OLD SAN BLAS 
 
 13 
 
 He suggested to the officer that the pigs should be 
 passed free of duty, as they would be of decided benefit 
 to the country, in improving the stock. 
 
 “Oh, yes, certainly we passa th’ pig,” said the 
 polite official. “We carra much for th’ improve of 
 stock of Mexico, but Senor Emerson will be pleased 
 to signa some paper first.” 
 
 Emerson, not to be outdone in politeness by the 
 official, bowed low and said he would, and it was right 
 there his troubles began. All the afternoon he was 
 kept busy signing documents. Now and again we 
 met him, coat on arm, one hand grasping a hand- 
 kerchief, with which he desperately mopped perspira- 
 tion from his face, the other hand filled with papers, 
 rushing up and down the scorching street on the 
 trail of an official. He wrote his name on twenty- 
 seven different documents for twenty-seven different 
 officials that afternoon, and each time had to purchase 
 and affix an internal revenue stamp. I never did 
 learn how much he paid for the stamps, but the pigs 
 were admitted duty free. 
 
 When I refer to the afternoon, I mean after two 
 o’clock. At eleven in the forenoon all business stops, 
 all shops close, the people go to their siesta, and the 
 streets are deserted. 
 
 Our formalities at the custom house were com- 
 pleted by ten o’clock, and we went at once to the 
 Hotel Americano, where we were received with much 
 formality, and shown to our rooms — two rooms for 
 the five of us. They were furnished with a wash- 
 stand, a couple of chairs in each, and with beds about 
 the size of ordinary cots. Each bed was simply a 
 single piece of canvas stretched over a frame, with a 
 
14 BEYOND THE MEXICAN SIERRAS 
 
 sheet over that, and a straw or hay pillow. A canopy 
 of cheese-cloth, about four feet high, enclosed each 
 as a protection against sand flies and mosquitoes. 
 The floor was bare. 
 
 Our rooms were on the second or top floor of the 
 house. On one side, windows looked upon the main 
 street, while our doors opened upon a balcony over- 
 looking the hotel patio, or courtyard, in which grew 
 cocoanut palms, banana plants, lemon trees with ripe 
 fruit that we could reach from the balcony, and many 
 brilliant tropical flowers and plants. There were also 
 sand flies and fleas galore, and when we drew our 
 chairs to the balcony to smoke a while and cool off, 
 while the mozos brought up our baggage, we were 
 startled by a lizard about eighteen inches long, a row 
 of horns down the back of his head, and glaring eyes, 
 which looked like “the devil himself,” as Emerson 
 said, though we were told it was only an aquila, and 
 harmless. I did not care to associate with him, how- 
 ever, and let him see it, and he went away. His 
 personal appearance was against him. 
 
 At dinner, which was eaten under our balcony, and 
 out of doors, where we could enjoy the fragrance of 
 the flowers and foliage of the patio, we had the pleasure 
 of making the acquaintance of Mr. William Ramos, a 
 banana grower, who lived at the hotel, and had the 
 distinction of being the only American resident of 
 San Bias. Ramos was delighted to see us, because 
 we were Americans, and he was more than a little 
 lonesome. 
 
 The dinner began with soup, followed by an array 
 of courses, mostly compounds of things I did not 
 recognize, and nearly all very hot with chilli-peppers, 
 
Cocoanut palms 
 
A corner of the market-place, San Bias 
 
IN OLD SAN BLAS 
 
 15 
 
 but on the whole palatable. Frijoles (beans) were 
 served just before the dulce. That is a warning that 
 you have had all you are going to get, and to satisfy 
 yourself upon them, if you have not had enough of 
 the other things. They were well cooked and good. 
 The bread was in the form of rolls, sweetened, and of 
 poor quality — “pan bianco ” they call it. It was the 
 characteristic bread, however, of Mexico — when 
 bread is to be had at all. The coffee was of good 
 quality, but, like all Mexican coffee, muddy and very 
 strong. It is burned black in roasting, ground to a 
 powder, boiled, and served with the grounds. One is 
 supposed to drink the grounds. 
 
 After dinner Ramos took us about the town. It 
 has, he informed us, about two thousand inhabitants. 
 The buildings on the main street, as has been hinted, 
 are mostly of substantial Spanish architecture, while 
 the others are mere shacks of poles and mud, with 
 thatched roofs and without floors. The main street 
 is paved with cobblestones, through which grass grows, 
 and from the sea front to the custom house is a minia- 
 ture railroad, on which a push-car is operated, to 
 carry freight from the landing to the warehouses. 
 
 Men and women lounged in the little shops, drinking 
 mescal and tequila, their native whiskey. The latter 
 is simply a better quality of the former. The best 
 shops are kept by Chinamen, and everything is sold 
 in them, from dry-goods to fruit. We stopped at 
 one and drank some cocoanut milk, and then ate the 
 soft meat from the green fruit with a spoon. They 
 do not eat the cocoanut here after it has ripened. We 
 also tested the oranges, green-skinned but ripe and 
 sweet, all seedlings grown without cultivation and 
 
16 BEYOND THE MEXICAN SIERRAS 
 
 therefore not to be compared in quality with the 
 oranges of California; and bananas, from a delicious 
 small banana, not larger than your thumb, to the 
 immense platen grande, which is cooked as a vegetable. 
 The bananas are no better than those to be had at 
 any New York fruit stand, for they are ripened in 
 the same way — after they are cut. 
 
 In the rear of the municipal building on the north 
 side of the plaza is the theatre, a unique feature of 
 the town. It is a stage facing upon an open court, 
 or patio, and Ramos told us that people attending 
 performances bring their own chairs with them, or 
 squat upon the ground. The plaza opposite is a 
 beautiful little square filled with tropical plants and 
 with a bandstand in the centre. Every town in Mexico 
 has its plaza and bandstand. But what interested us 
 most was the market-place, where pottery, meat, 
 vegetables, leather goods, dry-goods — nearly every- 
 thing a Mexican needs for his comfort — were dis- 
 played for sale. The vegetables were divided into 
 little piles representing one, two, or three centavos ’* 
 worth, and very often fruits or vegetables were cut to 
 make the exact quantity desired. 
 
 Big sombreros of straw or felt, often trimmed elab- 
 orately with gilt and ornaments, were the chief charac- 
 teristic of the men’s dress. The remainder of the 
 costume was in many instances not enough to remark 
 about. The women were slovenly and ugly. I feel 
 qualified to speak upon this matter, for Randall and I, 
 both of a romantic turn of mind, looked into every 
 face for one specimen of the “enchanting, dark-eyed 
 
 *A centavo is a Mexican cent, equal to one-half cent United States 
 currency. 
 
IN OLD SAN BLAS 
 
 17 
 
 senoritas,” whose beauty is extolled by nearly every 
 writer on Mexico, but failed in the quest. The eyes 
 were dark enough, but so was the skin; — almost as 
 dark as that of our average Southern negro, and the 
 features were not good to look upon. 
 
 It is not entirely correct to say that the market- 
 place is the most interesting feature of the town. 
 The policemen hold that honor. The first specimen 
 I saw was leaning against a post in a nice, shady 
 corner, puffing contentedly at a cigarette, and appar- 
 ently quite oblivious of and superior to his surround- 
 ings. He wore a dirty white cotton tunic, unbuttoned, 
 dirty cotton trousers, a white peaked cap, and san- 
 dals. A big revolver, with its muzzle sticking out 
 behind and below his tunic, and a club hanging 
 listlessly by a string from his wrist, were his weapons 
 of offence and defence. Listless, ambitionless, staring 
 vacantly into space, with apparently no purpose in 
 life but to hold up that post and pass away the time, 
 he was the best representative of human vacuity of 
 mind and official indolence I ever saw. It appeared 
 to me as though it would require a dynamite car- 
 tridge to blow a breath of activity into him. But I 
 was mistaken in the gentleman. I approached him. 
 
 “Will senor permit me to take his portrait?” I 
 asked, forgetting that English was a foreign tongue 
 to him. 
 
 He did not move, but displayed some interest. 
 
 “Just a snapshot,” I said briskly. “I’ll have it 
 published, and senor will be immortalized.” 
 
 He developed more interest, but I saw he did not 
 appreciate his opportunity to be immortalized. 
 
 “I want to get your picture,” I repeated. 
 
18 BEYOND THE MEXICAN SIERRAS 
 
 He straightened up and said a few sentences in 
 Spanish. He was becoming quite animated. Then 
 it dawned upon me that he did not understand English 
 and I looked around for Ramos to interpret for me, 
 but he and the others had gone on. So I tried again. 
 The position was becoming rather awkward, and I 
 put more stress and enthusiasm into my voice, in a 
 vain hope that he might grasp my meaning. 
 
 “Just your picture — I just want to get your pic- 
 ture.” 
 
 The policeman, now standing quite independent 
 of the support of the post, pointed down the street 
 in the direction the others had gone, and reeled off 
 a whole string of Spanish at me. I thought he under- 
 stood at last, and was inquiring whether I wished him 
 to step out into the sunshine in the street. Bringing 
 my entire Spanish vocabulary to my assistance, I said, 
 very sweetly, 
 
 “Si, senor.” 
 
 The result was magical. The policeman clutched 
 his club firmly, and started up the street at a good 
 pace after Ramos, Randall, and the others. He 
 thought they were malefactors, and I was telling him 
 of some dark and bloody deed that they had com- 
 mitted. He was going to run them in. In despera- 
 tion I headed him off and shouted: 
 
 “No! No! senor, photograph,” at the same time 
 unfolding my camera. A crowd was gathering and 
 the situation was becoming strenuous for me. 
 
 The officer halted and smiled. He at last compre- 
 hended. “No” was very good Spanish, so was 
 “senor,” and “photograph” sounded very like the 
 Spanish word for the same thing, and all this, in con- 
 
" The officer halted and smiled” 
 
Custom House, San Bias 
 
IN OLD SAN BLAS 
 
 19 
 
 nection with the unfolded camera, made my meaning 
 clear. The policeman stood still where I placed him, 
 assumed the most soldierly pose of which he was 
 capable, and I made my snapshot. I thanked him 
 cordially, we doffed our hats to each other and shook 
 hands, and then he went back to lean against his post 
 in the shade, quite a hero in the eyes of the admiring 
 crowd, which gathered around him to talk over the 
 occurrence as I hurried on to find my friends. 
 
 In this little town there are seven or eight policemen. 
 At night one sees them at the corners, their lanterns, 
 which they always have with them after sunset, stand- 
 ing out in the middle of the narrow streets. There 
 are no wagons or carriages in San Bias, and the 
 horsemen and pack mules turn out for them. At 
 nine o’clock in the evening, and every hour thereafter 
 until daylight, one hears their whistles. As the clock 
 strikes the hour, the sharp, shrill tones of one sounds 
 out upon the night, to be followed by another and 
 another, like an oft-repeated echo, in the distant cor- 
 ners of the town, until all have answered. A police- 
 man’s wages here are thirty-two centavos a day 
 (sixteen cents), and out of this he must live and pro- 
 vide for his family, if he has one. This, of course, 
 applies only to San Bias. Each individual town has 
 its own separate police system, with its distinctive 
 regulations as to uniform, wages, and so on. 
 
 Between the soldiers and the police a pretty close 
 watch is kept upon the movements of travellers every- 
 where in the Republic. When a stranger secures 
 accommodation at a hotel where no regular register 
 of the guests is kept, he is requested to write his 
 name, and where he last came from, upon a slip of 
 
20 BEYOND THE MEXICAN SIERRAS 
 
 paper. This slip is turned over to the police, and 
 intercommunication between the police of various 
 towns, and the soldiers, keeps the visitor well under 
 the eye of the authorities. 
 
 The whole town of San Bias turned out that night 
 to do honor to two senoritas of uncertain reputation, 
 who came over on the steamer from Mazatlan. They 
 were not quite so dark in complexion, and were so 
 much better looking than the damsels of the town, 
 that the men — and the women, too. for that matter 
 — were quite infatuated by them — excepting the two 
 maiden ladies who ran our hotel. These maiden 
 ladies declined to extend the hospitality of their house 
 to the attractive senoritas, and the said attractive 
 ones were forced to find shelter in an inferior hotel 
 at the market-place, where the susceptible proprietor 
 received them literally with open arms. Later in the 
 evening, we applauded the maiden ladies for their 
 good judgment and thoughtfulness for the comfort of 
 their guests, for the populace and the town band 
 massed in the market-place before the other hotel. 
 During the night, whenever the fleas and sand flies 
 roused us to consciousness, we heard the noise over 
 there. On these occasions we would turn over and 
 go to sleep again, giving thanks that the racket was 
 not being made under our windows. 
 
 Later I heard the story of what took place. Two 
 or three of the wealthiest natives, including civil 
 officials of the town, employed the band to play, 
 purchased a quantity of liquid refreshments, and 
 invited their friends to a reception in honor of the 
 two charmers. Well along in the night, after every- 
 body had withdrawn except two of the three who had 
 
IN OLD SAN BLAS 
 
 21 
 
 arranged the affair, one of these gentlemen gave the 
 senoritas a substantial honorarium to present some 
 special Spanish dances before them. The other sub- 
 scriber returned and applied at the door for admission 
 just as the dancing was at its height. Those within 
 had no time or inclination to open the door, and the 
 one without inconsiderately broke it down, frighten- 
 ing the musicians and the dancers to such an extent 
 that one of the gentlemen within was moved to pro- 
 test, and as an expression of the annoyance he felt 
 at the rude entrance, drew his gun and proceeded to 
 shoot up the intruder. The newcomer drew his gun 
 too, and used it, but they were all so intoxicated, or 
 such poor marksmen, that no one was seriously injured 
 by the fusillade. Finally my friend, the policeman, 
 with two or three other officers, appeared and put 
 a stop to the disturbance. 
 
 San Bias, which stands at the mouth of the Santiago 
 Rio, was founded by the Spaniards in the middle or 
 latter part of the sixteenth century. The original 
 town was built upon a hill, which rises abruptly and 
 prominently out of the low surrounding country. In 
 the rear, this hill has steep slopes, but in front, toward 
 the ocean, it presents walls of perpendicular rock, 
 rising sheer from the plain below, as though reared 
 by some gigantic hand to support the once formidable 
 fortress that stood upon its summit. Glowering guns 
 commanded the harbor at the entrance to the Santiago 
 River, where the merchantmen that carried on the 
 growing trade with the Orient and the rich islands of 
 the Southern sea took refuge, and where, in extensive 
 shipyards, men-of-war were fashioned to guard Spain’s 
 possessions in the Pacific. 
 
22 BEYOND THE MEXICAN SIERRAS 
 
 San Bias was then the gateway to the Pacific, as 
 Vera Cruz was the gateway to the Atlantic, and 
 Spanish enterprise — for that was in the day of Spain’s 
 glory and progress — built a great highway from port 
 to port, linking the two gateways and laying the 
 foundation for a lucrative trade between the Occident 
 and the Orient. It was over this road the artillery 
 and military supplies for the fort were drawn, and 
 over it thronged long mule trains heavily laden with 
 Oriental plunder. 
 
 But time works wondrous changes. Spain has 
 fallen from her glory and lost her place among nations; 
 the sea, which once broke against the face of the cliff, 
 has receded and left the high bluff a full mile inland; 
 sand bars block the entrance to the once active harbor; 
 the shipyards have disappeared, and are forgotten; the 
 powerful fort, the great arsenal, and the once beau- 
 tiful town lie in ruins, half hidden by tropical jungle. 
 Even authentic records of the establishment of 
 the town and building of the military road have 
 disappeared, and tradition is all that remains — a 
 tradition so intermingled with legends that a culling 
 leaves almost nothing of reliable history. 
 
 It is quite certain, however, that the old town was 
 not wholly abandoned for the new one, down by the 
 water’s edge, until after the revolution that freed 
 Mexico from Spanish rule. When in Tepic, Mr. 
 Eugen Hildebrand, the German Consul, showed me a 
 book written by one James Colnet, an English whaling 
 captain, in the year 1798, in which the author tells of 
 a voyage he made on the Pacific coast, in 1792, in 
 search of the spermaceti whale. The Captain was 
 captured by the Spaniards and taken prisoner to San 
 
The ruins of the old cathedral 
 
 
A corner of the ruined fortress 
 
IN OLD SAN BLAS 
 
 23 
 
 Bias fortress, which he describes as “on the south 
 side of the Saint Jago River ['Santiago/ as we spell 
 it now], and contains the grand arsenal and dock- 
 yards of the Province of Mexico. ... It is situated 
 upon a small mount that rises in the middle of a marsh, 
 which joins the dockyard about two miles from it. . . . 
 The face of the rock towards the sea is perpendicular, 
 one hundred fathoms high, and presents a very for- 
 midable appearance.” Captain Colnet’s estimate of 
 the height of the wall is at least two hundred feet too 
 great. Otherwise we are bound to accept his descrip- 
 tion of San Bias as he saw it, for, as far as we can 
 learn, all the official records were destroyed during 
 the Mexican revolution, and no other account has 
 survived. 
 
 Of course we had to climb the hill with Ramos, and 
 walk around the massive ruins of the old fort, the once 
 beautiful cathedral, and the decayed buildings of the 
 town, all of stone blocks cut from the hill. The 
 interior arches of the cathedral were still in place. 
 Two mozos, with machetes, cut away enough of the 
 growth to enable me to photograph portions of the 
 ruins. The cemetery, farther back, is still used for 
 burial; and in front of the cathedral we found some 
 vine-covered tombs. What a monument to dissipated 
 power and lack of national foresight the old town is! 
 Here crumbled and rotted the bones of Spain’s great 
 empire on the Pacific. 
 
 Amongst the many legends centring around old 
 San Bias and the ruined fortress is one, devoutly 
 believed by the aged peons, of the Padre Mercado, a 
 patriotic priest who lived here during the early days 
 of the war of independence. Padre Mercado, as the 
 
24 BEYOND THE MEXICAN SIERRAS 
 
 legend goes, warmly espoused the cause of the revolu- 
 tionists. He roused the people to arms, earnestly 
 exhorted them to fight for freedom from the yoke of 
 Spanish oppression, and personally led them in many 
 desperate assaults against the fort. One day, how- 
 ever, he was discovered within the town, unguarded 
 and alone. The Spanish soldiers cut off his retreat, 
 and hotly pursued by them, whose desire it was to 
 capture him alive, he ran to the edge of the cliff. 
 Nothing but death on the rocks below, or capture, 
 seemed left to him, when lo! the angels of God inter- 
 vened. The Padre was surrounded by a blaze of 
 glory, and before the very eyes of his pursuers ascended 
 into heaven! 
 
 The soldiers who witnessed the miracle fled in 
 terror to the fort, and reported the occurrence to the 
 commandant. This officer was skeptical, and per- 
 sonally conducted a search of the rocks below the 
 cliff, confidently expecting to find there the mangled 
 remains of the Padre. But the search was unsuccess- 
 ful, and finally even he had to accept, in the face of 
 overwhelming evidence, the truth of the good priest’s 
 translation into Heaven. 
 
 Another version of the story is that the body was 
 found by the commandant, and as an example to the 
 revolutionists was attached to a lariat behind horses 
 and ignominiously dragged through the streets. This 
 is doubtless what really happened, though the reader 
 is free to decide for himself. 
 
 Reluctantly we turned from the old town to the 
 new. Emerson’s pigs were duly admitted to citizen- 
 ship, and nothing more was to be seen or done in San 
 Bias. Arrangements had been made with mozos to 
 
IN OLD SAN BLAS 
 
 25 
 
 transport the pigs and heavier luggage up the Santiago 
 River, in dugout canoes, to the Hacienda San Nicolas, 
 while the personal baggage of our party was to accom- 
 pany us upon two pack mules, as we journeyed into 
 the distant hills and mountains of Tepic, which lay 
 in a blue haze beyond the flat lands to the eastward. 
 
CHAPTER III 
 
 THE PAST AND THE PRESENT 
 
 W E had hoped to get an early morning start, and 
 thus avoid the scorching rays of the midday 
 sun; but it was not until ten o’clock that 
 our mozos announced everything ready, and we finally 
 mounted and rode eastward through the long main 
 street, circled the foot of San Bias Hill, and out into 
 the open country. 
 
 A short way from town a narrow estuary was crossed 
 upon a catamaran ferry propelled by men hauling 
 upon a rope stretched from shore to shore. Why they 
 do not bridge this bit of water I do not know, for 
 it is little wider than the ferry-boat, but probably 
 because it is a source of income to the Government. 
 The ferrymen have to get a concession, for which they 
 pay, and an internal revenue is collected upon all 
 fares received. 
 
 For four or five miles our road wound through a 
 marsh, and for a mile our horses splashed stirrup-deep 
 in water. Then we reached the first rise of the foot- 
 hills, and a tropical jungle, dense and high, closed in 
 upon us, and shut out the last breath of air that in the 
 open marsh below had fanned our cheeks, and in some 
 degree made tolerable the burning intensity of the 
 noonday sun. I had never experienced such heat 
 before. In a little while we were drenched with per- 
 spiration. Our clothing clung to us like wet bathing 
 
 26 
 
THE PAST AND THE PRESENT 
 
 27 
 
 suits, and I recalled Randall’s comforting assurance 
 on the steamer. We were, in truth, “bathing in the 
 sunshine of tropical Mexico.” 
 
 Somewhere, just above the marsh, a trail branches 
 off to the left, and with easier grades than those of 
 the old military road, which we were on, follows the 
 valley of the Santiago River. It was suggested that 
 we turn into this, but the mozos informed us that it 
 had not yet drained since the rainy season, which was 
 just at an end, and was still submerged in places; 
 in fact, that it seldom became passable before the 
 middle of December. 
 
 But we did not mind the longer and steeper way, 
 for we were treading historic ground, and were filled 
 with the romance of it. Here and there round paving- 
 stones, laid long ago by the Spaniards, were still in 
 place, and bits of supporting wall remained to tell 
 of the infinite labor expended in the construction of 
 the road. Three centuries fell out of time and in our 
 fancy we saw the slaves who laid those very stones 
 toiling under the lash of the cruel Spaniard; trains of 
 gay adventurers rode by; we heard the rumble of 
 heavy artillery wagons on the rock-paved road; bands 
 of the murderous soldiers of the Conquest passed us, 
 leaving behind them a trail of terror and of blood. In 
 reality the old highway was quite deserted, save for 
 one pack train of mules, laden with merchandise, that 
 we passed, silently wending its way inland to Tepic 
 City. 
 
 Stately palms and gigantic ferns, with a luxuriant 
 tropical undergrowth, made impenetrable the jungle 
 that lined our road. Marvellous flowering vines that 
 entwined themselves in the forest trees, blooming 
 
28 BEYOND THE MEXICAN SIERRAS 
 
 shrubs, with here and there beautiful orchids, and 
 masses of wild honeysuckle, gave a setting of gorgeous 
 color and charged the atmosphere with delicious per- 
 fume. Brilliant plumaged parrots and parrakeets 
 screamed discordantly overhead, ugly-looking lizards 
 scurried out of our path, a grass-green snake, coiled 
 around the naked trunk of a tree, high up in the air, 
 swayed his head back and forth in defiance, and an 
 unseen animal crashed away into the jungle as we 
 approached. It was all very wonderful to me and I 
 experienced the strange sensation of having lived 
 through all this before in some far-away, mystic past, 
 just beyond any positive remembrance. It was like 
 a dream that one tries vainly to recall — “a sleep and 
 a forgetting.” 
 
 Neither Randall nor I had been in a saddle for over 
 twenty years, until this day, and we hailed with joy 
 the Indian village of Libertad, the first settlement that 
 we reached, when we rode into it at two o’clock in the 
 afternoon; for here it was decided that we should rest 
 ourselves and our horses for an hour, and eat some 
 luncheon. 
 
 Libertad is a primitive Indian village, with a single 
 long street. The houses are built of poles bound 
 together with the quamacate plant — a vine-like weed 
 used in place of rope — with a space between each 
 pole, the way corn-cribs are built in the States. This 
 space admits light and air. The roofs are thatched 
 with palm leaves or grass; and some of the houses 
 have sides running only half-way to the roof, with 
 the upper half open. No nails or iron in any form are 
 used in the construction of these buildings. In fact, 
 the people live practically as they did when the white 
 

 A ruin of old San Bias 
 
A god of the ancients 
 
THE PAST AND THE PRESENT 
 
 29 
 
 man first found them; civilization has had small 
 influence upon their lives. The mule, perhaps, is 
 the only innovation of note since their forefathers 
 owned allegiance to Indian tzins, and few of them 
 possess mules. 
 
 Naked children ran into the houses as we approached, 
 not because they were ashamed of their nakedness, for 
 they had never worn clothing any more than the pigs 
 and donkeys that shared the houses with them, but 
 because they were startled at the sudden appearance 
 of so many strange Americanos. 
 
 We engaged an old woman to prepare our luncheon, 
 and while we waited for it to be made ready, sought 
 the shade of a large tree, under which we unpacked 
 our mules and loosed the cinches of our saddles, that 
 the animals might rest while we stretched our legs. 
 
 Presently the old senora, our hostess, called us and 
 we filed into her shack — one of the best houses in 
 the town — and seated ourselves around a small 
 rough table. The chairs were of local make, with 
 seats of rushes, which grow plentifully thereabouts. 
 On the table were five tin plates and one tin cup of 
 water. The floor of the cabin was Mother Earth. A 
 litter of pigs grunted contentedly at our feet, and 
 chickens scratched about the clay fireplace, built 
 upon a stone foundation, where the old woman was 
 busily engaged slapping tortillas and baking them 
 upon a stone griddle. 
 
 The tortilla is the ancient Indian bread of Mexico. 
 Its only constituent is Indian corn (maize) which the 
 women soak in lime-water until the kernels are at 
 the point of bursting, then wash it thoroughly until it 
 is free from lime, when they grind it by rubbing it on 
 
30 BEYOND THE MEXICAN SIERRAS 
 
 a large block of stone, specially cut for the purpose, 
 with a smaller stone which they hold in the hands. 
 The operation looks very much like rubbing clothes 
 on a washboard and is a laborious and tedious one. 
 The lime renders the ground corn dough adhesive, like 
 wheat flour dough, and it is easily patted between the 
 hands into cakes the size and shape of ordinary 
 griddle cakes, which are baked upon a thin stone 
 griddle. Though no salt or leaven is added, fresh 
 tortillas are exceedingly palatable. 
 
 The one other food mainstay is frijoles — ordinary 
 beans. They are boiled to a mush, and, with a liberal 
 quantity of lard, are warmed, as required, in a flat 
 earthen dish that answers for a frying pan. The very 
 poor people do not always have the luxury of frijoles, 
 and when they do have them, cannot always afford 
 the lard. 
 
 We were served with frijoles and tortillas, and an 
 earthen dish of exceedingly hot chilli sauce. 
 
 “I have no knife and fork,” said Randall when we 
 were seated. “Ask her for them, Gates. She ’s for- 
 gotten them.” 
 
 “Knives and forks!” exclaimed Gates. “They 
 don’t have luxuries like knives and forks here. The 
 only household utensils that this woman has you see 
 before you.” 
 
 Gates took a tortilla in his fingers, broke it in two, 
 shaped one piece into a scoop, pushed the frijoles on 
 it with the other, and ate. We followed his example. 
 
 “Verily, man’s wants are few when he does n’t 
 know any better,” remarked Randall, between efforts 
 to get the beans safely to his mouth. 
 
 W’e ate heartily, taking turns at the cup of water, 
 
THE PAST AND THE PRESENT 
 
 31 
 
 and appeased our hunger, which was great — it had 
 to be. But we did not trouble ourselves to look criti- 
 cally into the uncleanliness of the culinary proceed- 
 ings. A microscopical examination was unnecessary. 
 There are times when it is well for a traveller’s peace 
 of mind if he is not too close an observer. 
 
 “ ‘Libertad’ means ‘Liberty,’” observed Randall, 
 as we sat in the shade to smoke while the mozos ate. 
 “I suppose they call the place that because everything 
 is so free and easy here — no restriction on pigs or 
 chickens or mules going into the houses, and young- 
 sters wear clothes or not as they please. But there ’s 
 discrimination. Now the pediculus capitis is not 
 allowed to pursue its vocation uninterrupted. See 
 that fond mamma chase ’em? ” And with his pipe he 
 indicated a woman searching for ideas in her offspring’s 
 shock of black hair. Her frequent captures furnished 
 us amusement for a while. We soon became accus- 
 tomed to this, however. In every native village we 
 rode through we saw women and children engaged in 
 the pastime. 
 
 We paid at the rate of twelve centavos (six cents) 
 each for our entertainment, cinched up our saddles, 
 and rode away at three o’clock. Below Libertad the 
 soil was a gray loam, and stony. Here it changed to 
 a Venetian red, quite free from stones and more 
 arable. The jungle was not nearly so dense, though 
 there were nearly as many trees. 
 
 We passed a good many cattle, all of the long-horn 
 breed, such as we used to have in Texas. The swine 
 were the most disreputable, long-nosed, razor-backed, 
 stunted brutes on earth. I resolved then and there 
 to eat no pork during my stay in Mexico. Dogs were 
 
32 BEYOND THE MEXICAN SIERRAS 
 
 numerous about the huts, and many of them were 
 mangy. We saw dogs without a hair on their poor, 
 starved, miserable bodies. 
 
 We halted at a spring by the roadside and drank 
 the almost lukewarm water from a cow’s horn that 
 Miguel, one of the mozos, carried on his saddle. I 
 inquired what particular use the horn was put to, and 
 at Gates’ request Miguel blew a blast upon it. He 
 used it to call his mules. 
 
 It was six o’clock when we reached Navarrete, the 
 next town beyond Libertad, where we were to stop 
 for the night. It seemed to me I never was so weary 
 in my life as when we finally halted in front of our 
 hotel, and I was so lame I could scarcely dismount. 
 
 Emerson had given us a glowing description of this 
 hotel. He told us it was the best appointed hotel 
 in this part of the country, and here we could rest and 
 enjoy all the luxuries the country afforded. So our 
 expectations were pitched to a high degree. When we 
 viewed the hostelry they fell with a thump. It was 
 nothing more nor less than a shack similar to those 
 we had seen at Libertad, but on a somewhat larger 
 scale. The “dining saloon,” as Emerson jocularly 
 called it, was enclosed by a fence, and the entrance 
 was through a gate. A hog was eating its supper of 
 corn under the table, chickens were going to roost 
 just behind it, and two or three parrots perched on a 
 bar under the eaves were swearing volubly in Mexican 
 Spanish — I should think they would have been swear- 
 ing. 
 
 We w T ere cordially greeted by two senoritas — one 
 of them with a round, bright face — and an old senora. 
 Gates gave them an order for supper, while the mozos 
 
THE PAST AND THE PRESENT 
 
 33 
 
 piled our saddles and baggage in one end of the room, 
 or rather, shed, for that is the most dignified name it 
 deserves. 
 
 A Mexican whose horse was standing outside was 
 finishing his meal. He paid his dues, looked at his 
 six-shooter to see that it was properly loaded, and 
 then took a Winchester rifle from the saddle boot and 
 filled the magazine with cartridges, remarking, as he 
 did so, that he had to ride to Santiago that night, and 
 there were bad men in the country. As he mounted 
 and trotted off, I noticed that he also carried a sword. 
 
 One of the senoritas removed a chicken from the 
 roost, killed it, and while the operation of dressing it 
 for our supper was under way, we unbuckled our artil- 
 lery, threw it on the table, for it was heavy, and strolled 
 up the street to the village store, where they dispensed 
 goods in centavos’ worth to big-hatted natives. 
 
 Emerson, Randall, and I were the first to return. 
 The round-faced senorita approached me — as the 
 most reputable looking and most dignified member of 
 the party — and asked me something in Spanish. I 
 asked the others what she said. Emerson, like Ran- 
 dall, had learned some Castilian Spanish, and they both 
 agreed that she wanted to know if we would have 
 potatoes for supper. Again I summoned my Spanish 
 vocabulary, and said, 
 
 “Si, senorita.” 
 
 She looked at me in bewilderment, and when she 
 recovered her breath talked some more. The others 
 decided that after all she might not have asked about 
 potatoes. They would like to have potatoes, and that 
 was what had suggested the idea. They did not know 
 what she wanted, for her Spanish was very bad. In 
 
34 BEYOND THE MEXICAN SIERRAS 
 
 the uncertainty I stood by my original position and 
 repeated, “Si, senorita.” I could not think of any- 
 thing else to say. Gates’ opportune return relieved the 
 situation. What she wanted to know was whether we 
 would have our eggs boiled or fried. 
 
 We took occasion to berate Emerson for telling us 
 things about this hotel that were not in accordance 
 with facts, but he defended himself with the conten- 
 tion that everything he had said was strictly true. 
 “It is,” he insisted, “the best hotel in the neighbor- 
 hood, for it ’s the only one here.” 
 
 So we held our peace, swallowed our disappoint- 
 ment, and washed for supper, all using a common 
 wash dish and towel. There was no soap — that is 
 not deemed a necessity in this section of Mexico. 
 
 After supper, when some of our party went down 
 to a near-by brook to bathe their feet, the women made 
 quite a hue and cry about it, declaring the alligators 
 would get them; but every one came back unharmed, 
 though we learned afterwards it was a rendezvous 
 for alligators, and that the reptiles were inclined to 
 be sportive. 
 
 The bedroom — there was but one to accommodate 
 all comers — had no floor. The canvas cots were 
 arranged in rows, like beds in a hospital ward, each 
 having its canopy of cheese-cloth. We looked care- 
 fully under the sheet to drive away any scorpions or 
 centipedes that might be lying in wait for us, and then 
 undressed and crawled in with our guns within reach, 
 for we were strangers in a strange land, and a native 
 had shown us by example that it was a wise precaution 
 to have our arms ready. 
 
 Disturbing influences made themselves felt immedi- 
 
THE PAST AND THE PRESENT 
 
 35 
 
 ately. Nature distributes her bounties pretty evenly 
 throughout the world. The human population of 
 Mexico is not over-endowed with energy — in fact it 
 is very decidedly under-endowed in that respect — so 
 there is that much animal energy due to the country, 
 and it has, by the law of nature, to manifest itself in 
 some other quarter. We soon learned what quarter. 
 
 I was dreaning of mounted Mexicans bristling with 
 arms, of bad men, of gun play and desperate battles, 
 when I awoke with a start. Outside there was racket 
 enough to raise the dead. My first thought was that 
 we were really attacked by desperadoes. Randall con- 
 firmed my fears. 
 
 “Hist!” he warned, in a stage whisper. “We are 
 attacked! Make ready for the fray!” 
 
 I made ready. I grasped my six-shooter, deter- 
 mined to sell my life as dearly as possible. But it 
 turned out to be nothing more formidable than a 
 party of Mexican horsemen demanding entertainment 
 for the balance of the night. A great deal of loud 
 talking was indulged in while they had their supper 
 prepared, and ate it in the adjoining “dining saloon,” 
 before they were finally escorted into our chamber, 
 and went to bed in some of the vacant cots. 
 
 When things had again quieted down, save for the 
 peaceful snores of the new arrivals, I turned over for 
 another nap. But slumber was not for me. A dog 
 began to howl dismally, then another, and in less than 
 three minutes a thousand dogs were devoting their 
 energies to howling — I wish to be accurate, and I 
 vouch for the accuracy of this statement, for I counted 
 the different-keyed voices of the canine population of 
 Navarrete while I lay and planned dire vengeance 
 
36 BEYOND THE MEXICAN SIERRAS 
 
 upon them. Somebody went out and beat one dog 
 into silence, and I should judge, from the sound of 
 the whacks, into insensibility, but it made no appre- 
 ciable difference in the volume of sound. Then the 
 roosters began to crow in the dining saloon, mules 
 and donkeys in untold numbers joined the chorus 
 with their heart-rending brays, cattle bellowed, we 
 heard our mozos feeding our animals, and we arose. 
 It was not daylight yet, but we had a burning desire 
 to get away and enjoy new experiences. These were 
 growing monotonous. 
 
 In the dim candlelight, Emerson reached for one of 
 his shoes and a lizard, fully a foot long, jumped out 
 of it and scurried off into the darkness. After that 
 we shook out our shoes and clothes before we ventured 
 into them. 
 
 Breakfast was eaten before daybreak, and with 
 dawn we mounted and took the trail to Santiago 
 Ixcuintla. 
 
CHAPTER IV 
 
 A LAND OF PROMISE 
 
 HE village of Navarrete has a population of 
 
 five hundred people. It is the centre of the 
 
 Hacienda Navarrete, a hacienda containing 
 upwards of two hundred and ten thousand acres, and 
 owned by a native Mexican to whom it has probably 
 been handed down through generations. It is hard 
 for one to realize the immense territory embraced 
 within the boundaries of this single ranch — three 
 hundred and twenty-eight square miles, or an area 
 equal to nearly one-third of the State of Rhode Island. 
 It is only an example, however, of many of the large 
 landed estates of the Republic — some much larger, 
 some smaller. 
 
 The ranch house is the only building of substantial 
 construction on the place, and is of stone and mortar. 
 All the others are the flimsy, thatched-roofed huts 
 typical of the tierra caliente. Libertad and several 
 other small Indian villages are situated upon the 
 Hacienda Navarrete, and the people who inhabit 
 them are little better than serfs. 
 
 The soil is rich, deep, and practically inexhaustible. 
 Fertilization is never thought of, and is unnecessary. 
 On the various elevations almost anything can be 
 grown, from bananas to corn, coffee, and rubber. 
 Pineapples grow wild, limes, lemons, and oranges are 
 abundant in the uncultivated state. Corn yields two 
 
 37 
 
38 BEYOND THE MEXICAN SIERRAS 
 
 and sometimes three crops a year without irrigation, 
 and nearly every stalk bears two large ears. We saw 
 some remarkable fields of the ripening grain. 
 
 Tobacco, corn, beans, and a little cotton are prac- 
 tically the only crops, however, to which any attention 
 whatever is given on this hacienda, and the methods 
 of planting and harvesting are the crudest. None 
 of the modes of modern scientific farming are known. 
 The forked stick of ancient Egypt is the plough, the 
 machete is the cultivator. Hundreds of pack mules 
 carry the produce to market, but so little of the land 
 is cleared and under cultivation that the tilled portion 
 is hardly noticeable. The greater part is overrun 
 with a rank, wild growth, through which long-horned 
 cattle range and are guarded from wild beasts by 
 Indian herdsmen. 
 
 Land is a heritage and not a commodity to the 
 Mexican, and unless he is pressed for funds it is not 
 usual for him to offer his estate for sale. Of course, 
 a liberal offer and the glitter of gold are always strong 
 arguments which go far to overcome his prejudices. 
 At the present time from two to four pesos an acre, 
 to include appurtenances, is deemed an average valua- 
 tion, but it is possible to buy land only in large parcels 
 of many thousand acres at that rate. 
 
 They told us that two years before our visit the 
 Hacienda Navarrete was offered for sale for five 
 hundred thousand pesos. Now the asking price — 
 unless it has advanced again — is one million pesos. 
 This hacienda pays its owner an income of fifty thou- 
 sand pesos a year, and he gives it absolutely no per- 
 sonal attention, leaving every detail to his head mozo. 
 The mozo sends the cattle and produce to market, 
 
Pack train on the road to Tepic 
 
Stately palms and gigantic ferns lined our trail 
 
A LAND OF PROMISE 
 
 39 
 
 and turns over the proceeds to his master, who does 
 not look at the accounts, and cares nothing about 
 them so long as his expensive habits and appetites 
 are satisfied. A gentleman of my acquaintance asked 
 him once if he did not think a large part of the pro- 
 ceeds from the hacienda were stolen. 
 
 “Oh, no,” he answered, “there is no occasion for 
 my head mozo to steal. I pay him liberally for 
 managing the hacienda.” 
 
 “How much do you pay him?” was asked. 
 
 “Forty-five pesos a month,” was the reply. 
 
 Forty-five pesos! Twenty-two and a half dollars 
 a month to manage that stupendous estate ! I wonder 
 if that mozo steals? Perhaps not; but honesty, under 
 the most favorable circumstances, is not one of the 
 shining virtues of a Mexican mozo. 
 
 Real estate titles in Mexico were formerly much 
 involved and exceedingly unstable. To cure defects, 
 President Diaz, a few years ago, issued an edict requir- 
 ing that all titles be submitted for confirmation by 
 himself or his authorized deputies. This confirma- 
 tion amounted to a new grant from the Government, 
 which was unassailable for any cause. Titles not 
 submitted within a specified period reverted to the 
 Government, and the land covered by them became 
 a part of the public domain, to be thrown open to 
 denouncement. Some of the more ignorant hacienda 
 owners gave no attention whatever to the edict, and 
 theoretically they lost their properties, to which they 
 presumably had defective titles. In conformance with 
 the terms of the edict these estates were at once listed 
 as government lands, and offered by the land office 
 for sale. 
 
40 BEYOND THE MEXICAN SIERRAS 
 
 An acquaintance whom I met in the course of my 
 travels in Mexico told me that he purchased from 
 the Government a tract of these lands approximating 
 fifty thousand acres. When he went to claim his 
 property, he found it in possession of an old Mexican 
 who claimed ownership of it, in spite of the govern- 
 ment grant. The Mexican had lived upon it all his 
 life, and it had been in his family for many genera- 
 tions. It was stocked with several thousand head of 
 cattle, under the charge of cowboys who carried revol- 
 vers. The Mexican and his grown sons also carried 
 revolvers. When my acquaintance demanded posses- 
 sion, the Mexican informed him that the land was his, 
 title or no title, government grant or no grant, and he 
 intended to hold it against all comers, — that he and his 
 men. would shoot anybody found trespassing upon it. 
 
 The purchaser discreetly retired to the land office, 
 and demanded to be put into possession of the prop- 
 erty for which he had paid. Here he was told that 
 the Government had undertaken only to sell him a 
 sound title, and not to put him into possession. Such 
 a title had been delivered to him, and the Govern- 
 ment could not in addition attempt to dispossess 
 trespassers. He must do that himself, but he must 
 not kill anybody in doing it. Perhaps the courts 
 could help him. Now a man may be born, live out 
 a long and eventful career, die and be forgotten, while 
 the machinery of the courts is getting ready to be 
 put into motion. The result is, my acquaintance is 
 the owner of fifty thousand acres of good Mexican land 
 that he cannot set his foot upon, and of which he may 
 never get control. 
 
 I cite this as a warning to would-be investors. It 
 
A LAND OF PROMISE 
 
 41 
 
 is a wise precaution to first learn, before accepting 
 land office titles, whether the land one wishes to buy 
 is free from the encumbrance of belligerent claimants 
 in possession. My acquaintance did not take this 
 precaution. He purchased in good faith, believing 
 he was getting a wild and unoccupied tract. 
 
 I was very stiff indeed when I mounted my horse 
 at Navarrete, but a few miles at a smart trot limbered 
 up my joints, and as I became accustomed to the 
 saddle and motion, enjoyed keenly the wild new coun- 
 try through which we were riding. Our trail was in 
 excellent condition, but finally took to the shores of 
 a creek, crossing and recrossing it, and we were forced 
 to make frequent circuits through thick undergrowth 
 to avoid quagmires. 
 
 During the morning two or three small Indian 
 villages were passed, where naked children watched 
 us curiously, and women grinding corn stopped their 
 work to gaze. Near each village several scantily 
 clad women, sitting upon rocks at the edge of the 
 creek, were busily engaged in rubbing clothes on flat 
 stones, and pounding the garments vigorously against 
 bowlders. This is the Mexican laundry, and every 
 day is wash day. I often wondered what they did 
 with the garments after they were washed, for no 
 one that we saw appeared to be seriously addicted to 
 the habit of wearing clean clothing. 
 
 There were hot springs, said to possess curative 
 qualities, not far from one of the settlements. Aguas 
 Calientes (hot water) the village was called. One 
 finds a great many hot springs in the course of a jour- 
 ney through Mexico, and wherever there is a settle- 
 ment near one of them, it is sure to be called “Aguas 
 
42 BEYOND THE MEXICAN SIERRAS 
 
 Cali elites.’ ’ I visited at least a half-dozen “Aguas 
 Calientes” in the course of my travels, and I am sure 
 I overlooked several by not inquiring their names. 
 
 In one of the villages, we reined up at a shack where 
 fruit was sold, and purchased some oranges and sugar- 
 cane. The green cane is chewed by the natives for 
 the sap, and among the peon population takes the 
 place of candy. Gates said we would surely have 
 calentura if we ate it, but we had been warned against 
 bananas, oranges, milk, water, and almost everything 
 edible and drinkable by our friends on the San Jose 
 and others who had travelled in Mexico, until there 
 was little or nothing left that did not seem to lay one 
 open to the fever. For my part, I disregarded all 
 their warnings, and ate the sugar-cane and anything 
 else my appetite craved that came within my reach. 
 The sugar-cane produced here is of the finest quality, 
 heavily charged with sugar, and delicious. 
 
 Since leaving San Bias we had observed ugly, 
 ghoulish vultures everywhere feeding upon refuse 
 and carrion. They were exceedingly tame. Hogs 
 and vultures combine to keep Mexico in something 
 like a sanitary condition. The people themselves 
 pay absolutely no regard to sanitation, and if it were 
 not for the vultures and the hogs the country would 
 be in a constant state of pestilence through the unbe- 
 lievably filthy customs of the natives. 
 
 Now and again pack trains crowded us off the trail, 
 the mules heavily laden with merchandise for the 
 Santiago Ixcuintla shops, or with bales of cotton 
 destined for the mills at Tepic City, there to be manu- 
 factured into the gaudy colored zerapes, or the coarse 
 cotton fabrics worn by the peons. 
 
A LAND OF PROMISE 
 
 43 
 
 Once we met a muleteer with three or four mules 
 deliberately proceeding with the Santiago Ixcuintla 
 mail, en route to the railroad at San Marcos. During 
 the season of high water in the rivers, when the stage 
 does not run, it is the custom to let the mail accumu- 
 late at Santiago Ixcuintla, as it comes in from day to 
 day from the surrounding villages and towns, until 
 the officials of the post-office deem it worth while to 
 make up a pack train and despatch it. 
 
 We gave all the pack trains we met a wide berth, 
 for pack mules turn neither to the right nor to the 
 left for man or beast, but demand a clear right of way: 
 and unless you wish to have your legs well scraped 
 against their packs, you will be discreet and recognize 
 their claims. 
 
 But the most interesting and picturesque, perhaps, 
 of all the travellers we met were the members of a 
 little Indian family in the act of moving. It was like 
 a glimpse of the Orient. Their household goods and 
 all their worldly possessions were loaded upon a 
 burro, the mother with an infant in her arms perched 
 on top, while the father walked by the side. They re- 
 minded me of the picture we are so familiar with of 
 the flight of Joseph and Mary with the child Jesus. 
 
 The soil of the whole country through which we 
 were passing was rich and arable, and capable of being 
 turned into a veritable paradise. This is on the line 
 of the extension of the Southern Pacific Railroad, 
 now under construction, and I could not but picture 
 to myself the wonderful transformation that is in 
 store for it during the next decade, when American 
 capital, which is sure to follow the opening of the 
 railway, takes hold of it. 
 
44 BEYOND THE MEXICAN SIERRAS 
 
 What opportunities for investment it offers! And 
 now is the time to strike. Investors who take hold 
 of this land now, while it can be had at a merely 
 nominal price, will reap fortunes in colonization 
 later. The prices will advance by leaps and bounds 
 with the opening of the railroad. Then will come the 
 transformation of jungles into orange groves, fields 
 of grain will spring up, rich harvests of bananas, 
 pineapples, and the hundred other profitable crops 
 the land is capable of will be gathered, and from 
 the near-by hills will come as fine coffee as tropical 
 America can grow. 
 
 Perhaps this is too optimistic a view to take, but 
 we shall see. I have travelled from seaboard to sea- 
 board of the United States, but have seen nothing 
 to compare with this land in natural resources. There 
 is plenty of water for irrigation, but irrigation is not 
 absolutely necessary in this section of Tepic Territory. 
 
 We are now in the region which the armed rider 
 at Navarrete had referred to the previous evening as 
 a likely place for hold-ups. Emerson loosened the 
 flap of his holster, for he had considerable currency 
 about him and wished to be prepared for an emergency. 
 
 “Are the natives here good with guns?” I inquired. 
 
 “Oh, no,” said he, “not generally. They are about 
 like the Don that used to own our hacienda. When 
 I came down here first to look over the property he 
 was showing me around one day when a dog insisted 
 on following us. The Don did n’t want its company 
 and tried to drive it back, but it would n’t go. He got 
 in a rage at it, and drew his gun. The animal was 
 close to us — not over five or six paces away — and 
 I thought he ’d kill it the first crack, but he did n’t. 
 
Waiting for the ferry at La 
 
A typical wooden cart ( each wheel is made from a log segment, the pole 
 is mahogany, and no iron whatever is used in construction ) 
 
A LAND OF PROMISE 
 
 45 
 
 He emptied his gun at it and never hit it. He was so 
 angry at missing that he threw the gun at it, and did n’t 
 even hit it with that. Then he went up and kicked 
 the dog and sent it away whining. And the poor 
 brute had been considerate enough to stand still and 
 give the fellow every chance! I don’t think they’re 
 much with the gun.” 
 
 Presently we came to a collection of Indian huts 
 on the bank of the Santiago River, which we were 
 informed was the village of La Presa; and just across 
 the river lay the important town of Santiago Ixcuintla. 
 Here Mr. Fritz Kaiser, bookkeeper for the Hacienda 
 San Nicolas, joined our party. 
 
 A group of picturesque natives, a pack train, and a 
 cumbrous cart of prehistoric design, drawn by four 
 oxen and looking as though it had been transplanted 
 from Egypt, were waiting to be carried across the river 
 on the batangas — a ferry-boat constructed of two 
 dugout canoes supporting a platform, with a railing 
 built around the platform. 
 
 The ox cart brings to my mind an article on Mexico 
 that appeared in one of the popular magazines two 
 or three years ago. An illustration accompanying 
 the article was a photograph of one of these ancient 
 carts. The author, a woman, described it as a type 
 of vehicle "now obsolete in Mexico,” and stated that 
 the photograph illustrating her article was of the only 
 cart of the kind remaining in the Republic. "This 
 cart was rescued,” the article stated, "by the Mexican 
 Government to become part of an anthropological 
 exhibit in one of the museums.” According to my 
 observation, it is about the only type of vehicle to 
 be seen in Mexico outside of the larger towns and 
 
46 BEYOND THE MEXICAN SIERRAS 
 
 cities. You see these carts everywhere, with ponder- 
 ous wheels cut from a single segment of tree, with 
 ebony axles and mahogany poles, and not a scrap of 
 iron used in the construction. 
 
 It was noon when we led our horses and mules upon 
 the flimsy batangas, which was propelled across the 
 shallow river by men with long poles, and on the 
 other side proceeded at once to the Hotel Sur Pacifico. 
 We had been in the saddle for six consecutive hours, 
 and here we were to rest ourselves and our tired 
 animals, and get a glimpse of the quaint old town, 
 before taking the trail again after the siesta hour. 
 
CHAPTER V 
 
 THE SANTIAGO RIVER TRAIL 
 
 HE boniface of the Hotel Sur Pacifico came 
 
 personally to receive us as we rode through 
 
 the high doorway of his hotel into the patio. 
 He told us he was quite overcome by the honor of 
 entertaining so many distinguished guests. He would 
 do his best to be worthy of that honor. Would the 
 Americanos make themselves comfortable? The house 
 and all it held was theirs. I do not know how much 
 more than the regular rate for entertainment he 
 charged us for bestowing that “honor” upon him. 
 In Eastern Mexico along the lines of tourist travel all 
 Americans are looked upon as a happy combination 
 of “easy mark” and “bloated plutocrat,” especially 
 created for the enrichment of native merchants and 
 hotel-keepers, and prices always advance temporarily 
 when a “gringo” appears. This custom has crept 
 even into the isolated towns of the western slope, 
 where the only Americans ever seen are occasional 
 miners or prospectors. 
 
 To the average Mexican all Americans are “gringos.” 
 They are too polite to call you a gringo to your face, 
 but amongst themselves it is the term generally used 
 in referring to Americans. It is a term of disrespect, 
 just as “greaser,” when applied to a Mexican, is an 
 opprobrious term. “Gringo” had its origin during 
 
 47 
 
48 BEYOND THE MEXICAN SIERRAS 
 
 our war with Mexico in 1847. Bobby Burns’ song, 
 with the chorus, — 
 
 “ Green grow the rashes, 0; 
 
 Green grow the rashes, 0; 
 
 The sweetest hours that e’er I spend, 
 
 Are spent among the lasses, 0,” 
 
 was very popular then, and our soldiers in Mexico 
 sang it on the march and on nearly every occasion. 
 “Green grow” sounded like “gringo” to the Mexicans, 
 unacquainted with English, and they quickly learned 
 to speak of the American soldiers as “gringos,” and 
 thenceforth this appellation has been attached to all 
 Americans* 
 
 A string band serenaded with soft, sweet music a 
 newly married couple, who were at dinner in the 
 patio, and while we ate in the dining-room on the 
 opposite side of the patio, we enjoyed the luxury of 
 the music. Mexicans are natural musicians, and this 
 band played well. 
 
 We dined leisurely and then wandered down to the 
 plaza and market-place, which was similar to that at 
 San Bias, though on a larger scale. Santiago Ixcuintla 
 has a population of four thousand persons. Situated 
 upon the Santiago River, it has considerable traffic 
 and trading by canoe, and is a distributing point for 
 merchandise for a wide territory. Mule trains, laden 
 with produce, are constantly moving in and out, and 
 
 * There are many theories as to the origin of the word “ grin- 
 gos 7 ' as applied to Americans. This one seems to me the most 
 reasonable. A gentleman, however, who has travelled extensively in 
 South America, and has endeavored to trace the word to its beginning, 
 assures me Americans were known as “ gringos ” in various South 
 American countries long before our war with Mexico. D. W. 
 
THE SANTIAGO RIVER TRAIL 
 
 49 
 
 the town has an air of prosperity and activity. Three 
 or four American miners make their headquarters here; 
 otherwise the population is Mexican. As in most 
 of the larger towns and cities, the principal business 
 men are strongly of Spanish type, while the peons 
 and mass of the population are Indian. 
 
 Santiago Ixcuintla is built upon a hillside, rising 
 abruptly from the river, and presents a picturesque 
 appearance from a distance; but upon entering the 
 town one finds the streets to be narrow and ill-kempt, 
 as is so often the case in Mexico. 
 
 One of the most interesting street objects to the 
 stranger is the water-carrier, who is to be seen in every 
 town in Western Mexico. With two or three mules, 
 each carrying a bent-wood pannier in which are 
 balanced, two on either side of the animal, red clay 
 water jugs, the carrier, perched upon the jugs on one 
 of the mules, jogs from house to house selling the water. 
 There are no city water works, and there is no fire 
 department. These are modern innovations unknown 
 in Western Mexican towns. But, generally speaking, 
 fire departments are unnecessary, for the better 
 classes of houses are not very combustible, being 
 constructed of stone or brick and mortar, and the 
 poorer houses are not worth saving should fire break 
 out amongst them. 
 
 All of the better class of buildings have a patio and 
 are usually one story high, though occasionally two 
 stories. The windows opening upon the street are 
 barred with heavy iron, like the windows of a prison, 
 while second-story windows usually have small bal- 
 conies in front of them. 
 
 The bars on the street windows are not to keep 
 
50 BEYOND THE MEXICAN SIERRAS 
 
 people in, but to keep them out. Every one told us 
 that nothing was safe anywhere from thievery, though 
 I did not lose one single article while in Mexico. I 
 heeded the warnings that were constantly sounded 
 in. my ears, however, and kept everything of mine, 
 that might be filched, chained down or constantly 
 under my eye, and perhaps that is why none of my 
 goods and chattels was stolen. I heard of cases where 
 beds were robbed of blankets by means of poles, with 
 hooks attached, which were inserted between the 
 window bars. It is the custom of employers to search 
 their servants for concealed articles whenever the 
 latter leave the premises. Guns, ammunition, jewelry, 
 and fancy articles are taken in preference to money. 
 
 Shortly after two o’clock the mozos brought our 
 horses around, and without waiting for the pack 
 mules to accompany us, we rode out of town, on a wide 
 road that leads to the eastward. For a short dis- 
 tance the country was comparatively open, and cul- 
 tivated fields lay about us. But soon a turn took us 
 into a pasture, and our King’s Highway dropped down 
 to a simple bridle path and finally became a broken 
 trail, ascending the valley of the Santiago Rio. 
 
 We still had fifteen miles to ride before reaching 
 the Hacienda San Nicolas. Fifteen miles is not far 
 when one has a good road, and one’s horses are fresh; 
 but with tired horses, on a trail that runs through mud 
 and over rocks, in a broiling sun, when one is weary 
 and sore in every limb from unaccustomed riding, it 
 seems an endless journey. 
 
 Sometimes we rode close to the bank, and had 
 magnificent views of the river, reaching far away to 
 the mountains. Huge alligators sunned themselves 
 
A water pcdler 
 
The ferry at the Caimonaro 
 
THE SANTIAGO RIVER TRAIL 
 
 51 
 
 on the sandy beaches across the stream. Many of 
 these reptiles were ten or twelve feet long. The large 
 ones are a menace to calves, which come down with 
 the herds to drink. 
 
 During the rainy season the Rio Santiago sometimes 
 breaks over its banks and inundates large sections 
 of the lower elevations of the valley. It is seven 
 hundred miles in length, and, next to the Fuerte 
 River of Sinaloa, which is not so long but carries a 
 greater volume of water, is the largest and most im- 
 portant river wholly within the boundaries of Mexico. 
 With its main source in the mountains of Northern 
 Guanajuato, it flows through the beautiful Lake 
 Chapala, crosses the State of Jalisco, breaks out 
 through the canyons of the Sierra de Nayarit, and fer- 
 tilizes and waters a long stretch of the rich bottom 
 lands of Tepic Territory before it finally reaches the 
 sea at San Bias. Though it is wide and generally shal- 
 low below the mountains, during five or six months 
 of the year flat-bottomed boats and canoes of from 
 three to five tons burden may navigate it to a dis- 
 tance seventy miles from its mouth. The soil of the 
 valley is a rich, dark loam, and where the river had 
 undermined its banks at the high points we could see 
 a depth of from fifteen to twenty feet above the clay 
 or gravel substrata. 
 
 The vegetation was dense, and to our unfamiliar 
 eyes strange and wonderful. Trees were festooned 
 with innumerable flowering vines, brilliant in color, 
 and of fragrant perfume, which grew in amazing pro- 
 fusion. A thousand varieties of trees and plants 
 that we did not recognize closed in our narrow trail, 
 and in and out amongst them darted gorgeous-colored 
 
52 BEYOND THE MEXICAN SIERRAS 
 
 parrots, filling the air with their discordant screams, 
 in noisy protest against our invasion of their retreat. 
 Toward sunset we crossed two rocky ridges, and con- 
 gratulated ourselves upon having them behind us 
 before darkness came. 
 
 Randall’s mount, a rather poor one and somewhat 
 advanced in years, declined finally to keep pace with 
 the others, in spite of applied inspiration in the shape 
 of spurs and quirt. It had a gait, too, that was not 
 conducive to reposeful meditations on the part of the 
 rider. Finally Randall dropped out of sight, and 
 Gates and I turned back to meet him. When we saw 
 him at last, working every inch of his way, Gates 
 comforted us with the assurance that it was “only 
 five miles farther to the ranch house,” and that we 
 were already on the Hacienda San Nicolas. 
 
 Not far beyond this point a small river known as 
 the Caimonaro (place for alligators) empties its waters 
 into the Santiago. It was too deep to ford, and we 
 were ferried across upon a catamaran by an Indian 
 belonging to a settlement upon the farther shore. 
 
 Here we met an Indian runner returning from the 
 hacienda house, whom Kaiser had despatched from 
 Santiago upon our arrival there, to advise the people 
 that we were coming. In a rough country, or where 
 the trails are bad, these runners will far outdistance 
 a mounted man. Later in my journey I saw them in 
 the high sierras. They have remarkable endurance, 
 and seem tireless. They are the descendants of those 
 men who, with telegraphic rapidity, kept Montezuma 
 so well informed of the happenings throughout his 
 domain, and through whom he so quickly learned of 
 the landing of the Spaniards at Vera Cruz. 
 
THE SANTIAGO RIVER TRAIL 
 
 53 
 
 The sun was setting when we met the runner, and 
 in an incredibly short time darkness was upon us. I 
 had read a great deal of the sunsets of Mexico, and 
 while some of them were of entrancing beauty, they 
 disappointed me. The refraction was of too brief 
 duration, with scarcely any time perceptible between 
 the going of the sun and the coming of darkness. 
 They do not compare with the glory and wonder of 
 color that I have witnessed amongst the lakes of the 
 interior plateau of Labrador. But no sunsets in the 
 world can compare with those of Labrador, where they 
 reach the very height of color perfection, with long 
 duration. 
 
 Through mud and mire, through dark bits of woods 
 and across arroyos, we picked our way in the darkness, 
 until finally Gates, who was ahead, called back to us, 
 “See that light? That’s the house.” 
 
 It was welcome, indeed. Weary with our two days 
 in the saddle under a burning sun, the cheery light 
 was like a harbor beacon to a sailor entering port 
 after a tempestuous voyage. As we rode through 
 the high doorway and dismounted, a swarthy native 
 youth, clad in white, was setting a table, spread with 
 a snowy cloth, on the patio veranda, a delicious odor 
 of coffee and savory cooking pervaded the atmosphere, 
 and a feeling of contentment and rest stole over us. 
 
 The luxury of a bath, an excellent meal, a cigar, 
 and an hour’s pleasant chat, followed by a comfortable 
 bed, stamped the Hacienda San Nicolas upon our 
 memory as a haven of rest and good cheer. 
 
CHAPTER VI 
 
 A LOOK AT THE INDIANS 
 
 T HE following morning I had opportunity to 
 explore at leisure our immediate surroundings. 
 The house was built after the prevailing style 
 of architecture, forming a hollow square, with a patio 
 in the centre. It had but one story, and was con- 
 structed of brick and adobe, the walls ponderously 
 thick, the roof of tile, the floors of red brick, the door 
 to the patio massive white mahogany and fastened 
 with iron bars. Loopholes, now plugged with mortar, 
 formerly punctured the outer walls, and gave evidence 
 that the building was originally designed for defence 
 against Indians or brigands. The rooms opened upon 
 a covered veranda that faced the patio, which was 
 planted with trees and shrubs. On the east side of 
 the patio lay the kitchen, the servants’ quarters, and 
 the hacienda store, on the north was the main entrance, 
 and on the west a door leading to a corral. 
 
 Behind the house was a gently rising hill, and along 
 its base, adjoining the enclosed grounds, stretched a 
 short street lined with the miserable Indian huts that 
 we had become so familiar with on our inland journey. 
 Women were busily engaged in grinding corn, or, with 
 big clay bottles balanced upon their heads, were 
 bringing home the day’s supply of water from a 
 neighboring brook. These bottles held from three to 
 five gallons each, and were carried without the aid 
 of the hands to balance them. 
 
 54 
 
A LOOK AT THE INDIANS 
 
 55 
 
 Men lounged about in white cotton pajamas, and 
 most of them wore the zerape wrapped around their 
 shoulders, with one end thrown back over the left 
 shoulder. The women wore a scarf (reboso) over their 
 heads, crossed under the chin, and the ends thrown 
 back over their shoulders. Both the w r omen and men 
 were barefooted, or wore only sandals, which is the 
 prevailing fashion in footgear among the peon class. 
 The men’s white pajamas were all remarkably clean. 
 I might say that they were cleaner and neater in 
 appearance here than in any other part of Mexico 
 I visited. The women were not so clean, and were 
 anything but good-looking. Nowhere in Mexico did 
 our observations bear out the statement of one 
 author, who says of them: 
 
 "There are thousands of pretty faces of richest 
 color, long lashes, soft and downy ear locks, black as 
 jet, and with long, inky black hair. Under the tapalo 
 or reboso is many a Venus.” 
 
 They have the color of most Indians, and the hair 
 is not soft and downy, but coarse and stiff. No en- 
 chanting ones did we see under a tapalo or reboso, and 
 we finally resigned the expectation of finding beauty 
 enshrined there as hopeless. The Venuses are beings 
 of the author’s fancy and not of reality. 
 
 There were two or three distinct types to be seen 
 amongst the people of the village. None of them, I 
 might say, resembled our Indians of the North. One 
 type particularly suggested the Semitic. Amongst 
 these, in the case of the men, the hair and beard were 
 often curly, though always coarse and black. It is 
 possible, though not probable, this characteristic was 
 introduced by Spanish Hebrews. Not probable, be- 
 
56 BEYOND THE MEXICAN SIERRAS 
 
 cause in the early days of Spanish occupancy Hebrews 
 did not penetrate to these inland points, and they 
 have never at any time since settled amongst the 
 Indians of Western Mexico. To-day there are a very 
 few in Tepic City, but none nearer. 
 
 Nearly every one appeared to be suffering from 
 calentura (malarial fever), and, indeed, it is a wonder 
 these peons do not have a continual scourge of typhoid 
 and yellow fever as well, in view of the unsanitary 
 conditions that exist, and their utter disregard of the 
 simplest precautions. Poor little youngsters were cry- 
 ing with fever, and some of them lay upon the ground 
 too sick to move, as we stepped over them. I saw one 
 or two that I thought at first were dead. They get 
 little or no care, and a great many of them do die, 
 and are apparently forgotten at once by the parents. 
 But then there are plenty of new ones that come to 
 take the places of those that die. 
 
 Eighty-seven per cent of the children born in Mexico, 
 I was informed upon good authority, are illegitimate. 
 It would be quite impossible for the people of any 
 land to have less regard for sexual purity than have 
 the peons of Mexico. No obloquy is attached to the 
 parents of illegitimate children and no shame follows 
 children born out of wedlock. The conditions are 
 these: The Mexican Government looks upon marriage 
 as a purely civil contract, and, for reasons deemed 
 sufficient, declines to recognize as binding any cere- 
 mony performed by others than duly authorized 
 officials. The Church teaches her people, on the other 
 hand, that marriage is a religious union, and can there- 
 fore be consummated only by a priest of the Church; 
 that the civil marriage alone is not binding and entails 
 
A LOOK AT THE INDIANS 
 
 57 
 
 no moral obligation. The priest charges six pesos or 
 more to perform the ceremony, the Government six, 
 and as twelve pesos is an amount that most peons 
 never in their life possess at any one time, and as 
 neither form of marriage is in itself considered suffi- 
 cient, the majority do not get married at all, but the 
 men and women simply go and live together. This 
 condition blots out any sense of moral obligation, and 
 the result is inevitable — moral and physical degen- 
 eracy. 
 
 A European gentleman of long residence in Mexico, 
 in discussing the subject with me, declared that ninety- 
 five per cent of the people are diseased to a greater 
 or less extent. I repeated this to one of the leading 
 physicians of Mexico, and he promptly stamped it 
 as a gross libel upon the country. “No,” said he, 
 “only eighty per cent are afflicted. That, of course,” 
 he added, “is a conservative estimate. There may be 
 a few more, but not ninety-five per cent.” I should 
 say, however, that even this reduced estimate appears 
 excessive. Physicians are often too prone to limit 
 their observations to that portion of a population who 
 require their assistance, and it is natural, therefore, 
 for them to overestimate the prevalence of disease. 
 
 There is every reason to believe that the Aztecs were 
 a virtuous and industrious people before the advent 
 of the Spaniard. True, they had their bloody sacri- 
 fices, but were they more bloody, or a hundredth part 
 so inhuman in their execution as the tortures of the 
 Inquisition? Were the Aztecs really not farther ad- 
 vanced in civilization than the Christian conquerors 
 who, by force of sword and blood, placed the Cross 
 in the temple of the deposed Quetzalcoatl? When I 
 
58 BEYOND THE MEXICAN SIERRAS 
 
 was in Mexico City an educated and patriotic Mexican, 
 in whose veins flows Aztec blood, remarked of the 
 Spaniards: “They robbed us of our land and our 
 homes, they debauched our women, they murdered 
 our sons, they taught us to be lazy and proud; 
 and all they left us as a heritage was the priest, 
 the prostitute, and the bull ring.” President Diaz 
 and his compatriots, who are establishing schools and 
 trying to educate the populace to better things, are 
 doing nobly, but they have a Herculean task to per- 
 form, with the influence of nearly three centuries of 
 occupation by Spanish adventurers to overcome. 
 
 As I passed down from the settlement, upon a path 
 leading under the rear wall of the hacienda buildings, 
 I took a snapshot of two of the women water-carriers. 
 I had to do this by stealth, concealing myself behind 
 a clump of bushes, for nearly all of the Indians feared 
 my camera as a new sort of gun. On this occasion 
 the women saw me just as I pressed the button, and 
 they all but dropped their water jugs, gaining their 
 equilibrium only when they saw me train the camera 
 in another direction. 
 
 Several horses and mules were enclosed in the corral, 
 and as I walked amongst them I was struck by their 
 docility. From what I had read of Mexican steeds I 
 had always supposed they were high-strung, vicious 
 beasts, but my observation of them here and every- 
 where else disabused me of this conception. On the 
 contrary, they are the best behaved, most patient, 
 enduring, and well trained of animals. All of the 
 horses are good cow chasers, and are bridle wise — 
 that is, answer the touch of the rein upon the neck. 
 
 The people are universally splendid riders. They 
 
Water carriers 
 
Canoe dug out from a single log, capable of carrying six thousand pounds 
 
A LOOK AT THE INDIANS 
 
 59 
 
 carry themselves gracefully, like our cowboys of the 
 Western States, and you never see amongst them the 
 bob-up-and-down, ridiculous, riding academy style that 
 is so prevalent in our city parks. 
 
 Among the fowls were some beautiful domesti- 
 cated pheasants (pheasants are quite plentiful here in 
 the wild state). They mixed with the hens, and that 
 they had inbred with them, some ludicrous looking 
 half-breeds, with the body of the hen and head and 
 long tail of the pheasant, bore evidence. The pheas- 
 ants were tame, and had no inclination apparently to 
 revert to the wild state. 
 
 A white-tailed deer — a spiked buck — attracted my 
 attention by giving me a poke in the back with his 
 horns. I gave him the petting he demanded, and a 
 handful of salt, which he ate with avidity. He came 
 on the patio veranda later, when we were at table, and 
 demanded more salt. White-tailed deer are numer- 
 ous. This one was found when a little fawn and was 
 raised by Gates and Kaiser. On several occasions he 
 was seen trying to induce does, whose acquaintance he 
 made in the bush, to accompany him home; but their 
 timidity always got the better of them when they 
 neared the house, and to the disgust of Blanco, the 
 tame buck, they fled to cover. Sometimes he met 
 other bucks back in the wilderness, and that battles 
 royal were the result his numerous wounds bore ample 
 proof. 
 
 A few days after this on which I made Blanco’s 
 acquaintance, he came to an untimely end through 
 his absolute faith in the friendship of men. Kaiser 
 was at home alone" at the time, and had laid out 
 some onion sets to put in the ground. Blanco happen- 
 
60 BEYOND THE MEXICAN SIERRAS 
 
 ing around, and believing that all things good were 
 intended for his pleasure, consumed the onion sets. 
 Unfortunately for Blanco, Kaiser came upon him as 
 he was devouring the last set with unfeigned relish, 
 and in a fit of anger drew his gun and killed instantly 
 the pet deer which he had fed on a bottle when it was 
 a helpless baby fawn, and which had learned to love 
 and confide in him and look to him for protection. 
 But it was just as well, perhaps, for Blanco was reach- 
 ing an age when he would have been a menace to the 
 lives of children. 
 
 I saw several of these white-tailed deer later, at 
 mountain cabins, where they were the pets and the 
 autocrats of the house. Usually they were unrestrained 
 and at liberty to roam at will, but occasionally one 
 was chained to keep it safe from dogs, or from attack- 
 ing inoffensive people. 
 
 After dinner our horses were brought around and 
 we rode forth under the guidance of the managing 
 mozo of the hacienda, Serapio Ballestrado by name, 
 to inspect the adjacent rubber forests. Serapio was a 
 splendid specimen of physical perfection, self-reliant, 
 and, in marked contrast to the average Mexican, 
 active and aggressive. We soon became friends, and 
 I learned that he had spent several years in California 
 and, as a cowboy, in Texas. During his residence in 
 the United States he had acquired a fair speaking 
 knowledge of the English language, and this enabled 
 me to converse with him and glean from him a good 
 deal of information about Mexico and the people, 
 which I should otherwise have been denied. 
 
 Besides being managing mozo of the Hacienda San 
 Nicolas, Serapio is a sort of judicial officer for the sur- 
 
A LOOK AT THE INDIANS 
 
 61 
 
 rounding territory, where he is looked upon by the 
 peons as a chief. His self-reliance and decisive man- 
 ner are doubtless hereditary, and have been handed 
 down to him with his caste from the days before the 
 Conquest. Here, in these more or less remote sections 
 of the country, the caste of those days has not been 
 altogether eliminated. When I looked at him I 
 involuntarily thought of the patriots who fought so 
 hopelessly and vainly by the side of Guatemozin for 
 the preservation of their freedom and their homes, 
 and I easily pictured him as one of them. Miguel, one 
 of the mozos who met us at San Bias, is his son. 
 
 Out through fields of para grass, wild pineapple, and 
 corn-fields with weeds higher than the horses’ backs, 
 and flowers blooming everywhere, we rode into the 
 forest for a short distance, Serapio using his machete 
 to cut away branches that blocked the trail. Here 
 were many large rubber trees tapped for the gum, and 
 several hundred young trees recently set out and under 
 cultivation. Rubber culture in this section is in its 
 infancy, and whether it will pay or not I cannot say. 
 Personally I am sceptical. However, the old trees 
 yield a good quality of rubber, and are well worth 
 attention. 
 
 Some of the other forest trees noticed were the zebas, 
 a large tree, of quick growth, but punky and of no com- 
 mercial value; the amata, or white mahogany, not 
 plentiful; a very few tampaziran, or rosewood; tipa- 
 gopta, numerous and large; the guanacastl, a very 
 large tree, of quick growth, utilized by the natives for 
 making dugout canoes; and the capoma, also numer- 
 ous, a large tree, the leaves and berries of which are 
 greedily eaten by cattle. 
 
62 BEYOND THE MEXICAN SIERRAS 
 
 We made a swing out of the timber into the open 
 range, where long-horned cattle grazed, and through 
 pineapple and ripened corn-fields down to the Caimon- 
 aro, hoping that here we might meet the canoes from 
 San Bias that were to bring up our surplus baggage 
 and Emerson’s pigs; but they were not there and did 
 not come until late at night. 
 
 At the Caimonaro a native carpenter was engaged 
 in transforming immense logs of the guanacastl tree 
 into huge dugout canoes. I measured one of these 
 partly finished canoes, and found it to be thirty-eight 
 feet long, with a beam of five feet two inches, and 
 Serapio told me it would carry twenty cargoes, that 
 is, as much as twenty mules could pack. A mule’s 
 cargo is three hundred pounds. 
 
 The Government demands a tax on every canoe or 
 craft of any description floated upon the inland water- 
 ways. If you own a small canoe for pleasure or any 
 purpose, and use it, you must pay your tax or have 
 your boat confiscated. This tax is not levied for the 
 purpose of aiding to pay the expense of keeping the 
 streams in a navigable condition, or even remotely 
 applied to their betterment. Very few of the Mexican 
 rivers are navigable, except for canoes and flat-bot- 
 tomed boats, and the Government expends no money 
 on them. The tax is simply a means of obtaining 
 revenue, and no possible means of securing revenue 
 is overlooked in Mexico. If you want beef, and 
 butcher one of your own steers, you must pay a tax 
 for the privilege of doing it. 
 
 Serapio placed the carpenter who was working on 
 the canoe, and a group of children, in position for me 
 to photograph. Some of the children were naked, 
 
A LOOK AT THE INDIANS 
 
 63 
 
 but we had them draped for the occasion. In the 
 group I noticed two or three of the youngsters who 
 bore unmistakable marks of foreign influence, and was 
 told that they were the children of a German who 
 had spent some time in the neighborhood some years 
 before. One of the little girls manifested considerable 
 interest in me, and prattled to me fearlessly. I gave 
 her a few centavos in appreciation, and though neither 
 could understand the other, we immediately became 
 great friends. 
 
 On our return to the ranch house in the evening we 
 passed near a hill standing a little way back of the river. 
 Emerson, pointing to it, remarked: 
 
 "That is the famous Treasure Hill, or, as the natives 
 call it, ‘El Cerro del Tesoro.’ There ’s an interesting 
 legend about it, and lately some remarkable revelations 
 tend to confirm the truth of the story. It ’s a tale of 
 the Spanish occupation, the gold hunters, the revo- 
 lution, and murder, with a present-day attempt to 
 unravel the truth of it. Would you like to hear it?” 
 
 Of course I wanted to hear it, and Emerson related 
 it to me as we rode along. 
 
CHAPTER VII 
 
 THE MYSTERY OF TREASURE HILL 
 
 “"V -W THEN the Conquest was at an end,” began 
 %/V/ Emerson, “and every chief and tribe that 
 ’ * had not been put to the sword was bowed 
 by the fear of it in humble submission before the 
 Cross, with a broken heart in each man’s breast and 
 chains of slavery upon his ankles, when peace and 
 tranquillity at last reigned in Mexico, and the Spanish 
 adventurer found himself free to roam without danger 
 of molestation, he turned his attention to the search 
 for gold. He scoured every mountain fastness, every 
 crag and canyon, every river bed and isolated hill of 
 the Cordilleras, and even the lower plains, for hidden 
 deposits of the precious metal. From San Bias he 
 swept up the valley of the Santiago River, and at 
 Treasure Hill, the legend says, uncovered a rich de- 
 posit. 
 
 “Immediately a mine was opened, Indian slaves 
 cleared the jungle, a village was built under the shadow 
 of the hill, and a few hundred yards away, upon the 
 banks of the river, a rastra was erected for the grinding 
 of the ore. 
 
 “The mine at Treasure Hill once opened and in 
 active operation, the same band of adventurers pushed 
 inland toward the Cordilleras, and again met with 
 success in what they called the Laborosa, a mountain 
 fastness twenty-five miles from Treasure Hill, and 
 
 64 
 
THE MYSTERY OF TREASURE HILL 65 
 
 within the present boundaries of the Hacienda San 
 Nicolas. This new mine proved to be rich beyond 
 the 'wildest dreams of avarice/ as they say. The trails 
 leading up from Treasure Hill to the Laborosa were 
 exceedingly rough, and the mine almost inaccessible 
 for heavily laden mule trains. The transportation of 
 supplies by any other method was impossible, and it 
 was found necessary to build a road, to connect the 
 two mines. Slaves were put at work, and in a little 
 while gulches were bridged by massive stone arches, 
 the sides of canyons were cut away, and what was 
 really a marvellous feat of engineering was accom- 
 plished. 
 
 "Long trains of supplies began to move inland to 
 the mine, and for two hundred years the Laborosa 
 poured yellow metal to Treasure Hill, whence it was 
 forwarded to the fortified vaults at San Bias, to be 
 despatched at leisure to Spain. It was a mine of 
 marvellous riches. 
 
 "Finally the revolution came, and brought disaster 
 to the Spaniards, and they were forced to flee the 
 country. A large amount of gold, run into ingots, 
 was at the Laborosa and Treasure Hill mines when the 
 order came to retreat. San Bias was evacuated, and 
 it was no longer safe to attempt to move the metal 
 across the mountains; but with sanguine expectations 
 of finally conquering the revolutionary army, and re- 
 occupying the country, the ingots from the Laborosa 
 were rushed down to Treasure Hill, all the metal of 
 both mines, to the value of many millions of pesos, 
 it is said, was hidden in the Treasure Hill mine, the 
 entrance of the mine closed and concealed, the build- 
 ings destroyed, and every Indian slave who had been 
 
66 BEYOND THE MEXICAN SIERRAS 
 
 employed in the work, or who would be likely to know 
 of the concealed gold, was killed. 
 
 “The army of the revolution conquered and the 
 Spaniards never returned. Neighboring Indians who 
 had watched the final work of the Spaniards, com 
 ceived a superstitious dread of the abandoned mines 
 and avoided the locality. Three or four short years 
 sufficed the jungle to effectually cover all traces of the 
 village at Treasure Hill and the road to the Laborosa, 
 and only a legend of their existence remained. From 
 that day Treasure Mountain has been called by the 
 natives ‘El Cerro del Tesoro’ — The Lock of the 
 Treasure — and the story has been handed down 
 from father to son. 
 
 “Five years ago, two Americans appeared at the 
 Hacienda San Nicolas with charts of Treasure Hill 
 and the hidden mine. These charts they said they 
 had obtained from an old Spanish priest in California, 
 who told them they had been given him by another 
 Spanish priest, who was one of the last to leave the 
 mine. The two men searched the hill for days, but 
 finding no trace of the mine or buildings decided it 
 w r as all a hoax, and returned home. 
 
 “The next act in the drama was the arrival of Gates 
 as manager of the hacienda after our company pur- 
 chased it. The story was told to Gates and his curi- 
 osity was aroused. An aged Indian declared to him 
 that one day, many, many years ago, he was working 
 near Treasure Hill and cut himself badly with his 
 machete. He plunged down through the jungle, in 
 haste to reach his cabin, to have his wound dressed, 
 and in his flight unexpectedly came upon the closed 
 entrance of the mine. He was in too great pain to 
 
THE MYSTERY OF TREASURE HILL 67 
 
 stop to examine it then, and too agitated to mark 
 accurately its location. Later he returned and 
 searched for it, but never could find it. 
 
 “Gates put a gang of mozos to work clearing the jungle 
 about the hill. It was tedious work, for the growth 
 was heavy, and just as he had decided the whole 
 thing a legend without basis, and not worth further 
 effort, the stone foundations of several buildings were 
 uncovered. The search was continued, but with no 
 further results at that time. 
 
 “Thomas Farmen, an old prospector from Colorado, 
 now appeared. He heard the story, and at once bent 
 his attention to the location of the Laborosa mine. 
 After weeks of hard work in the overrun jungle, he 
 found a trace of the old road. This he followed for 
 several miles, discovering ruined bridges of massive 
 stone-work, and cuts along the walls of almost im- 
 passable canyons. But Tommy’s grubstake failed 
 him, and he had to abandon his efforts temporarily. 
 
 “A little later one more discovery was made. Three 
 or four months ago Gates had some men at work near 
 the river bank, in a direct line from the foundations 
 discovered at Treasure Hill, and lo! they excavated 
 the old rastra where the ore was milled and washed.” 
 
 This was Emerson’s interesting and romantic story. 
 It so excited my curiosity, that later I visited the 
 ruins of the old rastra, and saw them myself. 
 
 Tommy Farmen rode in one day while I was at 
 the hacienda, and spent the night with us. He told 
 me of his search for the Laborosa mine, and described 
 to me vividly the road he had found, with its ruined 
 bridges and cuts. 
 
 “Them bridges and that road were built for some- 
 
68 BEYOND THE MEXICAN SIERRAS 
 
 thin’ rich,” he declared. “Th’ stories o’ that old 
 mine ’s all true, an’ when I gets a grubstake agin’ I’m 
 goin’ t’ find th’ damn mine or bust.” 
 
 I hope it will not be “bust,” but the mine for Tommy, 
 and that it will be everything the legends say it is. 
 Tommy has spent his life hunting for gold, and several 
 times has “struck it rich,” but always he was too free- 
 handed and too trustful of others, and his wealth 
 slipped from him. 
 
 There are some valuable mines in active operation 
 in Tepic Territory, but mining has not received the 
 attention here that it has had elsewhere in Mexico, 
 or that it deserves. Prospectors, however, are begin- 
 ning to turn their attention to it. There is no doubt 
 that the mountains are highly mineralized, but silver 
 is the metal most likely to be found, though all the 
 legends of old Spanish or Indian mines tell of gold. 
 There are many of these tales to be heard in the terri- 
 tory, some of them doubtless with foundation of 
 truth, though all of them greatly exaggerated. 
 
CHAPTER VIII 
 
 THE INDIAN AND THE LAND 
 
 O NE morning soon after our arrival at the 
 Hacienda San Nicolas we rode out to see the 
 laborers at work in the bottom-land fields, and 
 to witness the mediaeval farming methods still in 
 vogue. Here the Indian plants and harvests his 
 crops just as his ancestors did for generations upon 
 generations before him, and the time and labor sav- 
 ing machinery invented within the past hundred 
 years, which has so completely revolutionized farming 
 in civilized lands, has never supplanted the archaic 
 implements of the early Spanish days, or hand work 
 of the primitive Indian. 
 
 We took the trail early, that the intense heat of 
 the tropical midday might be avoided. It was a glori- 
 ous morning. The air was soft and balmy, and fra- 
 grant with new-day sweetness, the foliage dripped 
 with moisture, the cloudless sky was a delicate opales- 
 cent blue, and as the sun flared up over the crests of 
 sapphire and emerald hills to flood the world with its 
 dazzling light, the dew-drops on the bushes sparkled 
 and shimmered like a mass of exquisite pearls. 
 
 In the thick growth of the river valley through 
 which our trail led, the shrubs and even the higher 
 trees were matted and festooned with a profusion 
 of wild honeysuckle and morning-glories, now in full 
 bloom, and displaying a hundred shades of color. 
 
 69 
 
70 BEYOND THE MEXICAN SIERRAS 
 
 These morning-glories are a remarkable production 
 of nature. They are nearly twice as large as our 
 garden varieties, and are rich and velvety. One sees 
 them here in various shades of red, blue, pink, and 
 yellow, from the lightest gold to the deepest orange, 
 and some in variegated tints. Matted among them 
 were garlands of the honeysuckle, and brilliant reds 
 of other flowering vines. This gorgeous mass of 
 flowers and foliage banked our trail on either side 
 and stood a full half hundred feet above our heads. 
 
 The atmosphere was charged with the perfume of 
 sweet-smelling blossoms, the forest resounded with the 
 marvellous songs of the mocking-bird, and a hundred 
 unseen warblers vied with one another to fill the world 
 with melody. It was a wilderness of color, of music, 
 and sweet scents beyond anything I had ever pictured 
 or imagined. Even our horses seemed to feel the 
 inspiration of it, and our two dogs, Capitan and Quien 
 Sabe, barked joyously as they dashed ahead. 
 
 These dogs were two big native animals kept at 
 the hacienda as watch-dogs, and were trained to hunt 
 the jaguar, which occasionally prowls about in search 
 of calves. Capitan had been purchased from an 
 Indian a few months before, and previous to the day 
 he was brought to the ranch house had never met a 
 white man. He showed at once a fine discrimina- 
 tion of human qualities. He went immediately to 
 Gates and Kaiser and fawned over them as though 
 they were his real masters, showed his teeth to his old 
 Indian owner, and thenceforth declined friendly rela- 
 tions with all natives. He is now the stanch friend 
 of the white man, but the implacable enemy of every 
 Mexican, and many of the latter bear his teeth marks. 
 
The ploughman 
 
Jose, our waiter — an Indian youth of twenty 
 
THE INDIAN AND THE LAND 
 
 71 
 
 He chewed a mozo’s leg pretty badly the day before 
 our arrival, just because the mozo was appropriating 
 something that did not belong to him. 
 
 The Hacienda San Nicolas is a rather small ranch. 
 It contains only about forty-five thousand acres, or 
 approximately seventy-five square miles, and until 
 recently was a part of the large landed estate of a 
 Mexican hidalgo. Its lower end is five miles below, 
 or to the westward of the ranch house, and it runs 
 eastward twenty-five miles into the rugged mountains 
 of the Laborosa. 
 
 Our trail carried us over a small eminence and down 
 on the farther side to a creek. As our horses splashed 
 into the water a huge alligator dashed from a sunny 
 place on the bank, where it had been warming itself, 
 and as it swam away the waves and ripples, created 
 by the movement of its great tail, marked the direc- 
 tion it took. The dogs hesitated a long time before 
 venturing into the stream, for they instinctively knew 
 that the alligators were looking for just such dainty 
 morsels as they; but when we ceased calling and 
 coaxing them and rode away on the opposite side, 
 they took a desperate chance and followed us. 
 
 Just beyond the creek was a clearing, where a mozo 
 with an ox team was ploughing for the November corn 
 planting, and I swung about my horse and snapped 
 my camera upon them before the ploughman was 
 aware of what I was doing. Nearly all my pictures 
 were taken from horseback or mule back, for the 
 natives were so timid at the appearance of a camera 
 it would often have been impossible to photograph 
 them in any other way. At first on several occasions 
 I dismounted and attempted to photograph Indians 
 
72 BEYOND THE MEXICAN SIERRAS 
 
 from the ground, but so frequently it happened that 
 the object of my interest ran away before I could get 
 my camera trained upon him, I adopted the more 
 stealthy method of half concealing the instrument 
 and taking chances from the saddle. 
 
 The plough was the typical Mexican plough and was 
 constructed of two pieces of wood, the one a long 
 pole, an end lashed to a cross piece, which was in turn 
 lashed to the horns of the oxen, the other end mortised 
 into another stick at right angles. The lower end of 
 the latter stick, fashioned into a curved point, served 
 as a ploughshare for stirring the earth, the upper end 
 as a handle. Not a bit of iron, not even a bolt or nail, 
 was used in its making. It was the ancient plough 
 of Egypt, and I can safely say is neither patented nor 
 controlled by the farm implement trust. The plough- 
 man carried a long, sharp-pointed pole as a goad to urge 
 the oxen into activity, though no particular activity, 
 either on the part of ploughman or oxen, was noticeable. 
 
 "Everything and everybody,” said Emerson, as 
 we passed it, "gets like that ploughman and ox team 
 after they are here a little while. The climate seems 
 to sap your energy away and you don’t know when 
 it goes nor how it happens. Americans come down to 
 Mexico with a great bluster of impatience at the slow- 
 moving people, but in a little while they find that it 
 does not do to hurry too much, and they learn to take 
 their midday rest, and gradually adopt the Mexican 
 way. 
 
 “It is so with all animal life. Honey-bees, for in- 
 stance, brought from the North, with Northern energy, 
 will work as though their life depended upon it for 
 a few months, and then they get on to their job. 
 
THE INDIAN AND THE LAND 
 
 73 
 
 They learn there ’s no winter to provide for, and honey 
 can be gathered at any time, and after that they just 
 quit work and loaf. They do enough to feed them- 
 selves from day to day, and the rest of the time take 
 it easy as the people do.” 
 
 It was harvest time for corn, and in the fields we 
 rode through, men were husking the ears from stand- 
 ing stalks — which they do not cut — and throwing 
 them over their shoulders into baskets, suspended by 
 shoulder straps in some instances, and by tump lines, 
 with the forehead strap, in others. The tump line 
 is used by a good many of them for carrying burdens, 
 just as it is by the Indian voyageurs in the Canadian 
 wilderness. 
 
 In the centre of the corn-fields natives were gathered 
 around baskets shelling the grain by hand. Shelling 
 machines have never been introduced into this part 
 of Mexico, and it would be a hard task to induce the 
 natives to use them. Gates brought down some hay 
 forks from the States, but the natives would not 
 adopt them, insisting upon using, instead, a crotched 
 stick which they cut in the woods such as they 
 had always been accustomed to. He had the same 
 experience with ox yokes. They prefer to lash the 
 plough beam or cart pole to the animal’s horns, after 
 the antiquated fashion which the Spaniards taught 
 them, and nothing can induce them to adopt new 
 methods. Gates also told me that when a nut jarred 
 loose, or any little accident happened to a modern 
 American plough he had brought to the hacienda, 
 the natives had not sufficient ingenuity to adjust or 
 repair it, or, having a preconceived dislike for innova- 
 tions, would not try. They are a most conservative 
 
74 BEYOND THE MEXICAN SIERRAS 
 
 people, who believe that it would be a sacrilege to do 
 otherwise than as their forefathers did, and that the 
 gringo’s strange new devices are allied to the devil. 
 
 In the corn-fields, where the grain was still unhusked, 
 the tops of the stalks were broken down to protect 
 the ears, so far as possible, from thieving birds. 
 Nearly every stalk held two large, well-formed ears. 
 How in the world it grows to such perfection with 
 the little cultivation it receives, is a wonder to me. 
 They scratch over the ground with their antediluvian 
 forked-stick plough, make holes with a pointed stick 
 in which to drop the corn for each hill, and then go 
 home and say prayers for a good crop, leaving the 
 rest to the Lord. I should think the Lord would 
 require a little working of the soil, but He does not 
 seem to. Five hundred fold is not an unusual return 
 for corn. 
 
 All clearing of fields is done with the machete, and 
 it is remarkable the amount of brush and jungle a 
 native can go through in a comparatively short time, 
 and what large trees he can cut away with the big 
 knife. 
 
 A young Indian, stripped to the waist, was working 
 with the machete, clearing away weeds and preparing 
 a field for ploughing, when we rode into it. I reined 
 in my horse very quietly a little way from him, drew 
 my camera, and was just getting the focus when he 
 glimpsed me from the corner of his eye. He thought 
 his time had come, and with a yell he sprang into the 
 air and ran like a deer into the weeds. 
 
 Natives are always willing and anxious to clear 
 virgin land for the privilege of using it themselves for 
 one, or, where covered with a very heavy jungle, two 
 
THE INDIAN AND THE LAND 
 
 75 
 
 crops. Corn is what they usually plant, and two 
 crops of corn can be raised in one year. So the clear- 
 ing of land costs practically nothing. When it is 
 cleared and under cultivation, native labor can be 
 had for an average of fifty centavos a day. Of course 
 with the increased demand for labor which is sure to 
 come with the railroad and the civilization of the 
 country, the cost of labor will advance. 
 
 The Hacienda San Nicolas contains many thousands 
 of acres of rich bottom land, but only a small part of 
 this is under cultivation. Some corn, beans, cotton, 
 bananas, and pineapples make the sum total of the 
 crops. There are, I believe, about a thousand acres 
 of pineapples, practically in the wild state, but with 
 no railroad there is at present no means of getting 
 the fruit to market. Corn can always be marketed. 
 Para grass grows rank and heavy, and it is ideal feed 
 for cattle. 
 
 Cattle bring, on the premises, thirty to forty dollars 
 a head. They run over the hill districts and moun- 
 tains, where herders are employed to watch them, 
 and therefore there is practically no expense attached 
 to cattle-raising. The purchaser buys them on the 
 hoof where they range, for spot cash, and drives them 
 away himself. No attempt has been made to improve 
 the stock. One sees none but the longhorn here. 
 There are only enough cows kept around the settle- 
 ments to furnish milk for immediate consumption 
 and with which to make native cheese for use of the 
 household. Butter is unknown in Western Mexico. 
 
 The vanilla bean is grown on a very small scale, 
 though it can be profitably raised and requires little 
 attention, 
 
76 BEYOND THE MEXICAN SIERRAS 
 
 This is a summary of the crops raised on the 
 Hacienda San Nicolas, — practically the same as on 
 the Hacienda Navarrete, with the exception of tobacco, 
 — and it is typical of the haciendas of a wide section 
 of Western Mexico. Thousands and thousands of 
 rich acres lie idle and overrun by the jungle. 
 
 Charles Bigelow, the member of Emerson’s party 
 whom I have mentioned as a scientific farmer, is to 
 introduce on this ranch modern, up-to-date American 
 methods. He is getting ready for the railroad which 
 will cross the property, and in a little while a good part 
 of the jungle will be put under cultivation by his 
 efforts. 
 
 We crossed several good streams, and I was im- 
 pressed with the naturally well watered condition of 
 the fields, rendering artificial irrigation ditches, on 
 the whole, unnecessary. In fact, there is not an 
 irrigation ditch on the hacienda. 
 
 The larger part of Tepic Territory is well watered, 
 and there is an immense amount of available power 
 on the numerous streams, when need for its use arises. 
 Some day it will doubtless be utilized to turn the 
 wheels of cotton and other mills to work up the product 
 of the soil. 
 
 Presently we began to climb the hills. At a lone 
 cabin we halted and had a drink of water flavored 
 with wild lime juice, and a native who lived there 
 mounted an old mule and rode with us over the now 
 rocky and steep trail to the hacienda lime kilns. 
 
 These kilns have been operated by the Indians 
 for centuries to manufacture the lime used for tor- 
 tillas. There has been no change in method in half 
 a thousand years. The lime used for household and 
 
THE INDIAN AND THE LAND 
 
 77 
 
 building purposes at Santiago Ixcuintla, and in all the 
 surrounding country, is produced in these primitive 
 quarries and kilns. The stone is of good quality, and 
 there is an unlimited quantity of it. 
 
 From the lime rock hill we looked down upon the 
 fertile valley below, lovely and beautiful in its wild, 
 uncultivated state — untamed, primitive, natural. I 
 was almost sorry to think of the change that is certain 
 to come upon it within the next decade, when the 
 railroad is built and the farmer of the new era arrives 
 to rob it of its rugged, primitive grandeur. It was 
 now past midday. The natives had gone to their 
 siesta an hour before, and an indolent, sleepy haze 
 that told of intense tropical heat softened the rich 
 green coloring of the valley below. 
 
 The Indian village of Acatan is on the hacienda, 
 and three other groups of Indians, differing in language, 
 dress, and customs, though living in close proximity 
 to one another, occupy its farther confines beyond 
 Acatan. There is also the small settlement at the 
 western entrance on the Caimonaro River, which has 
 been mentioned, at which point, I may say, the rail- 
 road is to cross; and the other settlement adjacent to 
 the ranch house. The people of these settlements 
 are the laborers and servants of the hacienda and are 
 dependent upon it for their living. The majority of 
 them are of pure Indian blood. 
 
 Attached to the ranch house is the hacienda store. 
 This is open each evening, when the natives come to 
 purchase their supplies for the following day. Coffee, 
 sugar, lard and other necessaries are bought in small 
 quantities of three or four centavos’ worth. As each 
 purchase is weighed out it is placed upon the ample 
 
78 BEYOND THE MEXICAN SIERRAS 
 
 brim of the customer’s sombrero, and when his trading 
 is completed he walks away with the sombrero and 
 groceries upon his head. Every hacienda has a store 
 of this kind, where credit is extended to its people, 
 who in turn pay their indebtedness in labor. 
 
 All of these natives live in the depths of poverty 
 and ignorance. Their existence is from day to day. 
 To this they are born into the world, and with them 
 each day is sufficient unto itself. A barely covered 
 nakedness, a bit of corn cake, beans and coffee, a bed 
 on the bare earth, or, if fortune favors them, a canvas 
 cot, is all they ever have or expect, and above and 
 beyond these things their ambition never moves. 
 Crushed by many generations of Spanish oppression, 
 they have forgotten that the sky is blue and that the 
 sun shines for them as it does for you and me. Little 
 of the world’s sunshine ever enters their poor hearts. 
 They are, perhaps, as contented as any humans can 
 be, but it is an unwholesome content. Ambition 
 breeds a species of discontent that is wholesome — a 
 kind of discontent that begets progress and elevated 
 ideals. The peons of Mexico are not moved by any 
 such feelings. It was hard for me to realize as I 
 moved amongst them that they were the descendants 
 of men who had fought and sacrificed to preserve 
 their freedom, before the Spaniard finally reduced 
 them to slavery. 
 
 The conditions here cited exemplify the conditions 
 existing generally in the sections of Western Mexico 
 that I visited. It is within the power of the Gov- 
 ernment to raise the peon population out of this 
 deplorable state. The key to it is the unsettled public 
 land. If Mexico, instead of granting large tracts to 
 
THE INDIAN AND THE LAND 
 
 79 
 
 single individuals or corporations, who let it lie un- 
 tilled, would but offer it in quarter-section farms, 
 after the manner of the United States, and permit her 
 poor people to pay for homesteads at some designated 
 future time, after they had been given an oppor- 
 tunity to glean from the soil its purchase price, there 
 would be a decided change for the better. Ambition 
 and industry would be engendered, and it would bring 
 to Mexico a vastly increased wealth and power. Per- 
 haps this is to be the policy of the Government when 
 the population is lifted in some degree out of its dense 
 ignorance. In towns of importance public schools 
 have been established and the number of them is 
 constantly being increased. During the administra- 
 tion of President Diaz, Mexico has made wonderful 
 advancement. But he is an old man, and it is a ques- 
 tion whether or not his successors, trained to continue 
 his policies, will be strong enough to keep in subjec- 
 tion unprincipled political aspirants who stand ready 
 always to foment revolution. The recent raids in 
 the north were undoubtedly the work of impatient 
 politicians feeling the pulse of the people. 
 
 As we returned I stopped by the way to fill my 
 saddle bags with wild limes, which were very plentiful; 
 and I tried my teeth in a rather good looking wild 
 orange, but found it bitter in flavor and unpalatable. 
 The limes, however, were as fine flavored as any 
 cultivated fruit. 
 
 When we reached the house, drenched in perspira- 
 tion, but ready for dinner, we found Kaiser enter- 
 taining an old Indian, Senor Hi jar by name, evidently 
 a man of some distinction amongst his people. His 
 two sons, both men over thirty years of age, were with 
 
80 BEYOND THE MEXICAN SIERRAS 
 
 him, and we were given a most ceremonious introduc- 
 tion to the visitors. The sons had found some clay 
 idols, stone battle axes, arrow heads, and other really 
 valuable relics of ancient origin, when working in a 
 near-by field some time before, and as Kaiser was 
 collecting these things, had presented them to him. 
 He was good enough to share them with me, and to 
 give me a bow and bunch of arrows, such as the Acatan 
 Indians use in hunting the white-tailed deer and 
 smaller game. 
 
 Here a curious bit of Mexican-Indian etiquette was 
 brought to our notice. Cigars were passed, and 
 though all three visitors accepted them, only the 
 father lighted his. We offered the sons matches, but 
 they politely declined. Then we learned that it was 
 not good form for sons to smoke in their father’s 
 presence, no matter how old the sons might be, nor 
 how much they smoked at other times. The old Don 
 was requested to relinquish the rule of etiquette upon 
 this occasion, for the sake of good fellowship, but he 
 steadfastly, though politely, refused. 
 
 When the party were leaving us the old gentleman 
 gave each of us the Mexican embrace — fell upon our 
 necks, put his arms around us, and patted us on the 
 back at the same time with his right hand. Then we 
 all said “adios,” and they mounted and rode away. 
 The embrace is quite the usual thing at meeting and 
 parting of friends, amongst men. Women embrace 
 and kiss one another upon the cheeks. It is entirely 
 possible for the women to do this, for they wear no 
 hats — only a mantilla, tapalo, or reboso, according to 
 their walk in life. 
 
 Our day’s ride brought to our notice some disagree- 
 
THE INDIAN AND THE LAND 
 
 81 
 
 able parasites — garapotas (wood ticks) and guines, 
 the latter a microscopical insect of the bush, that 
 burrows under the skin and is exceedingly annoying. 
 I picked a dozen garapotas out of my skin. They all 
 had their heads buried, and it is necessary to pull 
 them loose with great care, for if a head is broken off 
 under the skin an irritating lump forms that will give 
 trouble’ afterward. It is impossible to ride through 
 thick brush anywhere without getting them upon you. 
 They are also very annoying to the horses. I used to 
 pick them off my horse by the dozen, some of them 
 swelled almost to the size of a large bean. 
 
 In spite of the burning heat of day, the evenings 
 were delightfully cool. After dinner we gathered 
 upon the patio veranda to lounge in easy chairs and 
 smoke while we enjoyed the perfect quiet and peace 
 that hovered over our secluded corner of the world. 
 
CHAPTER IX 
 
 ON THE OLD STAGE ROAD 
 
 W E were in the saddle at daybreak and on the 
 Tepic trail — Emerson, Randall, Bigelow, 
 Gates, and myself, with Miguel as mozo, 
 and one pack mule to carry our necessary baggage, 
 which included a good supply of insect powder, for 
 we would be compelled to spend a night at the famous 
 — or perhaps I may truthfully say infamous — Navar- 
 rete hotel en route. We followed our old trail out to 
 Santiago Ixcuintla, and here halted long enough to 
 quench our thirst in lemonade. We expected also, in 
 our innocence, to purchase a fresh supply of cut plug 
 smoking tobacco, for our stock of pipe tobacco was 
 at ebb. 
 
 The lemonade, really made with wild limes, was excel- 
 lent, but to our chagrin we were unable to unearth a 
 single package or plug of smoking tobacco in the place. 
 We raided the town. At first we confidently demanded 
 a certain brand, then we were willing to take any 
 kind or variety; but there was not one ounce of the 
 weed to be had in any shape, except in cigars and 
 cigarettes. We purchased a stock of both, as a last 
 resort. These poor benighted people have not yet 
 learned to smoke a pipe. Ah, well, that will come to 
 them, like other good things, with the railroad. They 
 smoke a few cigars in Mexico, but even cigars are 
 pretty heavy for most of them. The cigarette is the 
 
ON THE OLD STAGE ROAD 
 
 83 
 
 universal favorite. Every one, men and women alike, 
 smoke cigarettes, and it is etiquette to offer ladies 
 cigarettes, when smoking in their company. You are 
 free to smoke at any time, and any place, in Mexico, 
 with but two exceptions — in church and in the 
 Pullman cars. Though every one smokes, no one, 
 however, smokes to excess. I was impressed at the 
 moderation with which tobacco is used in Mexico. 
 
 The best of the cigars made in Western Mexico are 
 only passably good. The lack of quality is due largely, 
 or perhaps wholly, to the method of curing the tobacco, 
 which is very carelessly and crudely done. When even 
 moderate care is used in curing the results are fair, 
 for the soil and climate are capable of producing an 
 excellent quality of tobacco. In Eastern Mexico, par- 
 ticularly the Vera Cruz district, planters and manu- 
 facturers have learned the art, and the result is as 
 fine cigars as the best Havana product. A twelve- 
 cent Vera Cruz is equal to any twenty-five cent Havana. 
 
 Whatever may be said of the cigars, Mexican ciga- 
 rettes are the best in the world, and some of those 
 made in Western Mexico are especially good. Only 
 pure tobacco is used in their manufacture and they 
 are wrapped in paper that has not been bleached 
 with arsenic. They have not the vile odor, and 
 almost as vile flavor, of the drug-doped American, 
 English, or Egyptian brands, and are not a hun- 
 dredth part so harmful. I smoked a few of them, but 
 usually extracted the tobacco and used it in my pipe. 
 
 In this connection I am reminded to say a word 
 about the matches, for one cannot smoke without 
 matches. They are the very worst in the world. They 
 are wax taper matches, with heads on both ends; 
 
84 BEYOND THE MEXICAN SIERRAS 
 
 and the wax taper is usually so hard that it is diffi- 
 cult to make it ignite. Some of them are very minute 
 in size, and in no way do they compare with our ordi- 
 nary wooden parlor matches. 
 
 We reached Navarrete late in the afternoon and 
 halted for the night. Thence to Tepic we were to 
 follow the old San Bias military road, and the follow- 
 ing morning found us on our way bright and early. 
 This road is a part of the longest stage line in the 
 world, running in relays from San Marcos, the nearest 
 railroad point, to Guadalajara, Tepic, Santiago Ixcu- 
 intla, Culiacan, and thence on to Guaymas. During 
 the rainy season the stages discontinue their run over 
 long sections of it, for there are many rivers and streams 
 to be forded, which at the time of the year when they 
 are swollen to their banks are quite impassable. Dur- 
 ing the very hot period the stages only run at night, 
 but through the more moderate season, night and 
 day relays push on regularly from point to point. 
 
 The stage between Santiago Ixcuintla and Tepic 
 City had just resumed its runs, and we were fortu- 
 nate enough to meet it. It is a crude old affair drawn 
 by six mules, four abreast in the lead, and two on the 
 wheel. The theory is that any road wide enough to 
 permit the four leading mules to squeeze through will 
 be wide enough for the stage, and usually this is true, 
 though not always. A driver and an armed guard 
 sit upon the box, mail bags and baggage fill the centre 
 of the archaic vehicle, and passengers, as many as can 
 crowd in, stow themselves away as best they may. 
 
 They should paint a sign over the door: “He who 
 enters here takes his life in his hands.” It is a place 
 of real, refined, diabolical torture. The driver has 
 
The l 1 epic stage on the longest stage line in the world 
 
A pack train 
 
ON THE OLD STAGE ROAD 
 
 85 
 
 but one object in life — to go fast down-hill, and over 
 rough places at the highest attainable speed. He 
 primes himself with mescal, and away he goes, dash- 
 ing at a gallop down rocky hills, swinging around 
 curves, or skirting precipices where the wheels scarce 
 have earth to turn upon, until you and your fellow 
 passengers, helpless prisoners within, have the breath 
 jarred out of you, and are in constant panic, in expec- 
 tation of being turned over and hurled into some 
 mountain gorge, or dashed to pieces upon the rocks. 
 They do turn over sometimes, but it only now and 
 then happens that any one is killed, or even seriously 
 injured. To say the least, though, it annoys one 
 dreadfully to have a leg or arm broken, and I never 
 knew a passenger with a broken nose to look pleasant. 
 Mere scratches and bruises do not count. 
 
 I met an American mining engineer who told me 
 he once attempted the journey from San Marcos to 
 Tepic in the stage. He was uninitiated and unso- 
 phisticated then, and did not know any better. “I 
 thought I would be real comfortable,” said he, “so I 
 bought two sittings. We left San Marcos at night, 
 and when I crowded inside of the stage I found it 
 apparently full of mail bags and passengers. I pro- 
 tested that I owned two sittings, and wanted to know 
 where they were, but the driver only informed me there 
 was plenty of room, and I ’d have to do the best I 
 could. So I accepted the situation, thinking it would 
 be good fun anyway, and a new experience, and 
 crowded into half a sitting between two very dirty 
 Mexicans, with the mail bags piled against our knees 
 between the seats. When we started I thought every 
 joint in my body would be jolted out of its socket. 
 
86 BEYOND THE MEXICAN SIERRAS 
 
 But there was no help for it; I was in for what was 
 due me. 
 
 “That was the most horrible night I ever lived 
 through. The stage turned over three times, and we all 
 had to help right it. When we stopped at a little village 
 toward morning, to change mules, I gave up. I had 
 had enough of it for ever and ever. I resigned my 
 two sittings. I told the driver I would present them 
 to the company — that I had had my money’s worth. 
 One eye was swelled shut from a whack I ’d had, the 
 skin was half scraped off one cheek, I had a sprained 
 wrist, and was so lame from the jolting I could hardly 
 walk. I finished my trip on mule back. No more 
 stages for me! The remembrance of that night is like 
 a nightmare.” 
 
 The road from Navarrete to Tepic was excellent 
 for horseback riding, but it was hard to see how a 
 stage could pass over some sections of it. The stage 
 company, I was informed, receives an amount of 
 money from the Government, each year, sufficient to 
 keep this road in passable condition, but very little 
 work is ever done upon it, and that little only when 
 absolutely necessary. 
 
 Tepic City is three thousand feet above the sea, and 
 Navarrete less than a thousand, so our day’s ride was 
 pretty constantly up-hill. Pack train after pack train 
 was passed, some of them with fifty or sixty animals, 
 mostly mules, but some burros, and an occasional 
 horse, loaded down with all kinds of merchandise — 
 boxes, barrels, packages, and machinery. The larger 
 trains had a mare, with a cow-bell attached to its neck, 
 in the lead. This is known as the bell mare, and it 
 carries no load. The mules are supposed to keep 
 
ON THE OLD STAGE ROAD 
 
 87 
 
 within earshot of the bell, and follow it meekly. Several 
 muleteers, some on horseback, but generally afoot, 
 were in attendance, spread down along the line of 
 animals, to urge them on; and when a mule fell or 
 lay down under an excessive burden, the muleteer’s 
 duty was to prod it up again. Very often, when an 
 animal got down, it could not rise until the load was 
 removed. The men carried leather blinds to put over 
 the mule’s eyes while they replaced the load, for some 
 mules are sportive with their heels and teeth, if they 
 can see how to use them. 
 
 Nearly every mule had great galled places on the 
 back, where the pack saddle rested. Some of them 
 showed raw flesh the full size of the saddle, or wherever 
 a strap touched them. The average Mexican muleteer 
 has no sympathy for brute or man. He generally 
 takes delight in witnessing agony, or is at least indif- 
 ferent to the torments of the sufferer. An American 
 miner told me that he was riding out of the mountains 
 one day with some associates, when they came upon 
 a party of muleteers, halted by the trail to eat. A 
 little distance from the muleteers a pack mule lay, 
 with a broken leg. The Mexicans had removed the 
 pack, but had not killed the mule, as civilized men 
 would have done, out of mercy. Vultures were already 
 attacking it, and pecking the eyes out of the helpless, 
 living animal, while the Mexicans derived much evident 
 enjoyment from the horrid spectacle. One of the 
 Americans rode forward, drew his Colt, and ended the 
 sufferings of the mule. The chief amongst the Mexicans 
 protested, said the mule was his property, and that 
 he could do with it as he chose, that the American had 
 no right to shoot it, and that he would have revenge. 
 
88 BEYOND THE MEXICAN SIERRAS 
 
 The American told the Mexican, in good strong Span- 
 ish, with all the embellishment at his command, what 
 he thought of such cruelty and inhumanity, and the 
 miners rode on. A short time afterwards the Ameri- 
 can was summoned to court, and was forced to pay 
 for that mule the current value of a first-class animal, 
 with damages! Upon what basis the damages were 
 assessed is hard to imagine, but perhaps the magis- 
 trate had a personal interest in them. 
 
 Some writers on Mexico tell us that every peon has 
 an insatiate love for flowers, and no matter how poor 
 and insignificant his hut, it will be surrounded by a 
 beautiful garden. So far as my observations go, and I 
 had a pretty good opportunity to observe, this state- 
 ment has no foundation in fact, but is a bit of maudlin 
 sentiment. Prescott tells us that this was the case 
 amongst the Aztecs, and I suppose that those who 
 repeat it now have read Prescott, and feel bound to 
 substantiate the statement as a present-day condition. 
 It was one of the things that Randall and I were 
 particularly interested in, and we looked in vain for 
 a single effort at ornamentation amongst the peon 
 settlements. It is strange that they do not have 
 gardens where flowers grow so luxuriantly and freely, 
 and without cultivation. Almost invariably, however, 
 the ground around the huts is not only without flowers 
 and ornamentation, but is bare of any vegetation. Pigs 
 rooting around the huts do not permit even grass 
 to grow, and at every hut along our route pigs of all 
 shapes, sizes, and complexions, belonging to the razor- 
 backed varieties, were in evidence, some running free, 
 some tied by a string around the neck to the door- 
 post. 
 
The baby mule 
 
A type suggestive of the Semitic 
 
ON THE OLD STAGE ROAD 
 
 89 
 
 Half-starved dogs were numerous, and burros and 
 mules, old and young, wandered at their own sweet 
 will in or out of the open doors. One particularly sad- 
 looking, forlorn baby mule attracted my horse’s atten- 
 tion. We were sauntering slowly up a hill when the 
 pony descried the beast, pricked up his ears, and 
 looked at it intently. I gave him his rein, and he 
 stopped to smell the little mule over, which, with dis- 
 dainful indifference, ignored us. When the pony had 
 finished his inspection, and had classified the thing, 
 he moved on, apparently satisfied as to its identity. 
 
 We were getting well up into the hills, and at one 
 point a magnificent view was afforded us. The brick- 
 red earth where we were, lost itself in an expanse of 
 green, which was gradually modified by a transparent 
 haze rising from the lower valleys into soft blue in the 
 far distance to the northward. Here at our feet lay 
 valleys, gentle rolling hills, rivers like silver threads 
 winding their way to the sea, as far as our vision could 
 range — a rich, virgin land — larger and richer in 
 natural resources than many a kingdom of old Europe. 
 To the westward lay the Pacific, wrapped in an opa- 
 lescent haze, and to the eastward the bold peaks of 
 the mighty Sierra Madres stood out against the tur- 
 quoise sky, magnificent and grand. 
 
 At this elevation there were more rocks than in 
 the lower altitudes and the soil was not so arable. 
 The jungle had given way to a more scattered growth, 
 and here we saw no timber of commercial value. The 
 country was not so well watered, though we crossed 
 several small streams, and on one hacienda saw an 
 ancient irrigation ditch, sections of it still in use, 
 though other parts were fallen into decay. 
 
90 BEYOND THE MEXICAN SIERRAS 
 
 The people gazed at us in wonder as we rode by, 
 and we were evidently much more interesting to them 
 than they were to us, for already we were becoming 
 accustomed to the picturesque sombreros, gay-colored 
 zerapes, white cotton clothing, and sandalled feet, 
 though still we were attracted by the types that sug- 
 gested the Semitic, Malay, or Mongolian, and now 
 and again one whom we could easily fancy a Bedouin 
 of the plains. 
 
 I wonder where these people had their origin. In 
 this section I suppose they are chiefly a mixture of 
 the Aztecan and Otomian stocks. Here and there a 
 light-haired child suggests the Teutonic — a paren- 
 tal influence, I suppose, left by some bird of passage. 
 But Mexico is old, very old. There is reason to believe 
 that people lived there at the remotest period. There 
 are ruins in Mexico of cities that were old when the 
 Egyptian pyramids were young, whose origin was 
 probably forgotten when Solomon’s Temple was dedi- 
 cated, and were ancient ruins before Nebuchadnezzar 
 ascended the Babylonian throne. What Marathons 
 and Thermopylses, unsung and unrecorded, may have 
 been fought in this old-new land, and what arts and 
 sciences discovered, to pass into the realm of the For- 
 gotten, in the long-ago misty ages! However, we are 
 not interested in the Past, but in the Present, and we 
 shall let the gray old centuries take care of themselves. 
 
 We were approaching Tepic City, and were recalled 
 from our reverie by the first and only good cow that 
 we saw in the whole of Western Mexico. She appeared 
 from somewhere in the roadside bushes and trotted 
 along ahead of us for a considerable distance, wishing 
 doubtless to display her good qualities. She was of 
 
ON THE OLD STAGE ROAD 
 
 91 
 
 undoubted Dutch extraction. It was an indication 
 that somebody in this neighborhood was not satis- 
 fied with the general condition of things, for the ani- 
 mal had been imported, probably by some American 
 or German resident. 
 
 Our attention was drawn from the cow to a Don, 
 dressed in velvet and gold lace, after the most approved 
 Mexican fashion, and full of conceit and tequila. He 
 was mounted upon a magnificent horse, caparisoned 
 with silver-mounted saddle and bridle, and was too 
 drunk to see or care for mere externals like ourselves. 
 
 We entered the city at two o’clock in the afternoon, 
 rode slowly through the quaint outskirts and the 
 Calle de Mexico, the chief street, to the plaza, and into 
 the patio of the Hotel del Bolo de Oro, which was to 
 be our domicile while we looked over our first real 
 Mexican city. 
 
CHAPTER X 
 
 THE HOTEL AND THE BARBER 
 
 T HE Hotel del Bolo de Oro is on a corner, and 
 on one side faces the beautiful plaza of Tepic. 
 The building is of massive masonry, two 
 stories high, and in the centre is a patio, one hundred 
 feet square, in which palms and flowers luxuriantly grow 
 to lure one to its cool, delightful retreat. Completely 
 surrounding the patio is a wide balcony, upon which 
 all the rooms of the upper story open. The two 
 rooms assigned to our party were on this floor, on the 
 street side; and with windows extending from ceiling 
 to floor, the balmy, delicious air circulated through 
 the apartment without obstruction. The floors were 
 of well worn tile, uncarpeted; the furniture consisted 
 of washstands and chairs, which were of the plainest, 
 and conventional canvas cots, unprotected by the 
 usual cheesecloth mosquito bars, for there were said 
 to be no mosquitoes here. The hotel was electric- 
 lighted throughout. 
 
 We found the dining-room on the opposite side of 
 the patio from our rooms, and on the same floor, and 
 here we proceeded at once to enjoy what proved a 
 really excellent dinner, for a Mexican hotel. The 
 menu included sopa (rice boiled rather dry, with 
 tomatoes and chilli peppers); caldo (soup, hot with 
 pepper); came (meat — this was roasted, and flavored 
 with peppers); picadillo (minced meat, with pepper); 
 
 92 
 
THE HOTEL AND THE BARBER 93 
 
 chillaquile (tortillas, chopped and spiced) ; mole (turkey, 
 in red, dark gravy, highly flavored with peppers and 
 things) ; blanquillas * fritos (fried eggs, a sauce of chilli 
 peppers to pour over them); frijoles, of course; dulce 
 (a sweet concoction of some sort); black coffee; and 
 Mexican cheese. There was no butter, for you never 
 get that in any but American hotels, and the bread 
 was poor, but the tortillas very good. 
 
 This is the characteristic dinner served in truly 
 Mexican hotels of the better class, and if one has a 
 good stomach, and good digestive powers, one can 
 stand it for quite a while, without being driven to the 
 doctor. Everything tastes well enough — excellent, 
 I may say — after your palate has become accustomed 
 to the chilli peppers and high flavoring used; but 
 human intestines were never intended for such abuse 
 as a continuous diet of this sort subjects them to, 
 and it will ruin one’s digestion as sure as fate, if one 
 gives it half a chance. I suppose the Mexicans have 
 been hardened to it. But it is not so with the average 
 American, and if you happen to be in a Mexican town 
 where there is an American hotel, fly to it as a haven. 
 The most ordinary, middle-class American hotel is 
 better in nearly every respect than the best Mexican 
 hostelry, for in the latter you will not always find 
 clean table linen or well-kept rooms; and the Mexican 
 is, as a rule, a poor cook, and cannot even boil eggs 
 well. If you call for your eggs “medium,” the chances 
 are you will get them as hard as they can be cooked, 
 and if you want them soft, they are brought to you 
 raw. If you do go to a Mexican hotel, however, do 
 
 * In Western Mexico eggs are commonly called “ blanquillas ” It ia 
 an illustration of the Spanish used in this region. 
 
94 
 
 BEYOND THE MEXICAN SIERRAS 
 
 not find fault if things are not to your liking, but rest 
 assured your host is doing for you the very best he 
 can, according to his lights, and that you voluntarily 
 submitted yourself to his care. 
 
 A writer on Mexico, to whom reference has been 
 made in a previous chapter, says that "the restaurant 
 advertised as English or American is to be avoided.” 
 In the sections of Western Mexico through which I 
 travelled there are none but Mexican hotels. But 
 later, when in Eastern Mexico, I boldly disregarded my 
 ^friend’s advice, and after that shed tears of compas- 
 sion for those poor, unwary countrymen of mine who 
 follow it and unnecessarily suffer from too much chilli 
 came and muddy coffee. But then, there are some 
 travellers who like to gush over everything foreign, 
 just because it is considered the thing to do, or to 
 prove that they have a more highly sensitive and 
 aesthetic temperament than we poor ordinary mortals, 
 and these people find chilli peppers and muddy coffee 
 so picturesquely Mexican that they partake of them 
 with ecstatic joy. 
 
 The same author tells us that in Mexican hotels the 
 hall boy “removes soiled linen articles, and en mahana 
 has them back again, clean and snowy white, with no 
 one on earth except himself knowing where in Mexico 
 he takes them or whence he brings them.” I permitted 
 one hall boy to take my clothes, and he brought them 
 back, not mahana, but in two days — what was left 
 of them. The Chinaman has never half learned the 
 art of destroying clothes; he should get some stones to 
 pound them on, to be entirely successful. Whenever 
 my things came back from a Mexican laundry, however, 
 they were clean, according to Mexican standards. 
 
Calle de Mexico, Topic 
 
Hotel del Bolo dc Oro, Topic City 
 
THE HOTEL AND THE BARBER 95 
 
 Before leaving the subject of hotels, it may be 
 interesting to mention that it is neither customary 
 nor advisable to give tips anywhere west of the Sierra 
 Madres. I did it on two occasions, and in both cases 
 learned to my regret that the waiters became so 
 familiar with the guests, and slack in their services, 
 both to myself and others, that they were discharged 
 from their employment by the Mexican proprietor, 
 whose watchful eye discovered the lax attention pretty 
 quickly, and without complaint from the visitors. I 
 felt very uncomfortable about it, for my intended kind- 
 ness was in both instances the root of the trouble. 
 
 After dinner we sallied forth in search of a barber 
 and a bootblack, to freshen us up after our two days’ 
 unshaven, dusty ride. We found both in a shop almost 
 directly across the street, where a burly brigand wielded 
 the razor, and a small Indian boy the brush. We 
 hesitated at the open door as we took in the greasy 
 barber, the untidy room, and the archaic, dirt-begrimed 
 chair in which innocent victims were consigned to 
 torture. 
 
 "Don’t look very good. Let ’s find another place,” 
 suggested Randall. 
 
 "It ’s all right,” reassured Gates, who, through long 
 residence in Mexico, had become hardened to the con- 
 ditions. "It doesn’t look very good,” he assented, 
 stepping forward, "but this barber is an artist. Any- 
 how he has the best shop in town.” 
 
 Then we timidly followed Gates. In spite of his 
 unprepossessing appearance, the barber was a very 
 polite rascal, as most Mexicans are, and he welcomed 
 us with a bow and a “Buenas tardes, senors” and 
 inquired how he could serve us. Gates told him we 
 
96 
 
 BEYOND THE MEXICAN SIERRAS 
 
 wanted to be barbered and polished. The barber 
 cleared for action, and, by mutual consent, Emerson 
 was given the right of way, because he owned a full 
 beard that he did not want tampered with, and 
 desired only a hair-cut. I shall not describe the opera- 
 tion nor Emerson’s appearance afterward, for only 
 his aspect when he descended from the chair, and not 
 the operation, was painful or interesting. We were 
 all unusually magnanimous in insisting that the others 
 should be shaved first. None of us was selfish about 
 his turn, and each was quite satisfied to wait while 
 the rest were beautified and made comfortable by the 
 “ artist.” The argument was finally settled by giving 
 age the preference, and this made Randall the first 
 martyr. We watched expectantly when the lathering 
 was done, and the razor was brought forth, for evi- 
 dence of Randall’s emotions, for he has a stiff, hard 
 beard. As the instrument descended over one cheek, 
 the victim clutched the chair, like one having a tooth 
 extracted, his face became distorted with pain, and 
 there came one long-drawn “H-e-11!” — and we knew 
 how Randall felt. 
 
 There are times when a man’s courage fails him, and 
 so it was with me then. I could not bring myself 
 to face the ordeal of that barber’s manipulations, and 
 I fled. I called to the others to wait for me, that I 
 would be back soon, and I escaped to the quiet retreat 
 of the hotel across the way. In my travelling bag I 
 had a shaving outfit. I found it, enjoyed a comfort- 
 able shave, and was back in the barber’s shop in time 
 to see the brigand put the finishing touches upon 
 Bigelow’s bleeding countenance, the last of the trio, 
 and to be called names by the others for my cowardice, 
 
THE HOTEL AND THE BARBER 97 
 
 which I indifferently atoned for by treating every- 
 body to a shine. 
 
 Now that we were freshened and brushed, it was 
 decided before acquiring any of the dust of the town 
 to call upon a friend of Emerson, Dr. B. Wallace, a 
 California dentist who has been extracting Mexican 
 molars for ten years. We found Dr. Wallace in his 
 beautiful home on the Calle de Mexico, and spent a 
 delightful two hours with him and his charming wife. 
 The former called me “Tocayo,” which means “name- 
 sake,” and both of them made us feel like old friends 
 at once. Two months later, when in Culiacan, I was 
 shocked by the news of Mrs. Wallace’s death. 
 
 Outwardly the house was the characteristic, plain, 
 barred-window, prison-like structure of Spanish archi- 
 tecture, but within it was an artistic and charming 
 home, with wide, cool rooms, opening upon the bright 
 flowers and palms of the patio, where birds filled the 
 air with sweet music. Dusk came before we brought 
 ourselves to leave our friends, and to return to the 
 hotel for supper, before setting out to get a glimpse 
 of the almost deserted plaza and streets. 
 
 It was delightfully cool here, in marked contrast to 
 the hotter climate of the lower levels of Santiago Ixcu- 
 intla and Navarrete, and the natives were muffled to 
 their eyes in bright- colored zerapes — the few of them 
 that remained out of doors; for there was no music 
 on the plaza that night, and on those nights when the 
 band does not play Mexican towns go to sleep at a 
 very early hour. 
 
CHAPTER XI 
 
 THE CAPITAL CITY OF TEPIC 
 
 A CLANG! clang! clang! like a trackman strik- 
 ing a steel rail with a heavy sledge, but 
 much louder, followed by a burst of atro- 
 cious, discordant, clamoring sounds such as one hears 
 in a boiler shop in full operation, awakened me at 
 dawn, with a start, and brought me up sitting. The 
 cathedral bells were calling devotees to early mass. 
 They were not ringing, — it would be a slander upon 
 real bells to say that, — but the tuneless, cracked 
 things were filling the world with a horrid din of 
 smashing and banging, which turned one’s thoughts 
 to infernal regions rather than those of ethereal glory, 
 though I suppose they were intended to signify the 
 latter. 
 
 There was a movement in the direction of Randall’s 
 cot, and I heard him swearing softly to himself, and 
 impious ejaculations issued from the other room in a 
 voice that reminded me of Gates. For five minutes 
 the harsh, metallic hammering continued, and then 
 suddenly ceased and I settled again for another nap. 
 But I had scarcely begun to doze when clang! clang! 
 came again to introduce a repetition of the diabolical 
 noise, and then reluctantly, sadly, I gave up all hope 
 of further sleep and arose. We had heard the racket, 
 occurring at intervals, the previous afternoon and 
 evening, but it had stopped before bedtime, and had 
 
 98 
 
THE CAPITAL CITY OF TEPIC 
 
 99 
 
 not annoyed us much. Now it was different, and 
 with anything but good-humor I threw open the 
 window blinds to let in the sprightly, refreshing morn- 
 ing air to cool my irritation. 
 
 On the street below women, with sombre-colored 
 rebosos closely wound around their heads, were going 
 to mass; big-hatted peons, wrapped to their eyes in 
 bright-colored zerapes, to protect them from the cool 
 morning atmosphere, followed in the train of heavily 
 laden mules and burros, or leisurely took their way to 
 daily occupations; and a man with a wooden tray of 
 buns upon his head called out his wares, — “Fruit 
 of the oven! Fruit of the oven!” A gayly dressed 
 hidalgo trotted past upon a magnificent horse capari- 
 soned as showily as his rider; mozos were sweeping the 
 streets opposite their masters’ houses; and shop win- 
 dows were being thrown open. Tepic was awake. 
 Nobody could sleep after the boiler shop in the cathe- 
 dral belfry began working, and Tepic, long-suffering 
 Tepic, knew it. 
 
 There is an interesting story about these cathedral 
 bells that is worth repeating. As the legend goes, 
 the priests at Tepic announced one day that the spirits 
 of the bells were going to Rome to be blessed by the 
 Pope, and that the bells could not ring again until 
 their spirits came back. It would take about seven 
 days for them to make the trip, and it was neces- 
 sary to raise a large amount of money to defray the 
 expenses of the spirits while they were away. There- 
 fore, the peons were called upon to contribute every 
 centavo they could spare, for if the spirits of the bells 
 did not have money enough to get blessed, and return 
 home, all Tepic would be everlastingly damned. Of 
 
100 BEYOND THE MEXICAN SIERRAS 
 
 course, the bells ceased their racket for a week, during 
 which period the peons were in feverish, anxious sus- 
 pense, and spent their time saying prayers for the 
 success and safe return of the bells’ spirits. What 
 would happen in case the spirits of the bells failed to 
 return was awful to contemplate! Finally one morn- 
 ing the old racket in the cathedral belfry resumed, 
 and the tension was broken. The spirits were back! 
 Tepic was saved! The town had escaped perdition, 
 and everybody was pleased. That happened several 
 years ago, and the only complaint we had to make 
 against the arrangement was that the spirits did not 
 stay in Rome until after our visit. 
 
 We ate our breakfast leisurely and then strolled 
 out to the plaza, the centre of attraction in every 
 Mexican city. The beautiful cathedral, with its two 
 graceful spires, occupies a portion of the southern side 
 of the square, and our hotel, with pillared and bal- 
 conied front, the western. The square was otherwise 
 surrounded by booths, where hat makers, leather 
 workers, fruit and vegetable venders, and dealers in 
 every conceivable article necessary to the life or 
 comfort of the people, plied their trades. Fringing 
 the plaza walk were stretched canvas awnings, to 
 shelter the men and women who sold their wares 
 there, and who stood around chatting, or squatted 
 upon the ground, surrounded by little piles of red 
 chilli peppers, oranges, cherimoyes and other tropical 
 fruits and vegetables. Here and there an old woman 
 might be seen heating frijoles and tortillas over a 
 charcoal fire for the solace of the hungry peon, who 
 purchased the delicacies at one, two, or three cen- 
 tavos’ worth, according to the state of his appetite or 
 
, Tepic City 
 
A street in Tepic 
 
THE CAPITAL CITY OF TEPIC 101 
 
 pocketbook. Moving hither and thither were red, 
 blue, and yellow zerapes and picturesque sombreros, 
 giving life and color to a scene that could not fail to 
 fascinate and hold the observer. 
 
 In the centre of the plaza grew luxuriant palms, 
 orange, lemon, and coffee trees, and a profusion of 
 tropical flowers. The much vaunted “ bubbling foun- 
 tain” which travellers invariably describe as placed 
 in the centre of every Mexican plaza, and which 
 usually exists only in the writer’s imagination, save 
 in a few of the eastern cities, was not there, but the 
 plaza was beautiful and artistic, nevertheless — an 
 emerald set in a circle of color. 
 
 The day was magnificent, the pure mountain air, 
 charged with the perfume of flowers, was both invig- 
 orating and inspiring. Tepic, at an elevation of three 
 thousand feet, and sitting as it does in the hollow of 
 the mountains, has an ideal climate the year through, 
 and is free from the fevers so prevalent in the hotter 
 sections of the lower altitudes along the seacoast, 
 and here the sufferer from calentura finds a retreat 
 where he can convalesce and rest. 
 
 We halted at the shops, and bought some odds and 
 ends, always paying three times the established price 
 for them, because we were Americans, and therefore, 
 according to the logic of the people, bloated pluto- 
 crats, each owning two or three railroads or their 
 equivalent. For even here, in Tepic, stories have 
 come from the tourist cities of the east, of the extrava- 
 gance of Americans; and the merchants have picked 
 up some crumbs of largess from the miner and the 
 engineer. But the prices asked were reasonable 
 enough, after a little dickering had driven them down 
 
102 BEYOND THE MEXICAN SIERRAS 
 
 a bit, and we did not care. We had already learned 
 that the vender would be dissatisfied with himself if 
 he were paid, without question, the first price asked, 
 and that if a second member of our party returned 
 to duplicate an article five minutes after one of us 
 had made a purchase, and had been so foolish as not 
 to dicker, and cut the vender down in his demands, 
 the price of the article in that brief period would 
 have doubled, at least. The unsophisticated, “ gentle- 
 eyed” Mexican would have been metaphorically kick- 
 ing himself because he had not asked more, for he 
 believes the limit is never reached until the customer 
 objects. 
 
 Once I asked the price of an article. 
 
 “ Fifteen pesos, senor,” answered the vender. 
 
 I walked away and he followed. 
 
 “How much will the senor give?” 
 
 “One peso.” 
 
 Many exclamations of horror, at the very idea of 
 selling the article at such a ridiculously low price. 
 
 “Seven pesos, senor, — six pesos? Two pesos? One 
 peso, senor! Here, senor, it is yours for one peso.” 
 
 I might have had it at a still lower price, but this 
 was my offer, and I took it. It was a relic that had 
 probably cost the vender a few centavos. 
 
 At the leather booths they were making everything 
 from sandals to cartridge belts and saddles, and if you 
 did not see what you wanted they would make it 
 for you manana; and at the hat booths they would 
 take your measure for a hat of any style or shape you 
 desired. Some of the Panamas were of exquisite 
 texture and excellent workmanship, and at prices 
 ridiculously low, according to our standards. 
 
THE CAPITAL CITY OF TEPIC 103 
 
 Some beautifully wrought zerapes drew me into a 
 shop, and one which strongly resembled Navajo blanket 
 work took my fancy. “That,” said the dealer, “was 
 made by the Indians of the mountains. They spun 
 the fabric, and colored it with dyes made by them- 
 selves from vegetables, and wove it on their hand 
 looms. I have but two of that sort in my whole shop, 
 for they are scarce and hard to buy. The others are 
 made by machinery, in the mills, dyed with commer- 
 cial colors, and will fade.” 
 
 I could not leave the little zerape, with its artisti- 
 cally blended colors, though it was much smaller than 
 I should have wished, and proudly I bore it away. 
 
 In front of the cathedral, beggars of all sorts and 
 descriptions, one or two of them with no legs, pleaded 
 for alms. It was Saturday, and All Souls’ Day, and 
 beggars, generally restrained at other times, are 
 licensed to ply their calling — for it is a profession 
 here — on Saturdays and Sundays and feast days. 
 
 We looked in at the door, and stood for a moment 
 uncovered within the darkened portals of the cathe- 
 dral itself. Mass was over, and it was quite deserted 
 and empty, save for two or three women penitents 
 kneeling before the altar, an old peon, kneeling, who 
 twice or thrice devoutly touched his lips to the floor; 
 and just within the door an old woman at a table, 
 displaying rosaries and charms for sale. The altar 
 was a mass of brazen filigree, and the walls were 
 adorned with horribly executed paintings of scrip- 
 tural saints and scenes. 
 
 This reminds me that on the outskirts of Tepic 
 there is a chapel especially blessed by God, who once 
 performed there a wonderful miracle. Of the truth 
 
104 BEYOND THE MEXICAN SIERRAS 
 
 of this there can be no doubt in the mind of any one 
 that believes in such things, for the proof of it lies 
 in plain, open sight of the world. 
 
 Once upon a time a padre, travelling through the 
 country, reached this chapel late at night, and as the 
 church was closed and the night was warm and balmy, 
 he laid him down upon the naked earth outside to 
 sleep. Now, as this padre was a very holy man he 
 stretched his arms at right angles from his body, as 
 he lay on his back and slept, thus cutting, with his 
 body and arms, the form of the sacred Cross. Mark 
 you, it was a sandy bit of earth upon which the padre 
 lay, and never had a blade of grass grown upon it. 
 
 In the morning the most holy padre arose and went 
 his way, but, behold! ere another day had dawned 
 green grass sprang up where he had slept, and behold, 
 too, his body and arms were outlined in the form of 
 the Cross. Neither planted by the hand of man, 
 nor watered nor trimmed by any but God’s angels 
 from heaven, that cross of grass grows to-day as 
 green, as well cropped, and as fresh as the day it so 
 miraculously sprang up. There it is, and the fact 
 that it is there is proof enough for any man in his right 
 mind of the truth of the story of its origin. 
 
 We walked through several of the principal streets, 
 lined with houses that outwardly were grim, austere, 
 and prison-like, but through open doors or windows 
 glimpsed artistic furnishings within, and many charm- 
 ing gardens and inviting patios. 
 
 The stores frequently bore individual names or 
 legends. One, a pawn-shop, for instance, was called 
 “La Voz del Pueblo” (The Voice of the People) and 
 offered to make loans at the modest rate of twelve 
 
THE CAPITAL CITY OF TEPIC 105 
 
 per cent per month. The pawn-shops are the constant 
 resort of the peons, and every town has several of 
 them. They are under the eye of the Government, 
 and when unredeemed pledges are sold, should they 
 bring more than the amount loaned upon them, with 
 the agreed interest, the balance obtained from the 
 sale is returned to the pledger. 
 
 There were a good many soldiers lounging about, 
 and not very attractive looking ones either. Randall 
 and I agreed that we would not care to meet them after 
 dark in a lonely place. They were slouchy in appear- 
 ance, in ill-fitting blue uniforms, and sandalled feet. 
 The officers, however, were trim in neat uniforms. 
 
 Here the policemen were not so slouchy or dirty as 
 in the other places we had visited, and they wore 
 blue cloth uniforms. Randall and I were walking 
 alone in the Alameda when I saw one separated and 
 alone and unprotected, and a sudden desire came upon 
 me to waylay and sample him with my camera. 
 
 “Randall,” said I, “suppose you spring some of 
 your Castilian on the cop, and while he is trying to 
 decide whether you are speaking Arabic or German 
 or Choctaw, I’ll train my camera on him and get a 
 picture.” 
 
 Randall ignored my slur on his Spanish, and good- 
 naturedly approaching the officer lifted his hat, and 
 said (he translated the conversation for me afterward) : 
 
 “My friend has a passion, senor officer, for taking 
 photographs, and when I had the pleasure of calling 
 his attention just now to your soldierly appearance 
 and your watchful eye, and told him you were the 
 finest looking officer we had seen in all Mexico, he 
 immediately wanted to photograph you; but I could 
 
106 BEYOND THE MEXICAN SIERRAS 
 
 not permit him to annoy you so far, senor officer, 
 without first asking your permission. He is not 
 altogether responsible, senor, and I have to watch 
 him.” 
 
 “It will be a pleasure to stand for a photograph for 
 your friend, senor,” replied the officer, politely lifting 
 his hat. “Are you, then, the guardian of your friend? 
 He is not crazy, I hope, senor?” 
 
 “Not very,” assured Randall, “and he’s always 
 perfectly harmless under my restraining influence. I 
 thank you, senor.” 
 
 While Randall placed him in the sunlight and I 
 bowed and scraped my acknowledgments to the 
 officer for his courtesy, the humbug Randall was 
 telling him that I was always trying to escape — that 
 I might get away some time, — and asking him to 
 take charge of me, and escort me to the hotel, if he 
 should see me wandering about alone. I was wholly 
 unconscious of the fact that the officer looked upon 
 me indulgently as a harmless idiot, whose whim he 
 was gratifying. 
 
 “They speak a lot better Spanish here than any- 
 where else we’ve been,” remarked Randall as we 
 walked away. “Now that policeman can talk Span- 
 ish almost as well as I can, and he understood all I 
 said.” 
 
 “Perhaps you’re learning the dialect yourself,” I 
 suggested. “What did you tell him?” 
 
 “Well, one thing, I got even with you for poking 
 fun at my Spanish,” said he, and then he repeated it 
 all to me, and seemed to think it was a good joke. 
 I did not see the point, but I was careful after that not 
 to wander in the neighborhood of the Alameda alone, 
 
The 'policeman posed for his photograph 
 
The cemetery and chapel, Tepic 
 
THE CAPITAL CITY OF TEPIC 107 
 
 for I had no wish to be taken under the kindly care 
 and protecting arm of the gracious policeman. 
 
 We met the others of our party at the hotel, where 
 we learned that Emerson was in trouble. He had 
 several hundred dollars of United States gold which it 
 was imperative he should exchange for Mexican 
 currency, but his gold was spurned by all the banks. 
 They simply would not touch the worthless stuff. 
 As a last resort he was about to apply to a firm of 
 German merchants, the largest and most extensive 
 house in Tepic Territory. Mr. Eugen Hildebrand, 
 the German Consul, who was a member of this firm, 
 had been one of our fellow passengers on the steamer 
 San Jose, and I determined to accompany Emerson 
 in calling upon him in compliance with a promise to 
 do so should I visit Tepic. 
 
 Mr. Hildebrand welcomed us cordially, exchanged 
 Emerson’s gold, and invited me to a noonday dinner 
 at his home, suggesting that afterward we might 
 take a drive, visit the cemetery and witness there 
 the celebration of the fiesta of All Souls, and see the 
 sights generally, an invitation which I promptly and 
 heartily accepted. 
 
 The firm of which Mr. Hildebrand is the head owns 
 large haciendas upon which coffee, tobacco, and the 
 cocoa oil nut are grown and manufactured into market- 
 able shape, as well as the many other profitable crops 
 of the country, and where upward of fifteen hundred 
 laborers are employed. In Tepic City they maintain 
 a counting house and immense warerooms as the dis- 
 tributing point for their own produce and the general 
 merchandise in which they deal. 
 
 Mr. Hildebrand’s home was but a few doors away. 
 
108 BEYOND THE MEXICAN SIERRAS 
 
 The house was a typical one of the best class, showing 
 to the streets grim walls of bare masonry, and sug- 
 gesting nothing of the charm and beauty, the refine- 
 ment and culture, that lay behind the barred windows 
 and heavy oaken doors. My host led me into a wide 
 and airy room looking upon the patio garden massed 
 with palms and blossoming flowers where song birds 
 from their cages filled the air with melody. The 
 room itself was semi-Oriental in its furnishings, and 
 a delightful lounging place, with many books in Eng- 
 lish, German, and Spanish, some of them rare old 
 works, to fit any mood and any inclination. Here we 
 chatted for half an hour, until a mozo announced 
 dinner. 
 
 The table was spread beneath a corner of the arched 
 balcony of the patio, where we could enjoy the beauti- 
 ful flowers and perfumed air while we ate. Coffee 
 and cigars, grown and manufactured upon my host’s 
 own hacienda, followed the dinner. While we enjoyed 
 them I took occasion to compliment him upon the 
 very efficient service of the mozo who attended us. 
 
 “He ’s been with me seven years,” said Mr. Hilde- 
 brand, “and I like him particularly because he steals 
 nothing but money.” 
 
 The carriage, with a span of fine young mules, was 
 waiting for us at the door, and we were soon rattling 
 away over the round paving stones toward the scene 
 of the fiesta celebration. 
 
CHAPTER XII 
 
 THE FIESTA OF ALL SOULS 
 
 T HE fiesta of All Saints had been celebrated 
 the previous day, but this, the fiesta of All 
 Souls, was the great occasion to those who 
 were concerned with the quiet repose of the souls of 
 departed friends, and who wished to pay tribute to 
 their memory. People laden with flowers, attired in 
 their cleanest and best, lined the road leading to the 
 cemetery. Near the gate were venders of cakes and 
 fruits, pulque, mescal, and other drinks. 
 
 Pulque, the ancient drink of the Aztecs, is the fer- 
 mented sap of a species of maguay or century plant, 
 and was a great favorite of the Aztecs in the days of 
 Montezuma, as it is with their descendants in the 
 days of Diaz. The centre of the plant is hollowed out 
 to form a cup, in which sap gathers. The sap is 
 sucked up with the mouth through a reed, ejected into 
 a goatskin bag carried upon the back of the sap gather- 
 ers, deposited in a large tank, where a certain kind of 
 earth is mixed with it to induce proper fermentation, 
 and finally when strained is ready for consumption. 
 
 I must have a glass of it. Who interested in the 
 Aztecs and their romantic history could pass it, the 
 one surviving product of a dead civilization? With 
 the Indians about me, dressed in their picturesque cos- 
 tumes, it was not hard to imagine myself back in the 
 old days; this fiesta was a feast to one of the heathen 
 
 109 
 
110 BEYOND THE MEXICAN SIERRAS 
 
 gods; this nectar was brewed by an aborigine who 
 worshipped at the shrine of Quetzalcoatl, the god of the 
 air. It was milky in appearance, and not attractive, 
 and the first swallow was sufficient to dispel my illu- 
 sion and make me pity the taste of the old heathens. 
 It resembled in flavor a blend of mighty poor cider 
 and sour milk. 
 
 Some of the natives had partaken too copiously of 
 pulque and mescal, and had passed the bounds of 
 strict sobriety. Mescal is the distilled sap of another 
 variety of the maguay plant, and is a fiery liquor. I 
 do not know how it affects the natives, but foreigners 
 who drink much of it, for any length of time, are 
 afflicted with a sort of brain dissolution, — an effect 
 similar to that of absinthe, — and it is the curse of 
 the young American who does not set himself firmly 
 against its use. It has ended many a promising career. 
 Many a future has been blighted by women and the 
 seductive mescal, or tequila, as a more refined grade 
 of the same liquor is called. 
 
 The cemetery was a mass of color. Flowers were 
 in profusion. People attired in gaudy-hued clothing 
 moved hither and thither amongst fantastic tombs, 
 nearly all of which had been decorated with floral 
 tributes. Crowds pressed in and out of a little chapel, 
 where mass was being said, and candles were being 
 lighted, for the repose of many souls. The poor peons 
 deny and pinch themselves that they may have the 
 money to purchase candles on these days, and bring 
 them to the priest to be blessed and lighted at the 
 altars; and many a cherished zerape or other article, 
 necessary to the comfort of the owner, goes to the 
 pawnbroker that funds may be raised for that purpose. 
 
THE FIESTA OF ALL SOULS 
 
 111 
 
 There are fiesta days when pigs, goats, cows, mules, 
 and asses are brought to the priest also, to be blessed, 
 to insure a bountiful increase. In the words of one 
 of our writers on Mexico, “it is a very sweet and im- 
 pressive service, reflecting the gentle simplicity of the 
 peon and his padre.” I suppose it is, but let one pic- 
 ture to oneself the sweet, sad gentleness of a priest 
 solemnly blessing a refractory goat or pig, particularly 
 if the excited goat plants his head in protest against 
 the padre’s stomach, as happened in one case I heard 
 of; or the good padre, in sweet endeavor, trying to 
 bestow his blessing upon a struggling, squealing, 
 unwilling pig, the animal duly decorated with many- 
 hued rags, and its hair gorgeously dyed impossible 
 colors. 
 
 We halted before the tomb of the brigand governor 
 Manuel Lozado, the last man to fight for the independ- 
 ence of the territory, and one of the last to offer armed 
 resistance to the Diaz government. Loving hands 
 had draped garlands upon his grave, and many an 
 old man who had borne arms under the leadership of 
 the brave old highwayman halted with uncovered head 
 before the tomb. An edict of the Government for- 
 bids the very mention of his name, as a precaution 
 to smother the sedition that memory of the brave 
 deeds and bloody fights of upwards of thirty years 
 ago might even yet engender; but there are some 
 memories that edicts cannot smother, and sometimes 
 public opinion is so strong that edicts and laws become 
 inoperative. Boldly they have carved Lozado’s name 
 upon the tomb, and boldly they pay respect to it; 
 and the eyes of the authorities are blind to what is 
 done. 
 
112 BEYOND THE MEXICAN SIERRAS 
 
 We cannot sympathize with Lozado’s efforts against 
 the Government, but whether he was impelled by per- 
 sonal motives or a misdirected patriotism, we can and 
 must admire him. Between the years 1870 and 1877, 
 this brigand patriot, if such an antithesis may be per- 
 mitted in describing him, roused the Indian population 
 in his cause, and actively conducted operations against 
 the soldiers of Juarez, Lerdo, and finally against Diaz, 
 through many bloody raids. In the latter year he 
 attacked Guadalajara, was defeated, captured, and 
 shot. 
 
 The payment of a slight tribute to Lozado’s agents 
 during his seven years’ rule guaranteed to the travel- 
 ler protection to life and property, and to him who 
 paid tribute the country was free from the robberies 
 of highwaymen, who subsequently for a time infested 
 it, and made travelling dangerous and life uncertain. 
 It is said that a large English house originally raised 
 Lozado to power by supplying him with arms and 
 ammunition, the English firm receiving important 
 concessions in return for the aid rendered. It was 
 Lozado’s custom, when an extended campaign was 
 contemplated, to destroy the banana trees, the chief 
 source of food, and thus force the Indian population 
 to join his forces and ravage the enemy’s country 
 for provision. In one of these raids Tepic City was 
 attacked, and a desperate battle was fought on the 
 plaza. The Hotel del Bolo de Oro was fortified, and 
 in its capture the roof and gutters ran with blood. 
 
 There is a story told of Lozado’s stern justice. A 
 mule was once stolen from a train as it passed through 
 the village of Espino — one of the small villages on 
 the road between Navarrete and Tepic — and the 
 
“ Boldly they have carved Lozado's name upon 
 the tomb ” 
 
A view over Tepic City 
 
THE FIESTA OF ALL SOULS 
 
 113 
 
 muleteer complained to Lozado’s judge. The latter 
 made no effort to find the thief and have the mule 
 returned, and the matter was finally brought to the 
 attention of Lozado himself. The chief made an 
 immediate investigation, recovered the mule, and 
 restored it to its owner, and then hung the thief and 
 the delinquent judge, side by side, as an object lesson 
 to the populace and officials. 
 
 In many of his raids upon the larger towns Lozado, it 
 was known, acquired a large amount of treasure, which 
 was supposed to have been concealed near Tepic City, 
 but search has never disclosed it, and so far as is known 
 it still lies buried and undiscovered. 
 
 A gay old highwayman was this Lozado, under 
 whose despotic rule the peons were happy, for they 
 enjoyed a greater degree of freedom than they had 
 known since the coming of the conquerors, and still 
 they love and revere his memory as a Moses who 
 would have delivered them from bondage. 
 
 From the cemetery we drove out upon an eminence 
 overlooking the city, and from this vantage-ground 
 had an excellent view of Tepic, very attractive and 
 beautiful, nestling there in the hollow of the moun- 
 tains, its white buildings reflecting the bright light of 
 the afternoon sun, the dark surrounding hills stand- 
 ing out in marked contrast. It was an entrancing 
 view. 
 
 "Over there,” remarked Mr. Hildebrand, “it is said 
 the Indians used to have a rich gold mine. The 
 legends tell us how they brought large quantities of 
 gold, in dust and nuggets, to Tepic, and sold it for a 
 song to the Spanish merchants; but they could never 
 be prevailed upon to disclose the secret of the mine’s 
 
114 BEYOND THE MEXICAN SIERRAS 
 
 location. Men who followed them with stealth were 
 led through rocky passes and canyons, and then eluded, 
 and returned no wiser than before.” 
 
 There is a legend about these Indians and their 
 gold, and it may be of interest to repeat it here. It is 
 called “The Magic Scale and the Padre’s Corn,” and 
 is as follows: 
 
 There lived in Tepic a hundred years or so ago a 
 poor Spaniard of Mexican birth, who brooded much 
 over his poverty and was very discontented and un- 
 happy. Once this man’s family was prominent and 
 wealthy, but before he came into the world the wealth 
 had slipped away, and he felt that fate had been hard 
 with him. He was proud and he resented the cir- 
 cumstances that compelled him to labor as a menial, 
 like a common peon. His home was a hovel, his 
 food the meanest and poorest. Always he drudged 
 and drudged. Only on the fiesta day of some good 
 saint did he have leisure to rest and relax. “Bah! 
 Rest? That was not rest.” These were the thoughts 
 that constantly filled his mind and made him un- 
 happy. He was occupied with them one morning as 
 he slouched along the street that skirts Tepic plaza 
 on the south, where there were many shops in whose 
 windows were displayed the good things of life that 
 he craved. He paused before a jeweller’s window to 
 admire the pretty trinkets — rings, and chains, and 
 precious stones. Finally his eyes rested upon a scale 
 such as the jewellers used for weighing gold. It was a 
 very ordinary scale, and he had seen similar ones a 
 hundred times before, but for some unaccountable 
 reason this one attracted and fascinated him. 
 
 For a long while he stood and gazed at the scale. 
 
THE FIESTA OF ALL SOULS 
 
 115 
 
 He took in its every outline. He counted the tiny 
 weights that were piled by its side. Before his fancy’s 
 eye grew heaps of gold that in future years would be 
 balanced upon the delicate instrument, gold that 
 would buy anything, — fine houses, fine clothes, all 
 the things for which he so longed. Suddenly some 
 sprite whispered into his ear that if he could but gain 
 possession of the scale all the gold that it was destined 
 to weigh during its existence would be his. As he 
 forced himself from the jeweller’s window and hurried 
 to his work, his brain was awhirl with the thought; 
 and all day long as he labored the scale kept rising 
 before his vision, and around him were piles of gold 
 — gold that was his. He forgot his poverty and the 
 present. His imagination carried him into a future 
 state of wealth and luxury. 
 
 An ambition had been born to Jose — an ambition 
 to own the scale. He vowed that with the help of 
 his patron saint he would earn the money to purchase 
 it. He would work harder than he had ever worked 
 in his life. One of the most valuable possessions a 
 man can have is an honest ambition — a future some- 
 thing to attain. Jose’s new ambition, unreasonable 
 as it may seem, brought to him energy, hope, and a 
 fresh view of life. It crowded out the old broodings 
 that were eating away his soul. For the first time 
 within his remembrance he felt the thrill of hopeful 
 happy existence. 
 
 On his way home in the evening he stopped again 
 before the window of the plaza shop to feast his eyes 
 upon the coveted scale, and the desire to handle and 
 caress it, and call it his own, grew strong within him. 
 When he reached home that night, he said to his wife: 
 
116 BEYOND THE MEXICAN SIERRAS 
 
 “Good wife, I saw a jeweller’s scale in a window as 
 I went to work this morning, and as I came home 
 to-night I saw it again, and it has charmed me. I 
 must buy it and have it for my own.” 
 
 “But, husband, what would you do with a jeweller’s 
 scale?” she asked. “It is a very foolish notion you 
 have got into your head. It would be but a plaything 
 for you, and you are not a child to have playthings. 
 We have not the money to buy it. We need all you 
 earn for bread.” 
 
 “I do not know, wife, what I would do with it,” he 
 admitted, “but it has cast a spell over me. I shall 
 never be happy until I own it. Something tells me 
 it possesses a magic charm to make my fortune for 
 me.” 
 
 Day after day as Jose passed and repassed the shop 
 window he stopped to gaze at the scale. More and 
 more its fascination grew. He had now but one object 
 in life — to possess the scale. He pinched and saved, 
 bit by bit, and gradually his savings grew. It was 
 hard, for his wages were small. He denied himself 
 the simplest necessities of life, he starved himself; 
 but he was happy, for the coins he saved were increas- 
 ing in number. Every day he counted and gloated 
 over his little hoard, and all the while was in mortal 
 fear lest morning or evening the window would be 
 empty; and each time when he saw his precious scale 
 still there, his heart leaped with joy. 
 
 Weeks and months passed, and at length the fate- 
 ful day arrived when he had enough money for his 
 purpose. It was the happiest moment of his life 
 when he stepped boldly into the jeweller’s store and 
 proudly bore away the coveted prize. 
 
THE FIESTA OF ALL SOULS 
 
 117 
 
 The scale finally in his possession Jose sought out 
 the landlord of a small vacant shop not far away, and 
 said to him : 
 
 “Senor, I want to rent your shop. I have no money 
 to pay the rent, but this magic scale will make money 
 for me, if only I have a place to house it, and then I 
 can pay you.” 
 
 “What are you to stock your shop with, Jose?” 
 asked the landlord, who knew Jose well. 
 
 “I have nothing, senor, to stock it with, but this 
 scale, and I need nothing else, for the scale is charmed 
 and it will bring me much money.” 
 
 “Well, Jose, as the shop is vacant you may go into 
 it with your scale, to keep the rats away until I find 
 a tenant.” 
 
 So Jose set up his scale in the shop. Every morning 
 before he went to work, and every evening as he 
 returned, he spent an hour with his scale. He had 
 acquired the habit of saving money. Gradually an- 
 other stock of small coins accumulated, and he had 
 them with him one evening as he sat in his shop 
 admiring the scale, when an Indian entered. 
 
 “Do you buy gold, senor?” asked the Indian. 
 
 “Si, senor,” answered Jose, though he did not know 
 why he answered so, for he had so little money. 
 
 The Indian offered some yellow dust. Jose weighed 
 it on the scale, and gave the Indian all he had in 
 exchange for it. 
 
 The following day he sold the dust at a large profit, 
 and thenceforth went no more to work, but sat by 
 his scale and waited for Indians to come with gold 
 dust. Every day they came, and Jose, buying and 
 selling, gradually grew rich. He lived in a fine house 
 
118 BEYOND THE MEXICAN SIERRAS 
 
 now, he ate the best of food, he bedecked himself and 
 his wife in good clothes and jewellery; he enjoyed all 
 the things, in fact, that he had so envied others the 
 possession of in the days of his poverty, and in the 
 manner of humans, he looked with contempt upon his 
 former peon companions. 
 
 But with riches came enlarged greed and dissatis- 
 faction. Like most rich men, Jose wanted to be still 
 richer. "Now,” said he, "if I could only find the 
 place where the Indians dig the gold, I could get it 
 all for myself”; and he made eveiy effort to induce 
 them to disclose to him their secret, but they would 
 not. 
 
 Then Jose bethought himself of a good padre who 
 might help him, and to the good father he went with 
 his plan. The padre was to be kind to the Indians and 
 get their confidence, as only a padre can, and as their 
 father confessor go with them to their mines and 
 fathom the secret of where the gold was hidden. After 
 this was accomplished Jose and the padre would 
 gather great quantities of the gold and be richer than 
 any in the land. 
 
 The good father thought it a very fine plan, and at 
 once set about to ingratiate himself with the Indians. 
 He worked well into their confidence, but the one 
 thing he wished to know most of all they would not 
 tell him. For a long while they were deaf to his 
 entreaties to take him into the mountains with them. 
 He told them how he loved them, and how lonely he 
 was without them, and how very unkind it was of 
 them to leave him behind when they went to their 
 diggings. 
 
 All this had its effect in time upon the Indians, and 
 
THE FIESTA OF ALL SOULS 
 
 119 
 
 one day when they were preparing for a journey, they 
 invited the padre to go with them, but required that 
 his eyes be bandaged so that even he should not know 
 the trail they travelled. This requirement was not 
 agreeable to the good padre, but he had a plan. He 
 filled his pockets with corn, and as he rode along on 
 his ass he dropped a grain every few feet. “God has 
 made this land fertile,” said he to himself, “and the 
 corn will grow, and in a few weeks I can trace the road 
 by the green stalks.” 
 
 When they reached the end of their journey, which 
 was much shorter than he had expected, the padre’s 
 eyes were undone, and lo! he was by a stream in a 
 canyon, and the bed of the stream was yellow! Before 
 him lay a mass of shining, shimmering gold that could 
 be gathered by the handful! The Indians permitted 
 the good padre to feast his eyes, and presented him 
 with several fine nuggets. They were in a part of 
 the mountains where the padre had never been before. 
 There was not a landmark that he could recognize, 
 but as he rode back, blindfolded, upon the ass after 
 several days’ sojourn in the canyon, he slapped his 
 back metaphorically, in deep satisfaction at the way 
 he had outwitted the simple, unsophisticated Indians 
 with his easy trick of the corn. Oh, yes! the corn 
 would lead him there and then he would gather in 
 all those riches for himself — and Jose, too, if he could 
 not get rid of Jose. 
 
 Finally they reached the padre’s home in Tepic, and 
 when the blind was removed from his eyes there came 
 a surprise. An Indian held out to him a bag and 
 said: 
 
 “Good father, here is some corn you lost from your 
 
120 BEYOND THE MEXICAN SIERRAS 
 
 pocket as you travelled. I gathered it up carefully 
 for you, and it is all here.” 
 
 One day not long after the padre’s return, Jose was 
 seen stealthily following the Indians to the mountains. 
 Whether he found the golden stream or not no one 
 ever knew. He did not return. 
 
 Down in the town Mr. Hildebrand and I traversed 
 the chief streets and drove out to the mills where much 
 of the native cotton is manufactured into the coarse 
 fabrics worn by the peon class. Here is very good 
 water power with which the mills are operated. 
 
 When I was at length set down at the hotel I found 
 the others waiting for me. They announced that they 
 had purchased tickets for the theatre, where a travel- 
 ling dramatic company was to produce “El Soldado 
 de San Marcial,” a melodrama in five acts. Would 
 I go? Of course I would. Like the others I wanted 
 to see what a Mexican theatre was like. 
 
CHAPTER XIII 
 
 A TRAGEDY IN FIVE ACTS 
 
 T HE play was not to begin until eight o’clock, 
 and with an hour and a half at our disposal, 
 after supper we settled comfortably under 
 the patio balcony to smoke and chat, in the hope that 
 we might make the acquaintance of two other Ameri- 
 cans whom we had glimpsed in the dining-room earlier 
 in the evening. It gives one a homelike feeling to 
 meet and exchange experiences with one’s country- 
 men in a foreign land, where every one is speaking 
 an alien tongue and has no interests in common with 
 oneself. We were not disappointed in our expecta- 
 tions. The two gentlemen presently strolled along, 
 as we had hoped they would, apparently as anxious 
 to meet us as we were to meet them, and mutual 
 introductions put us quickly upon terms of goodfel- 
 lowship. 
 
 One was a nephew of the famous Confederate 
 Colonel Mosby, and himself an engineer who had been 
 more or less closely connected with all the great rail- 
 road operations in Eastern Mexico. He was at the 
 time one of the chief engineers superintending the 
 running of lines for the new Southern Pacific exten- 
 sion through Western Mexico. For several weeks 
 Mr. Mosby had been stationed in the miasmal swamps 
 of the lower country, where he had contracted calen- 
 tura, and he had now come to Tepic to convalesce 
 
 121 
 
122 BEYOND THE MEXICAN SIERRAS 
 
 and recuperate his strength. The other was a miner, 
 a devil-may-care sort of fellow, named McKenna, 
 who announced that fate had thrown him into Tepic 
 five years before, and he had not been able to get 
 away since because his mule went lame, and he would 
 not risk his life in the stage. He was loafing around 
 and waiting for the railroad to come and take him 
 home to the United States. 
 
 At Hildebrand’s they had expressed a strong lack 
 of faith in ever seeing the railroad in Tepic; but the 
 Germans in Mexico are extremely jealous of American 
 enterprise, and decry American projects on every 
 occasion. They can hardly be blamed for this, for 
 it is hard to see another nation making inroads upon 
 trade that has been built up through years of effort 
 and which has become more or less monopolized. 
 Mosby assured me, however, that all the doubts were 
 without basis, that the last survey had been made, 
 and the location engineers were now rushing their 
 final work through; that track was being laid in the 
 north, a large construction camp erected at Mazatlan, 
 and all the funds in hand to carry the work to quick 
 completion. This I later verified. 
 
 McKenna, noticing that I filled my pipe with tobacco 
 from cigarettes, exclaimed: 
 
 "What, no pipe tobacco! Come with me and I’ll 
 show you where to get the finest weed cut you ever 
 turned into smoke.” 
 
 "I didn’t know there was any to be had in this 
 part of the country,” I explained. 
 
 "Yes,” said he, "there are two or three of us gringos 
 here most of the time, and we had to have pipe tobacco, 
 so we sent all the way to New Orleans for a tobacco 
 
A TRAGEDY IN FIVE ACTS 
 
 123 
 
 cutter, presented it to a cigar maker, and instructed 
 him how to cure and cut the tobacco.” 
 
 He took me down across the plaza into a side street 
 and into a small shop, and introducing me to the 
 Mexican tobacconist requested him to sell me a kilo 
 from the precious Americano brand. For the kilo — 
 something over two pounds — I paid the ridiculously 
 low price of one peso, and with it made many a longing 
 American happy all the way from Tepic to Durango, 
 besides having plenty for my own use, for it was very 
 strong and a little of it went a long way. 
 
 As McKenna and I strolled back along the poorly 
 lighted outskirts of the square, he stopped to purchase 
 some limes from an old woman squatting upon the 
 sidewalk. 
 
 “Dos reales, senor,” said she. 
 
 "Look at me, senora,” requested McKenna, in 
 Spanish, "Look at me and see who I am, and then tell 
 me the price.” 
 
 She looked, and the price at once dropped from 
 twenty-five to three centavos. 
 
 "The old senora,” explained McKenna, as we walked 
 away, "knows me well, and is aware that I know the 
 price of things, but she had heard your party was in 
 town, and in the dark she thought I was one of you. 
 It ’s always the way with them. Three centavos was 
 the regular market price for those limes. Innocent 
 gringos need a guardian to save them from being 
 fleeced when they travel in Mexico.” 
 
 The performance at the theatre was billed to begin 
 at eight o’clock, and we reached there a little ahead 
 of time, for we wished to see the people come in, and 
 to study the styles. The playhouse is a new one, 
 
124 BEYOND THE MEXICAN SIERRAS 
 
 and the most modern building in Tepic. Its filigree 
 work and newness, however, do not harmonize well 
 with the old, substantial structures surrounding it, 
 and it rather grates upon one’s sensibilities and notion 
 of the fitness of things. It is called the “Teatro 
 Porfirio Diaz,” in honor of the President. 
 
 Along the sidewalk soldiers were drawn up, giving 
 the coming performance an air of importance, and 
 the ever present venders lined the sidewalk, offering 
 cakes and other edibles for sale, while the usual mob 
 of zerape-clad men filled the street. 
 
 At the door our tickets were taken and we were 
 turned over to the usher, a unique character, who 
 attempted to assume the reckless bearing of the 
 American cowboy, as that individual is pictured in 
 fiction. He was in his shirt-sleeves, and wore a soft 
 felt hat well back upon his head and to one side, 
 while he swaggered up and down with an air of bravado 
 and importance pleasant to see, and which made him 
 a feature of the entertainment. We were seated, at 
 our request, in the centre of the orchestra, a position 
 that gave us an opportunity to view the arrivals. The 
 orchestra was filled with rough wooden benches, but 
 the boxes on both sides of the orchestra floor and sur- 
 rounding the first balcony were void of seating accom- 
 modations. The occupants brought their own chairs 
 with them. 
 
 We were the first arrivals, but presently the audience 
 began to file in. In the orchestra seats, where we 
 were, the men did not remove their big sombreros, 
 until after the performance had begun, but in the 
 boxes they were more polite in this respect. A young 
 lieutenant, gold lace, sword and all, occupied one of 
 
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128 BEYOND THE MEXICAN SIERRAS 
 
 the lower boxes nearly opposite our seats. The elite 
 of Tepic society filled the boxes, — ladies in flimsy 
 white dresses, lace mantillas on their heads, and plenty 
 of powder on their faces to modify their complexions, 
 chatting with their escorts, and full of vivacity. We 
 soon learned that the orchestra seats were tabooed 
 by society, and we were amongst the outcasts, the 
 common plebeians of a class just above the peon. It 
 was nearly nine o’clock before the music struck up, 
 and then began stamping of feet, clapping of hands, 
 shouting and cat calls from the gallery. It was the 
 same old gallery we all know. One finds it in New 
 York, in San Francisco, and here in Mexico without 
 a whit of difference in make-up. In this respect, at 
 least, all cities, all nations, all races are akin. 
 
 At nine o’clock the curtain rose. On the stage 
 black-cloaked men, their faces concealed to the eyes, 
 sat on chairs and talked and talked. Then, a woman 
 came in and talked, and a priest or two, but there was 
 little or no action during the first two acts. Things 
 woke up a bit then, and they began to kill one another 
 off, to the delighted howls of the gallery. Before 
 the bloody scenes opened some one came down to the 
 lieutenant in the box and borrowed his sword, with 
 which to slay villains, and the sword was gladly 
 loaned. They did the killing solemnly and with 
 precision, usually in polite terms informing the victim 
 that he was about to die, while the dead ones reap- 
 peared in changed costumes, to be slain again. After 
 seven apparently inoffensive people — but, I sup- 
 pose, really dark-dyed villains — had been sacrificed, 
 some of them twice Or thrice, we withdrew. It is sad 
 to see a man die more than once, very sad, even if he 
 
A TRAGEDY IN FIVE ACTS 
 
 127 
 
 is a bad man. The sadness impressed itself upon us 
 to such an extent that copious tears trickled down the 
 hardened cheeks of Emerson and Randall as we filed 
 out at half-past twelve in the morning. We could 
 stand no more of it. Four more had to die, and there 
 was no telling how long it would take to dispose of 
 them. We heard the people going home at some- 
 thing after two o’clock, however, so they apparently 
 slaughtered the last batch of victims in a hurry. 
 
 Sunday morning Randall, Bigelow, and I looked up 
 the post-office. Randall declined to go in with me 
 to act as interpreter — I had cast too many reflections 
 on his Spanish — so, thrown upon my own resources, 
 I entered the building and approached the stamp 
 window. A good-natured senorita came forward. 
 
 “Buenos dias, senorita,” I remarked pleasantly. 
 “Tray deuces and tray cincos.” I thought she 
 ought to understand that. 
 
 “Buenos dias, senor,” said she, and something else 
 I did not catch. 
 
 “Postales tray stamps and letra tray.” 
 
 She looked at me mystified, and timidly asked me 
 something. I did not know what she asked, but the 
 way she looked at me made me forget to talk Spanish, 
 and I blurted out, 
 
 “Madam, may I have three two-cent and three 
 five-cent stamps?” 
 
 “Oh, si, senor,” said she smiling. “I knowa the 
 Ingles but nota the French.” 
 
 I bought my stamps and enjoyed a pleasant chat 
 with her. She told me that she had studied a little 
 English and could understand it very well, though 
 she knew she could not speak it nicely. I assured 
 
128 BEYOND THE MEXICAN SIERRAS 
 
 her she spoke it with a very pretty accent, but I had 
 not sufficient temerity to confess that it was Spanish, 
 not French, in which I had attempted to address her. 
 
 Upon our return to the hotel, we found Ramos 
 there. He brought us the startling information that 
 cholera had broken out at Mazatlan — startling be- 
 cause we were to go there, and it would be incon- 
 venient to be held up by a tedious quarantine. 
 However, it was only a rumor as yet, and there would 
 be plenty of time to verify it. 
 
 There was music that evening in the plaza, and all 
 the town came out to hear it, as is the custom. These 
 musical evenings — Wednesday and Sunday — are 
 the times for visiting and gossiping, flirting and 
 love-making by the people of high and low degree 
 alike. The bandstand is in the centre and seats are 
 distributed at convenient intervals among the trees 
 and flowery bowers of the plaza, while benches line 
 the two walks that surround it. One of these walks 
 is used by the “big hats,” or peons, the other by the 
 “big bugs.” We walked with the “big bugs.” When 
 the band plays, the people promenade; when it ceases 
 they sit down upon the benches, to chat until the 
 music strikes up again. Each class keeps upon its 
 respective walk. The women promenade in one direc- 
 tion, the men in the other, and an opportunity is thus 
 given for flirtations and exchange of glances as they 
 meet. If a “big hat,” by any chance, is bold enough 
 to appear upon the “big bug” side, he is promptly 
 recommended by a “big bug” or a policeman to dis- 
 appear, which he usually does forthwith, for he knows 
 by experience that the recommendation is made for 
 the benefit of his health, and he regards his health. 
 
A TRAGEDY IN FIVE ACTS 
 
 129 
 
 In the uncertain illumination of the electric lights 
 some of the senoritas appeared very attractive in 
 breezy, fluffy gowns and fetching mantillas, and they 
 knew it pretty well, too. They like to have you look 
 at them directly and admiringly, and they will not 
 drop their eyes. If you have the nerve to give one 
 a look of this kind — such a look as would be con- 
 sidered extremely rude in any American city — the 
 chances are, when you meet her on the next turn you 
 will be rewarded with a smile and a challenge from 
 the black eyes, and if you have a stock of nerve in 
 reserve, you will speak to her and pay her some com- 
 plimentary remark upon the first opportunity that 
 offers. This is good breeding and will not be resented. 
 Should you then become infatuated with the lady, you 
 will search out her home, visit her barred window and 
 mope under it for an hour or so every morning; and 
 if you impress her favorably she will make your heart 
 glad by talking with you through the bars, or handing 
 little scented notes to you. Should you become really 
 serious, you will hire a stringed band to serenade her 
 at night, now and then. 
 
 We were particularly impressed in Tepic, and later 
 at Santiago Ixcuintla, by the mournful character of 
 the music. Much of it leaves with one the impression 
 that it is the lamentation of a heart filled with sorrow 
 and woe. Amongst the peons of Tepic Territory one 
 seldom sees a smiling face. Especially is this true 
 of the women. I can now recall but one smiling, 
 happy woman’s face that I saw there, and that was 
 the round-faced senorita at our Navarrete hotel. 
 Mrs. Wallace told me that she had done much chari- 
 table visiting amongst them, and almost universally 
 
130 BEYOND THE MEXICAN SIERRAS 
 
 the peon women that she knew, her servants included, 
 had expressed the wish that they were dead, and she 
 was certain only their religion prevents many of them 
 from resorting to self-destruction. They are slaves — 
 slaves to the men, who are hard masters, — slaves to 
 the world at large. Their life is one of constant 
 struggle, and there is little of joy or pleasure that they 
 ever know. Work from daylight till dark, then sleep, 
 then work again, with never a day of rest or recreation 
 in all the tedious years. “Our forefathers committed 
 a great sin, and we are doing penance for it,” said one. 
 “Long, long ago our people possessed the land, and 
 the fruits and flowers were theirs, and they were 
 happy and gay. Then they committed this sin, and 
 the Lord God punished them for it. He took away 
 the lands, and made them work as slaves for other 
 men. We are doing penance for that sin still, but 
 some time we shall come into our own again. Per- 
 haps it is not for us, but our children or our children’s 
 children.” 
 
 I wonder if the mournful music is an echo of this 
 feeling? I wonder if the Lord God ever intended 
 the bloodthirsty Spaniards to avenge wrongs done 
 Him? I wonder if the Mexican Government will 
 ever throw open to the peons the broad, fertile acres 
 of idle jungle, and make of these people home-builders 
 and thrifty farmers? 
 
CHAPTER XIV 
 
 COMEDY AND TRAGEDY OF THE TRAIL 
 
 M IGUEL had our horses in the hotel patio, all 
 saddled and bridled, in good season on 
 Monday morning, and, breakfast eaten, we 
 mounted and rode away with some regret, from the 
 clear, cool atmosphere of this delightful old mountain 
 town, to return to the humidity and heat of the lower 
 altitudes. 
 
 The morning was fine and invigorating, our horses 
 fresh after a two days’ rest, and we trotted out at a 
 smart pace upon the road to Navarrete, chatting 
 gayly of our experiences as we rode. Over to the 
 westward we could see the mountains that hid securely 
 the rich gold mines from which the Indians used to 
 bring the nuggets and gold dust, which the padre had 
 so vainly endeavored to locate by subterfuge, and we 
 laughed as we thought of the good man’s embarrass- 
 ment when his corn was returned to him with so much 
 apparent innocence by the simple, unsophisticated 
 Indian. At Espino we remembered the story of 
 Lozado’s execution there of the judge and the thief, 
 and at San Louis, another village by the way, we saw 
 a cliff over which the same Lozado used playfully to 
 suspend federal prisoners at the ends of ropes. 
 
 We noticed at intervals by the roadside small cairns, 
 each of them surmounted by a cross. These, we were 
 told, indicated places where people had met sudden 
 
 131 
 
132 BEYOND THE MEXICAN SIERRAS 
 
 death. One of the crosses, of quite recent origin, 
 marked the spot where a woman had fallen over a 
 cliff one night. She was a passenger in the stage- 
 coach, and to relieve herself from a cramped position 
 in the diligencia descended from the vehicle to walk 
 up a steep incline. The road here overhangs a preci- 
 pice, and in the darkness the unfortunate woman, fail- 
 ing to see the danger, ventured too near the edge and 
 was hurled to instant death upon the rocks below. 
 The good-natured stage-driver erected the cross to 
 commemorate the occasion, and I suppose it quieted 
 any qualms of conscience he may have felt for his 
 own lack of care of his passengers. 
 
 It was early in the afternoon when we reined up 
 at Navarrete, but too late to attempt the still miry 
 road to Santiago Ixcuintla in the darkness, which 
 would certainly overtake us before reaching there, so 
 we accepted a hearty invitation to spend the night 
 at the now familiar hostelry. Our good friends who 
 presided over it had learned to feel a sort of proprietary 
 interest in us. I took advantage of the sunlight that 
 still remained to use my camera, and the round-faced 
 laughing senorita asked many questions about it in 
 Spanish, which I could not understand. I took her 
 by the hand and led her outside, where I could place 
 her in position for a portrait, though she evinced some 
 fear and hesitancy at undergoing the ordeal. Gates 
 good-naturedly put his sombrero upon her head, and 
 when I made my exposure with no dire results, and 
 she found she had survived it unscathed, she was 
 mightily pleased. I thanked her cordially, and told 
 her, through Gates, as interpreter, that I should see 
 her again and have great pleasure in presenting to 
 
The ferry at Santiago Ixcuintla 
 
Gardens of tuna cactus 
 
COMEDY AND TRAGEDY 
 
 133 
 
 her a copy of the photograph, a thing which she did 
 not understand, for she had never seen a photograph, 
 but which I have no doubt she looked forward to 
 with much impatience and interest. She was certain, 
 she assured me, it must be something wonderful. 
 
 At Navarrete we found a Mexican Jew with his 
 mozo, en route from Tepic to Santiago Ixcuintla in 
 a two-wheeled cart drawn by a horse. The Jewish 
 gentleman was of enormous proportions. Randall 
 regretted the fact that he had no moving picture 
 machine to photograph the pair, when we saw the 
 mozo dressing his master in the morning. The per- 
 formance would certainly have brought down any 
 American house had it been possible to preserve it 
 on films for future exhibition. They started from 
 Navarrete long before daylight, and we overtook them 
 later in dire straits. The cart was stuck fast in the 
 middle of a mud-hole, the Jew would not get out of 
 the vehicle into the mire, and he was emitting loud 
 and voluble Spanish phrases, with intonations that 
 suggested profanity; but my unfamiliarity with the 
 language precludes my saying that the utterances were 
 not entirely what they should have been under the 
 circumstances. The mozo was just returning from a 
 near-by ranch house with a couple of borrowed mules, 
 to snake the outfit to dry land, and we halted to make 
 certain that the unfortunate one was duly rescued 
 before we rode on. We did not see them again, and 
 whether they met with further mishaps I cannot say. 
 
 At nine o’clock in the morning we crossed the ferry 
 into Santiago Ixcuintla, and even at that early hour 
 the heat had become so intense that Randall developed 
 a dizziness that caused me some concern, and made 
 
134 BEYOND THE MEXICAN SIERRAS 
 
 necessary a short halt to rest and cool off before pro- 
 ceeding the fifteen miles to the ranch. 
 
 Here we learned incidentally that an officer, badly 
 wounded by bandits, had just been brought in from 
 the hills for surgical treatment. There was no notice- 
 able excitement over the occurrence, such as one 
 might expect in a small town like this, upon such an 
 event, and it seemed rather to be accepted as a matter 
 of course, and all in a day’s work. 
 
 Back in the hills, a noted bandit had been holding 
 up travellers and occasionally shooting one. He had 
 seventeen murders charged against him, of which he 
 was very proud, it was said. Two or three days 
 before our arrival, a report came to Santiago Ixcuintla 
 that this gentleman was operating much nearer the 
 town than usual, and an officer, with a posse, was 
 despatched to round him up. The officer posted his 
 men near the point where the brigand was supposed 
 to be stopping, and with one man rode down the trail 
 to reconnoitre. Suddenly and unexpectedly he came 
 upon the desperado, with a companion, and instantly 
 gun-play commenced. When the fight was over the 
 officer was badly shot up, his man was dead, the chief 
 desperado was dead, and the other bad man had dis- 
 appeared in the direction of the mountains. 
 
 It may be said that there are not many of these 
 occurrences now. The Rurales, or mounted police, 
 have pretty nearly put a stop to brigandage. Several 
 years ago, during the presidency of Comonfort, the 
 Government recognized the wisdom of the old adage 
 “Set a thief to catch a thief,” and offered pardon and 
 protection to all brigands who would come in and 
 enlist as Rurales. Most of them took advantage of 
 
COMEDY AND TRAGEDY 
 
 135 
 
 the offer, and with these men on the side of law and 
 order, holdups soon became infrequent, and the 
 Rurales developed into a wonderfully efficient mounted 
 force to hunt down bandits. They are fearless riders, 
 they know every mountain pass and fastness, and when 
 they once start after a man he is pretty sure to be 
 caught or killed — generally killed. The Rurales of 
 Mexico compare favorably in bravery and reckless 
 daring with that wonderful organization, the North- 
 west Mounted Police of Canada, and are by far the 
 best armed force in Mexico. Their calling gives them 
 opportunity for wild adventure, and thus satisfies the 
 craving for a life of danger, which in the first instance 
 led many of them to be brigands. They are a free and 
 easy lot, quite in contrast to the peaceably inclined 
 policemen of the towns, and the slow-moving, indolent 
 soldiery of the regular army. Their pay is ten reales 
 (sixty-two and one-half cents) a day, out of which 
 they provide their own living and forage for their 
 horses. 
 
 In the fields some distance beyond the point where 
 the ranch trail left the main road to follow the river, 
 we were treated to a fine exhibit of horsemanship. 
 A body of fifteen or twenty Mexican cowboys, or 
 vaqueros, as they are called, were just finishing a round- 
 up of cattle. Their mounts were magnificent animals 
 and well trained, and it was a rare entertainment to 
 see them dashing in and out and over the rough ground, 
 the men swinging their lariats, roping cattle with 
 unerring precision, and the horses bracing, to hold 
 and throw the steer or cow. 
 
 That night as we sat upon the patio veranda of the 
 Hacienda San Nicolas we became sensible of a plain- 
 
136 BEYOND THE MEXICAN SIERRAS 
 
 tive chanting in the direction of the Indian village. 
 We had heard it on one or two previous evenings, 
 before our excursion to Tepic, but, supposing it to 
 be a vent to the musical inspiration of the natives, 
 had not investigated it. This evening, however, it 
 continued for an unusually long time without varia- 
 tion, and inquiry was made as to its meaning. Kaiser 
 informed us that a rehearsal was in progress every 
 night until midnight for a play to be given during 
 the Christmas fiesta. This was interesting, and we 
 all walked out to witness the performance. 
 
 Under the trees in the Indian village a weird and 
 picturesque scene met our view. At a small table 
 sat a man with an open book before him, while in a 
 semicircle before him stood all the men and women of 
 the village, and within the semicircle, directly in front 
 of the man, two youths were sparring with sticks, 
 and at the same time chanting sentences after the man 
 who read from the book. All the men were wrapped 
 in their colored zerapes, and a single torch shed an 
 uncertain, flickering light upon the scene, showing 
 bare heads and dark faces in outline. They were 
 intensely in earnest, and the spectacle reminded one 
 of savages performing some rite. It was a scriptural 
 allegory they were rehearsing. One of the men with 
 sticks represented an angel, the other the devil, and 
 the angel was fighting the devil. I think the devil 
 was vanquished, though we did not stay to see the 
 result. 
 
CHAPTER XV 
 
 AMONGST THE LAGUNAS 
 
 D OWN by the sea, hidden amongst a maze and 
 network of lagunas, some leagues north of 
 San Bias, lies the ancient Indian village of 
 Mexcaltatan. You will not find it on the map, and 
 you will find no mention of it in the official reports of 
 Mexico, for in that respect, at least, this unique relic 
 of the past seems to have been quite forgotten by the 
 Government, though its shrimp fisheries make it, per- 
 haps, the most important town of its size in the 
 Republic. 
 
 Mexcaltatan was originally built upon piles and 
 hidden in this secluded spot amongst the myriad of 
 lagunas, which are characteristic of this section of 
 the western coast, to protect it against the warlike 
 Indians of the mainland, just as Tenochtitlan was built 
 upon piles in Tezcuco Lake as a safe retreat from the 
 surrounding tribes with which the Aztec founders 
 were at war. Tradition says that the town was founded 
 by the Aztecs, in the course of their migration to the 
 southward, and that it is therefore older than Mexico 
 City. Of this no man can know for a certainty. 
 The Spaniards and their priests of the Conquest, in 
 blind, unreasoning bigotry, so effectually destroyed all 
 records of ancient Mexico that the country’s history is 
 veiled behind a curtain of deepest mystery through 
 which no eye can see, and her past will forever remain 
 silent. But one is brought very close indeed, in fancy, 
 
 137 
 
138 BEYOND THE MEXICAN SIERRAS 
 
 at least, to those forgotten ages, and that vanquished 
 people, as one traverses to-day the streets of this Mexi- 
 can Venice in primitive dugout canoes, in the same 
 manner as her founders did those centuries ago, and 
 realizes that it is the only one of the old pile-built vil- 
 lages now remaining on the North American continent. 
 
 All plans for an expedition there, including arrange- 
 ments for a canoe to meet us at the end of the main- 
 land trail, had been made by Kaiser during our absence 
 in Tepic. He, Randall, Emerson, and I, with our 
 mozo Miguel, rode out to Santiago Ixcuintla the after- 
 noon following our return, putting up that night at 
 the Hotel Sur Pacifico, in order that we might be well 
 on the road and get away in good season in the morn- 
 ing, for we wished, if possible, to reach Mexcaltatan 
 before dark the next evening. We knew nothing of 
 the character of the trails, and could only calculate 
 approximately the distance, or the time that would be 
 required for the journey. 
 
 This was the first of our trips upon which Kaiser had 
 joined us, and a jolly good companion he proved. He 
 knew every peasant on the road, and every shopkeeper 
 and official in town. For this one he had a pleasant 
 word, for that one a jovial greeting, and for another 
 a courteous bow, or the Mexican embrace. In his 
 ten years’ wanderings over the country he had visited 
 nearly every town of importance, and wherever he 
 went was sure to make friends. He proved a master 
 of suavity, polite compliments, or bluff cordiality, as 
 circumstances demanded. A German by birth, he 
 could speak English as perfectly as his mother tongue, 
 with scarcely a noticeable accent, and he had at his 
 command all of our latest, up-to-date slang phrases, 
 
AMONGST THE LAGUNAS 
 
 139 
 
 which he would use copiously at one moment and the 
 next would perhaps be quoting some ancient classic 
 or expounding philosophy. His father is a professor in 
 a German university, and he is himself a university- 
 bred man. His Spanish is as good as his English, 
 and he understands, also, three or four of the native 
 Indian dialects. 
 
 We engaged a native to guide us to the Mexcaltatan 
 canoe landing, and in the fresh, dewy morning rode 
 forth from Santiago Ixcuintla on the trail to the sea. 
 In mid-forenoon, and near the siesta hour, we passed 
 through the ancient town of Santos Pac, where a Span- 
 ish convent, long since deserted, lies in picturesque 
 ruins. The hovel-lined streets of the village w r ere 
 empty, save for an occasional dog which wearily 
 foraged for refuse. “Only dogs and gringos,” say the 
 Mexicans, “have so little sense as to expose them- 
 selves to the burning rays of a tropical midday sun.” 
 
 For a considerable distance beyond Santos Pac the 
 trail was well shaded by a dense growth of ferns and 
 palms and tropical trees, to the point where we entered 
 the naked marismas to flounder down over a miry 
 stretch to the water’s edge. Here stood a scrubby 
 and solitary tree, under the uncertain shade of which 
 we deposited our belongings and stretched ourselves 
 to breathe the grateful salt air and await the expected 
 canoe, while our guide and mozo returned with the 
 horses to Santos Pac, with instructions to come for 
 us at three o’clock the following day. 
 
 A bare-legged Mexican in a dugout canoe was just 
 poling away with a cargo of merchandise for Mexcal- 
 tatan, and we sat and watched him disappear around 
 a turn in the laguna. No other life was visible in the 
 
140 BEYOND THE MEXIGAN SIERRAS 
 
 wide stretch of swamp, which reaches away toward 
 the distant mountains rising in blue grandeur to the 
 eastward. 
 
 These low lands, termed marismas, are character- 
 istic of the Tepic and Sinaloa coasts. During the 
 rainy period they are subject to inundation by high 
 tides and the overflow of rivers. When the rains 
 cease, at the close of September, the powerful rays of 
 the tropical sun quickly dry them, and then the few 
 trails that lead down from the upland to the sea 
 become passable for mules, though generally muddy 
 and difficult to traverse. The marismas are ideal 
 breeding-places for mosquitoes, and at all times reek 
 with malarial germs, and are exceedingly unhealthful. 
 Behind them the foothills rise and bank away into 
 the lofty ranges of the Sierra del Nayarit and the 
 Sierra de Alica, which extend north and south through 
 the centre of Tepic Territory, in continuation of the 
 Sierra Madres. 
 
 Our scrubby tree offered but indifferent protection 
 from the sun’s rays, mosquitoes were exceedingly 
 annoying, and our position was becoming anything 
 but pleasant, when, at the end of half an hour, an 
 Indian suddenly appeared as though he had risen out 
 of the earth. From a grass-thatched shed a little 
 distance away he had observed us, and in kindly 
 hospitality came to our relief. Would the senors wait 
 for their canoe under the poor shelter of his roof? 
 It was very hot out here in the open swamp. Cer- 
 tainly we would, and we were very grateful for his 
 thoughtfulness of our comfort. 
 
 The Indian was the custodian of a store of dried 
 shrimps, which were piled under his thatched shed to 
 
Under the uncertain shade of one scrubby and solitary tree, ire 
 deposited our belongings ” 
 
In a dugout canoe, poling away with a cargo of merchandise 
 
AMONGST THE LAGUNAS 
 
 141 
 
 await transportation by mule train to the interior 
 markets. They were put up in bales of one hundred 
 and fifty pounds encased in palm leaves and tied 
 with ropes of twisted fibre. We had eaten no dinner, 
 and thankfully accepted our host’s invitation to help 
 ourselves to shrimps. They were well cured, and with 
 sharpened appetities after our morning’s ride, we 
 found them exceedingly palatable. 
 
 It was three o’clock when two canoemen came for 
 us with a large dugout. They had been sent by a 
 merchant of the town, a friend of Kaiser’s who formerly 
 resided in Tepic City, where Kaiser had known him, 
 and brought a message of greeting and welcome. We 
 were soon seated in the bottom of the commodious 
 craft, and with one man at the bow and one at the 
 stern poled out through a laguna into a wide basin. 
 
 The water was teeming with fish, which jumped 
 constantly on every side. Indeed it was not unusual, 
 our guides informed us, for fish to jump into canoes. 
 Water fowl were everywhere, and there would have 
 been no difficulty in bagging a boatload of duck, had 
 we desired; but we were not on a hunting expedition, 
 and they were left undisturbed. 
 
 At the end of an hour our canoe entered a maze 
 of beautiful lagunas. With tropical foliage rising high 
 above our heads on either side, we wound our way in 
 and out amongst them, until finally we burst through 
 into a wider space to behold La Laguna de los Siete 
 Cielos — The Lake of the Seven Heavens. The banks 
 were lined with beautiful lavender-hued water-lilies, 
 small islands of them floating loose, and the air was 
 charged with their delicate perfume. This lily is 
 known as La Reina del Agua (The Queen of the Water), 
 
142 BEYOND THE MEXICAN SIERRAS 
 
 and certainly deserves its name. From this point it 
 lined our way with a profusion of blossoms. We were 
 told that the lilies were brought down in masses by 
 the rivers from interior lakes, during the rainy season 
 floods — chiefly through the Santiago Rio from Lake 
 Chapala — and floated into the lagunas when the 
 marismas was flooded. 
 
 Peering into the clear waters of La Laguna de los 
 Siete Cielos, one sees at the bottom what is apparently 
 an immense pile of silver money. Gravely our canoe- 
 men informed us that it was in fact real money, but 
 lying in a place encantado (enchanted) it was trans- 
 formed into shells when brought to the surface. Only 
 those who possess the proper charm can bring the 
 silver up unchanged. Long, long ago it was lost 
 there by a Spanish boat, and the spirits of the water 
 enchanted it, and, no man ever learning the secret and 
 necessary charm to enable him to recover it unchanged, 
 it lies there still. 
 
 In and out we turned amongst the entrancing 
 lagunas, once passing through a long arch of man- 
 groves called by the natives “El Canon.” No one 
 canoeman knows all of these waterways, and it could 
 easily be imagined how a stranger might become 
 hopelessly entangled and lost among them. Each 
 has its individual name, like the street of a city, and 
 is called a calle (street). Trained from early youth, 
 the native boatman learns one section only, and never 
 ventures beyond his known lagunas unattended. 
 
 Soon we saw the cimaron (shrimp) nets, some of 
 twisted reeds, some of twine, and then suddenly swung 
 into a lake in the centre of which, lying low in the 
 water, appeared the village of Mexcaltatan. 
 
CHAPTER XVI 
 
 MEXCALTATAN, THE MEXICAN VENICE 
 
 M EXCALTATAN is built in the form of a cart- 
 wheel, with the plaza for a hub, and canals, 
 lined with huts of reeds and poles, reaching 
 up to it like spokes from the outer rim of water. Very 
 picturesque and entrancing the little town looked as 
 we approached. The sun was just dropping behind 
 the lagunas to the westward, lighting the tops of 
 graceful cocoanut palms, which rose high above the 
 plaza, and setting on fire the red-tiled roofs of gray 
 huts below, while murky canals beneath lay in 
 deep and sombre shadow. A bit of old Mexico, soli- 
 tary and alone, untouched and unmarred by the march 
 of civilization, it seemed to breathe something of the 
 mystery of the forgotten days of its founders. 
 
 It was six o’clock when we landed. The tide was 
 out, and the canals were now naked black mud and 
 mire. Under the guidance of the canoemen, we 
 picked our way along a footpath that followed one 
 of the canals to the plaza, and to the store of Kaiser’s 
 friend, Senor Fortunato Martin. Senor Martin saw us 
 coming, and met us at the door with a most sincere 
 welcome. He and Kaiser fell upon each other’s necks, 
 and embraced, before our formal introduction took 
 place. 
 
 When we were finally made acquainted with our 
 host we deposited our artillery under his counter, as 
 
 143 
 
144 BEYOND THE MEXICAN SIERRAS 
 
 a mark of confidence in him, and to show the world 
 in general that we were not afraid even without the 
 protecting influence of firearms. Then we took our 
 way across town, to a hut where supper had been 
 engaged for us. 
 
 Our arrival had been heralded broadcast. Before 
 we had gone a block our progress resembled a circus 
 band-wagon parade, and I believe every child in the 
 town was at our heels. They had never seen a white 
 man before, nor people attired so strangely, and we 
 were veritable curiosities. We might have gone on 
 exhibition, and charged an admission fee, with profit- 
 able results. 
 
 At the hut where we were to eat, a talkative iron- 
 gray senora received us, and bade us in Spanish, “Sit 
 down — supper would be ready soon.” She was quite 
 puffed up with pride that she should have the honor 
 of entertaining us, and was plainly the envy of two 
 or three neighbor women, who were with her when we 
 came, but hurried away upon our entrance, doubtless 
 to notify the folk at home to come and have a peep 
 at the curious-looking strangers. We had hardly 
 seated ourselves when we discovered the place to be 
 surrounded on all sides by a crowd of men, women, and 
 children, old and young, large and small, peering in 
 at us through the cracks, or rather bars, of the hut, 
 for it was unplastered and resembled more a cage 
 than a house. I realized then how menagerie monkeys 
 must feel, if they feel or think at all, when on exhi- 
 bition before gaping crowds. 
 
 Presently supper was served, consisting of three 
 varieties of fish, the local names of which are robolo, 
 liza mocho, and Constantino. The fish was exceedingly 
 
THE MEXICAN VENICE 
 
 145 
 
 well cooked, and accompanied by tortillas and coffee. 
 We used our fingers in lieu of knives and forks, 
 appendages of civilization which have not yet been 
 introduced into this quiet corner of the world. Fish 
 is naturally the food staple here, and, indeed, but 
 few of the people eat meat at all, many of them never 
 having learned its taste, excepting perhaps pork and 
 the flesh of water fowl. The latter are usually so 
 plentiful and tame they can be had for the taking. 
 
 We dallied over our meal, and when at length we 
 arose to go, the crowd of spectators had dwindled 
 away to a few stragglers. This was a great relief, for 
 modest men such as those in our party could not but 
 feel embarrassed with so much popularity thus unex- 
 pectedly thrust upon them, and without attendance 
 we quietly stole back to Senor Martin’s. 
 
 Here we were introduced to his bosom friend, the 
 Jefe, or Mayor, who also, I believe, in this instance, 
 acted as Prefecto. The J6fe, like Senor Martin, was 
 a native of Tepic, and, like him, of Indian descent. 
 He is the ruler of Mexcaltatan, while Senor Martin, 
 his adjoining neighbor, is the proprietor of a general 
 store and gambling resort. Thus the two are the 
 great men of the place. 
 
 Presently the town band began to play in the plaza, 
 opposite, and the two gentlemen informed us they 
 had employed it to serenade during the evening, in 
 honor of our visit, which was a great event in the 
 history of Mexcaltatan. Only twice before, we were 
 told, within a period of which the memory of man 
 runneth not to the contrary, had white men trod her 
 streets. 
 
 The later of these visits had been ten years before 
 
146 BEYOND THE MEXICAN SIERRAS 
 
 when a renegade American came to kill the beautiful 
 birds of plumage, principally the white heron, which 
 were then very numerous here and so tame they could 
 be knocked over with sticks. The plumage of the heron 
 is at its prime during the hatching season and this was 
 the time chosen to kill them, therefore the young per- 
 ished with the mother. The fellow slaughtered them 
 by thousands, and when at length, Christian patience 
 exhausted, the Jefe rose up in his wrath against the 
 wanton destruction, and stopped it, and banished the 
 man with a stern warning never to return, this par- 
 ticular species of bird had been so nearly exterminated 
 that it is now rarely seen. It was the business of this 
 criminal to kill birds for aigrettes to adorn our ladies’ 
 heads, and it is a question in my mind which is 
 the greater criminal, the man who kills the bird for 
 profit, or the lady who wears the aigrette to satisfy 
 her vanity. I call them criminals, because the offence 
 should be made penal, if it is not. Besides, the word 
 helps to give vent to my strong feeling in the matter. 
 When I see a woman wearing the stuffed carcasses of 
 birds on her head, or the plumage of birds that have 
 been killed solely to supply so-called adornment, I in- 
 voluntarily liken her to the savage who bedecks him- 
 self in like manner. It is the same vanity, the same 
 unrefined, primitive notion of what constitutes adorn- 
 ment, that prompts both to adopt it. 
 
 Recently a woman was arguing with me long and 
 ardently against vivisection, and all the while she 
 talked I watched the poor stuffed remains of a bird 
 bobbing on her hat as she nodded her head to punctu- 
 ate her remarks, and I could not help asking myself, 
 “Is it a sincere sympathy for what she terms ‘the 
 
THE MEXICAN VENICE 
 
 147 
 
 poor, defenceless, tortured creatures' that prompts 
 this woman to take the stand she does against vivi- 
 section, or is it simply a fad with her, which she has 
 adopted because she thinks it is 'the thing’?" The 
 hat, with its stuffed bird, was a strong argument against 
 her sincerity, and not consistent with her remarks, 
 and I finally decided in favor of the fad, though I 
 discreetly kept this opinion to myself. I am a timid 
 man. The wrath of a woman is usually unreasoning, 
 often unjustified, and always terrible to contemplate, 
 especially when a man controverts her arguments with 
 a patent proof of her insincerity. 
 
 It was too dark to see the town that night, so we 
 sat out of doors, and smoked to keep away the swarms 
 of mosquitoes that infested the place, while we listened 
 to the music and chatted with our jovial host and his 
 friend the Jefe. Though neither of them could speak 
 English, we had little difficulty in carrying on a con- 
 versation through Kaiser. 
 
 “Did you make your wills before you came?" asked 
 Senor Martin. 
 
 “No, why should we make our wills before coming 
 to Mexcaltatan? ” 
 
 “In the high country they consider it a dangerous 
 undertaking to come down here to the swamps," he 
 explained. “Once in a while a merchant from Tepic 
 or Guadalajara comes, and before he leaves home he 
 always makes his will and says a last farewell to his 
 family." 
 
 “Did any of them ever die here?" we asked, with 
 some anxiety lest we had committed a grave over- 
 sight in neglecting to make our wills and to bid a fond 
 farewell to Gates and Bigelow. 
 
148 BEYOND THE MEXICAN SIERRAS 
 
 “Oh, no, it ’s just an old fiction. After the Con- 
 quest the Spaniards ranging the western coast of 
 Mexico discovered the town, and some of them tried 
 to live here, but the miasmal swamps made them all 
 sick with the fever, and they had to move away, and 
 the place has ever since been looked upon as fatal to 
 the white man. A bad name once given a locality will 
 cling to it, deserved or not. It is not really so bad 
 now. The natives will show you piles of oyster shells 
 that they say their forefathers were forced to open 
 to feed the Spaniards in those days. After that the 
 Spaniards came only now and then, when they were 
 on the coast and wanted a load of dried fish. There 
 was nothing to keep them, for there was no gold here 
 — nothing but fish.” 
 
 “What is the population of Mexcaltatan? ” I asked. 
 
 “Upwards of a thousand,” answered the J£fe. 
 
 “Have you ever found any relics that would point 
 to its ancient origin?” 
 
 “Oh, yes,” said Senor Martin. “Every fourteen 
 years or so the town had been burned down, and three 
 years ago, when we had the last fire, it was decided to 
 build a brick house for the J6fe’s office and residence, 
 and the jail, and when excavations were made for 
 foundations a number of idols of stone and clay, arrow 
 heads and stone axes and old pottery were dug up.” 
 
 “What did you do with them?” 
 
 “Gave them to the children to play with. They 
 were of no use.” 
 
 The following day I endeavored to find some of 
 these relics, hoping they might throw light upon the 
 people who founded Mexcaltatan, but without avail. 
 They had all been lost. 
 
THE MEXICAN VENICE 
 
 149 
 
 At ten o’clock the band ceased playing, and we were 
 invited to our room in Senor Martin’s house. 
 
 “A light will draw the mosquitoes,” said our host, 
 “so we shall have no light, but pass through the door 
 quickly and retire in the dark.” 
 
 When the door was opened, in we rushed into 
 unknown blackness, and, for aught we knew, to fall 
 into some bottomless pit. But we found solid ground 
 under our feet, and after groping around for some time 
 and colliding with one another, each finally found 
 himself a canvas cot, and went to his rest. 
 
 In the morning an old senora set out a wash basin 
 and some water under the cocoanut trees of the patio, 
 and we bathed our hands and faces, drying them upon 
 our handkerchiefs, for we had forgotten to bring towels 
 with us and our host had none to offer. 
 
 Then Senor Martin cut some cocoanuts from the 
 trees, and gave us the milk to drink and afterwards 
 we went out for a fish breakfast with our iron-gray 
 senora. Her hut was the hotel of the town, and one 
 of her guests was at table when we entered. He 
 proved to be a school-teacher, and, like the other 
 gentlemen mentioned, hailed from Tepic. He arose 
 as we entered, and extending his hand to each, greeted 
 us in English with, 
 
 “Good-morn-ing. I-am-your-friend,” and as we 
 sat down he continued, “ Tam- vera-much hun-ger-ie. 
 I-am-the-school-master . ’ ’ 
 
 It was gratifying to find some one who could speak 
 English, and I was exceedingly pleased to meet him. 
 A school-master, he was doubtless a man of some edu- 
 cation, and his knowledge of English would enable us 
 to converse with him in our own language, and thus 
 
150 BEYOND THE MEXICAN SIERRAS 
 
 learn much of our surroundings that we should other- 
 wise miss. 
 
 “How large a school have you, senor?” I asked, by 
 way of opening the conversation. 
 
 “I-count-it-forty-one,” he answered with great pre- 
 cision. 
 
 “A very good school,” I commented. “Have you 
 been teaching here long?” 
 
 ‘ ‘ I-count-it-forty-one. ’ ’ 
 
 I looked at him with astonishment. He was not 
 a day over twenty-eight. 
 
 “Excuse me, how long did you say?” 
 
 “I-count-it-forty-one.” Then in a moment he con- 
 tinued, “I-eata-the-meat. I-have-a-sickness.” 
 
 We then noticed that instead of fish, he had a small 
 piece of meat before him, fried and burned very black. 
 
 “Is that better for your ailment than fish?” I 
 inquired, beginning to wonder whether he was afflicted 
 with leprosy, not uncommon in some localities of 
 Western Mexico, and feeling a decided interest in the 
 matter, for we had all shaken his hand. But his • 
 reply was apparently far from the point. 
 
 ‘ ‘ I-have-a-sweet-heart-with-the-beau-ti-f ul-eyes. ’ ’ 
 
 “Ah,” I remarked, “ that must be very pleasant.” 
 
 “I-likes-it-here.” 
 
 This was the limit of the school-master’s English, 
 except “Good-bye. I-am-your-friend,” which was re- 
 peated to each of us individually as we departed. 
 
 The plaza of Mexcaltatan is a rectangle, in dimen- 
 sion about sixty by one hundred feet. Upon one 
 side of it is the Jefe’s house — which is also the Govern- 
 ment office — before referred to, and this and a small 
 church standing opposite are the only substantial 
 
THE MEXICAN VENICE 
 
 151 
 
 buildings in the town. Debris, accumulated through 
 centuries, has made solid ground of the plaza, and has 
 filled the ends of the canals adjoining it, to a point 
 above the high-water mark at flood tide during the 
 dry season. But from July to September, when the 
 rivers pour down their torrents from the mountains 
 of the interior into the lagunas, all but the bandstand 
 in the centre of the plaza is submerged, and when the 
 band discourses music from its elevated position on 
 Thursday and Sunday evenings during this period, 
 canoes circle around and in and out amongst the cocoa- 
 nut trees of the plaza, for then there is not a square 
 foot of earth above the flood to stand upon. 
 
 This was the dry season, and nearly a third of the 
 inner end of the canals was drained. Below that, 
 canoes propelled by men or women with long poles 
 moved up and down or swung around the town in 
 the canals that circle in from the outer lagunas. Some 
 of the canoes were laden with fish or shrimps, — the 
 morning catch; others were passing out, to carry the 
 occupants to their morning tasks. There were places 
 in the canals where fish were so numerous that they 
 crowded one another. Once we stopped where a man 
 was sorting shrimps, to watch a school of catfish swarm- 
 ing close to the canoe in which the man worked, and 
 devouring the rejected shrimps as he threw them into 
 the water. 
 
 Narrow paths were built along the canals, in front 
 of the houses, and narrow foot bridges, raised high, 
 that they might not interfere with the free passage 
 of canoes, permitted one to cross from canal to canal 
 at the points of intersection. We made a circuit of 
 the town along these paths and over these foot bridges, 
 
152 BEYOND THE MEXICAN SIERRAS 
 
 and everywhere were announced by children, who 
 shouted into the huts as we approached, “Here they 
 come! Here they come!” and curious-minded folk 
 stood in the doors to gaze at us as we passed. 
 
 After our inspection we returned to the plaza. Here 
 Senor Martin and the Jefe were waiting for us to 
 accompany them upon an excursion amongst the 
 lagunas. We were soon away, the five of us and two 
 Indian canoemen in a large dugout, shooting here and 
 there through the beautiful embowered waterways, 
 now into narrow places where the mangroves nearly 
 closed overhead, now into crystal lakes — a veritable 
 fairy maze — until we were quite confused with it all. 
 
 It was near eleven o’clock when we returned, and 
 were landed at a great drying wharf, to be introduced 
 to a Chinese merchant, who conducted the great 
 industry of the town in dried fish and shrimps. Ten 
 years before, this Chinaman came from San Francisco’s 
 Chinatown and landed at Mexcaltatan with a total 
 capital of fifty pesos and an accumulated stock of 
 absorbed Western American push. Now he is doing a 
 yearly business of $150,000 in dried fish, which he 
 exports to his fellow countrymen in San Francisco, 
 and dried shrimps which he distributes among the 
 interior cities of Mexico. He owns a large fleet of 
 dugout canoes, manned by Indians, some engaged in 
 fishing, others, the carreteros (freighters), in carrying 
 the prepared product to the mainland mule trains, or 
 to the steamers at San Bias or Mazatlan. One can 
 pass through inland lagunas almost the entire distance 
 from San Bias, at the south of Mexcaltatan, to Mazatlan 
 to the north of it, a distance by canoe of about one 
 hundred and fifty miles or thereabouts, and this route 
 
THE MEXICAN VENICE 
 
 153 
 
 has offered the Chinaman a cheap method of transpor- 
 tation for his products intended for the north-bound 
 steamers. To be exact, his business the year before 
 our visit amounted to $50,000 in fish, $100,000 in 
 shrimps, and $3,000 in salt — Mexican money. In 
 ten years he has accumulated in these lines of industry 
 a working capital of $300,000. He deplored the fact 
 that he could not get a concession to carry on the deep- 
 water shark fishing of the coast, for shark fins sell 
 readily in San Francisco’s Chinese colony; but another 
 Chinaman has that concession. 
 
 From the Chinaman’s drying yards, we visited a 
 school. The master — not our friend — seemed much 
 pleased at the opportunity to have his schoolroom 
 and his flock photographed. His “flock” at the time 
 consisted of but three children — all boys. However, 
 he politely excused himself until he could gather in 
 some more youngsters, for he wished to make a good 
 showing. We waited for him, and in a little while he 
 returned with four or five recruits, whom he had 
 gathered from adjoining houses, and the photograph 
 was duly made. The schoolhouse was much superior 
 to the average dwelling. It served also as the sleeping- 
 room of the master, as a canvas cot in the rear, 
 enclosed within a mosquito bar, gave evidence. 
 
 Opening upon the patio behind the Jefe’s quarters 
 was a jail in which three Indian prisoners were con- 
 fined — two men and a woman. Some weeks previ- 
 ously the prisoners, with another woman, left San 
 Bias one day in a dugout canoe, en route to Mazatlan. 
 They were overtaken by a storm, the canoe capsized, 
 and one of the women perished. The three prisoners 
 reached an island in safety, but every rag of clothing 
 
154 BEYOND THE MEXICAN SIERRAS 
 
 had been torn from their backs by the buffeting of 
 the sea, and all their food and everything they owned 
 in the world was lost beneath the waves. The sea 
 drove the body of the drowned woman upon the 
 shore, and the survivors, with sticks and hands, dug 
 a grave in the sand and buried it to protect it from 
 the thousands of vultures hovering above in anticipa- 
 tion of a ghoulish feast. 
 
 I shall not attempt to tell the story of how the three, 
 with nothing but bare hands, found means to eke out 
 an existence upon fish which were caught by the 
 most primitive methods, and upon roots which they 
 dug, until finally they were discovered and rescued 
 by a passing canoe, and brought to Mexcaltatan. 
 Here their nakedness was covered, and then they were 
 thrown into prison for committing the heinous offence 
 of burying a human body before the proper author- 
 ities had viewed it, for under the laws of Mexico this is 
 a grave crime. The law does not take into considera- 
 tion the fact that the flesh of bodies left unburied will 
 be devoured by the ever-waiting vultures in a few 
 brief hours, for vultures leave nothing but bones 
 behind them. Six months in prison was the sentence. 
 The unfortunate ones each had a small cell, with 
 earthen floor, but no blanket, bedding, or furniture. 
 The cells had no windows, but an iron-barred door 
 admitted light and air. A chain, passed around one 
 of the bars and around a log laid across the doorway 
 outside, the links of the chain fastened with an anti- 
 quated padlock, held the occupants insecurely. I 
 could not help remarking that if the prisoners had 
 been very ambitious to escape they could have done 
 so with slight effort. The chief of police — and he 
 
THE MEXICAN VENICE 
 
 155 
 
 constituted the entire police force of the town — 
 graciously permitted the gift of a few coins to the 
 prisoners. 
 
 Referring again to the vultures, I may say that they 
 were particularly numerous and tame at Mexcaltatan. 
 They sat upon the roofs, were at home in the plaza, 
 and everywhere watched for fish scraps like a lot of 
 hungry chickens. Upon ascending the narrow steps 
 in the bandstand I had to push one of them out of 
 my way. Without these scavengers Mexcaltatan 
 would not be habitable, for fish refuse would make a 
 pest hole of it. 
 
 There were two or three cows wading in the shallow 
 water, and swimming across the deeper channels to 
 browse upon the verdure of an adjacent island. Senor 
 Martin told us they ate fish, and moreover, he assured 
 us, they were adept at catching them. Perhaps they 
 did, but it stretched one’s credulity to believe it, and 
 I did not see them do it. There were, however, hogs 
 wallowing in the mud, and chickens everywhere, 
 which lived almost wholly upon fish. 
 
 Our horses were to be in waiting on the mainland 
 at three o’clock, and after a dinner consisting of the 
 famous Aztec dish tatishuile, composed wholly of 
 shrimps, and an especially toothsome fish known 
 locally as Majarras, we bade good-bye to Senor Martin 
 and the Jefe. 
 
 And so we left behind us this wonderful bit of old 
 Mexico, this town of the Aztecs with its quaint people 
 and quaint life, its ancient canals and embowered 
 lagunas, its flowers and its birds, well satisfied with 
 our visit, and withal quite ready to move on to other 
 scenes. 
 
156 BEYOND THE MEXICAN SIERRAS 
 
 Miguel was waiting for us with our mounts when 
 we reached the mainland at half-past three, and an 
 hour after dark, when everything under foot was 
 dripping wet with heavy evening dew, and overhead 
 the cloudless azure was aglitter with stars, we rode 
 into the patio of the Hotel Sur Pacifico in Santiago 
 Ixcuintla. Frederico Kaiser had severed his connec- 
 tion with the San Nicolas Hacienda, and the following 
 morning when Emerson, Randall, and I took the river 
 trail for the ranch, we bade him a final good-bye. 
 
CHAPTER XVII 
 
 THE PARTING IN MAZATLAN HARBOR 
 
 D URING our stay in Tepic Territory, nearly 
 every day was spent in the saddle exploring 
 the surrounding country, getting a close view 
 of the people and the life, or hunting. Game was 
 plentiful, and the birds and venison on our table were 
 secured without much effort, — but no one ever killed 
 beyond the requirements of the larder. Several vari- 
 eties of quail abound here, but the California quail is, 
 perhaps, the most numerous. Pheasants are in the 
 hills, and you have only to wait by a brook to get 
 your deer. We all had a crack at the alligators, of 
 course, which could be seen at any time sunning 
 themselves on the sands at the river bank; and it was 
 no great feat to shoot them. 
 
 One day a telegram came from Ramos announcing 
 a north-bound Pacific Mail steamer due to arrive at 
 San Bias on November seventeenth. Emerson was 
 to go home on this steamer, and to my great regret 
 Randall also found it necessary, for business reasons, 
 to return. The steamer was to touch at Mazatlan, 
 and that I might enjoy the society of my friends as 
 long as possible, I decided to accompany them as far 
 as that port, rather than go by the stage, which had 
 no attraction for me. From Mazatlan I could pro- 
 ceed by stage, or any more agreeable means that might 
 offer, to Culiacan, the capital city of the State of 
 
 157 
 
158 BEYOND THE MEXICAN SIERRAS 
 
 Sinaloa, there to outfit for my further inland travels. 
 It had been the intention of Randall and myself to 
 purchase mules in Santiago Ixcuintla, and to journey 
 northward to Mazatlan and Culiacan over the trails, 
 but good mules at that season were difficult to get, 
 and at a premium, and we had been forced to relin- 
 quish our plan. 
 
 So on the fourteenth of November we said farewell 
 to Bigelow and rode away. Gates and Serapio accom- 
 panied us as far as the Caimonaro, 'and I rode behind 
 with Serapio, to chat with him about the country, 
 while the others trotted ahead. 
 
 “I no likes you go,” said Serapio as we jogged 
 along. “You come-a once again?” 
 
 “I don’t know, Serapio,” I answered. “I should 
 like to come sometime, but it is uncertain.” 
 
 “Yes, come-a the June month. Write-a the letter 
 before. I senda th’ mozo Santiago with th’ horse. 
 I take-a you tiger hunt. I take-a you th’ alligator 
 hunt. I take-a you see strange Indian. Three kinda 
 th’ Indian, three kinda talk, three kinda clothes. Indian 
 live close each other but no like-a the other.” 
 
 At this moment our pack mule, which had lagged 
 behind the others and was directly in front of us, 
 decided that it was a propitious time to run away, and 
 off it started through a corn-field that we were passing, 
 scattering our baggage as it fled. Serapio was after 
 it in an instant, at full gallop, swinging his lariat above 
 his head. The rawhide settled around the mule’s 
 neck, and the refractory animal was ignominiously 
 led back to recover its load. Then, as though nothing 
 had happened to interrupt our conversation, Serapio 
 continued, 
 
PARTING IN MAZATLAN HARBOR 159 
 
 “I take-a you see all. Write-a th’ letter for th’ 
 June month.” 
 
 “ Thank you, Serapio,” I said, grateful for the 
 invitation. “I’ll try hard to come, but I can’t say 
 yet. I’ll let you know.” 
 
 “I like-a th’ Americano. I much Americano, too. 
 I been-a th’ cowboy in Texas. Maybe senda my son 
 Miguel. Make-a th’ man of Miguel. Make-a th’ man 
 of Mexicano. Americano in-a th’ business, quick. 
 Mexicano, no. Ask-a Americano business, he say 
 'yes,’ 'no,’ quick. Ask-a Mexicano, he say ‘manana.’ 
 'You come-a to-morrow’; again he say ‘manana,’ 
 always ‘manana.’ Keep you one week, maybe two, 
 always ‘manana,’ then tella you 'no good.’ Damn! 
 Damn-a bad lot! Sell-a th’ goods same-a th’ Jew. 
 Has-a th’ many price. One-a price to you, different 
 price to other. Mexicano pay one price, Americano 
 pay two-a, three-a times more. Damn!” 
 
 In Mexico, as Serapio said, everything is to be done 
 manana, and if you ask a Mexican a question that calls 
 for any other answer than “yes” or “no,” his reply is 
 sure to be “Quien sabef” (Who knows?) 
 
 This suggests a story I heard in Mexico. An Ameri- 
 can was standing on a street corner one day watching 
 a funeral procession file past. It was an elaborate 
 funeral with many mourners, and suggested that the 
 deceased had been some one of distinction. To satisfy 
 his curiosity the American asked a Mexican at his 
 side, 
 
 “Who was the deceased, my friend?” 
 
 “Quien sabe?” came the inevitable answer, with the 
 annoying shrug of the shoulders that always accom- 
 panies it. 
 
160 BEYOND THE MEXICAN SIERRAS 
 
 “Well,” said the American, his face lighting up, 
 “I’m glad ‘Quien Sabe’ is dead. I suppose I’m hard- 
 hearted, but I’m glad. Now, if ‘Manana’ would only- 
 die, there’d be some hope for your country.” 
 
 At the Caimonaro, Gates and Serapio left us, and 
 after dark that night we rode into Navarrete. I had 
 not forgotten the promise made to the round-faced 
 senorita, when I took the snapshot of her on our 
 previous visit, and before we sat down to supper I 
 gave her a copy of the photograph. She accepted 
 it eagerly, and for a full half-hour, while we were 
 eating, admired it, now and then uttering a delighted 
 exclamation. After supper, I took a seat on a bench, 
 and she came over and sat by me, still holding the 
 photograph. She looked at me intently for a moment 
 and then placing her hand upon my shoulder exclaimed, 
 “Don Pancho! 0, Don Pancho!” She had decided 
 that I was a magician or possessed some superhuman 
 power, that I could produce her likeness upon paper 
 in that manner. She asked where I was going, and 
 I told her, through Randall, who had mastered some 
 of the dialect, to Culiacan, and then far, far away. 
 She wanted to go with me. A man who could do 
 what I had done could do anything. She would stay 
 with me always. The situation was becoming interest- 
 ing for me, and very amusing to the others. I had 
 not foreseen any such result as this when I made that 
 miserable print. I told her it was a cold, cold country 
 I lived in, and she would not like it, — I could not 
 take her with me. 
 
 Presently our mozo came in and asked, “A qui 
 saiga?” (At what time do you go?) 
 
 “What bobtailed Spanish!” exclaimed Randall, 
 
PARTING IN MAZATLAN HARBOR 161 
 
 after he had instructed the mozo to be ready at six on 
 the morning. 
 
 It was near noon the following day when we had 
 our first glimpse of San Bias Hill, and for my two 
 friends, now homeward bound, it was good to see. 
 Ramos met us at the Hotel Americano, with the dis- 
 turbing report that the bubonic plague had broken 
 out in Mazatlan, but cheered us with the information 
 that the previous report of cholera was unfounded. 
 I immediately wired the American consul in that 
 town, Mr. Louis Kaiser, requesting the facts, and the 
 next day received the following reply: 
 
 “No bubonic or other plagues here except scarcity of 
 money.” 
 
 I was already inoculated with the germs of that 
 plague, so the telegram brought me great relief. 
 
 San Bias, which had seemed to us so strange and 
 wonderful, so Oriental and unique, but a few weeks 
 before, was now exceedingly commonplace. Close 
 contact with the country had robbed it of its first 
 charm, and eager as we had been then to dip into the 
 novel life, w T e were now still more eager to be away. 
 Possibly the hehens, or sand flies, had something to 
 do with our wish. They were exceedingly numerous 
 and active, and attacked us most effectively. 
 
 The steamer was a day behind the expected time 
 and Ramos took us fishing out to “Old Blanco,” a 
 bird rock lying off the shallow harbor. I had just 
 hauled in a fish that resembled some descriptions 
 of Mephistopheles, and Emerson in an inexplicable 
 manner had taken a half-hitch around a snake, which 
 he also brought aboard our boat, when he and Randall 
 developed seasickness and nausea, and we had to quit. 
 
162 BEYOND THE MEXICAN SIERRAS 
 
 But we bought some oysters — not comparable in 
 quality with our Atlantic oysters — which we took 
 to the hotel, and Ramos secured some milk and made 
 a good old-fashioned stew, the first thing that tasted 
 like American food since our landing in Mexico. It 
 was a source of amusement to the old women who ran 
 our hotel, and they laughed at Ramos while he cooked 
 it over the kitchen fire, which piqued him to such an 
 extent that he refused to let them taste it. 
 
 Our party was enlarged here by a young mining 
 chemist — a typical American optimist — who came 
 in during the night. The mine he was employed in 
 was controlled by an American bank which had gone 
 down in the financial crash. He and two friends 
 were left stranded. They pawned their instruments 
 in Tepic City, and he was on his way home to raise 
 money to pay the passage of his friends to San Fran- 
 cisco. He had just funds enough in his pocket to 
 buy a steerage ticket. It was his second or third 
 experience of this kind in Mexico, but he was very 
 philosophical and treated it as a huge joke. 
 
 On November eighteenth the City of Para anchored 
 off San Bias, and we lost no time in going aboard. 
 Ramos put two lighter loads of bananas into her hold, 
 then said farewell, and, just as the sun was dropping 
 into the Pacific, we steamed away. Randall stood 
 at the rail as San Bias faded from view, and I heard 
 him say: 
 
 “Good-bye, thou land of sunshine and perspiration, 
 fleas and hehens, garapotas and alacranes, manana and 
 quien sabe. I’m going home to God’s country. I’m 
 a good citizen of the United States, and I never was 
 so proud of it as now.” Turning to the Stars and 
 
PARTING IN MAZATLAN HARBOR 163 
 
 Stripes floating aft, he took off his hat. “Flag, I 
 salute thee! That old flag does look mighty good, 
 doesn’t it?” And then we went into the dining 
 saloon to enjoy the first good American dinner, and 
 the first food not seasoned with chilli peppers, we 
 had eaten for weeks, and not an item on the menu 
 escaped us. 
 
 The City of Para dropped anchor in the offing at 
 Mazatlan on the morning of November nineteenth. 
 Half a mile away, under Cerro del Creston, lay another 
 American steamer with the yellow flag of quarantine 
 flying from her foremast, an indication that she had 
 recently arrived, and, probably, from San Francisco, 
 as that was practically the only port against which 
 quarantine regulations were strictly enforced by the 
 Mazatlan authorities. Upon inquiry it was learned 
 that this steamer was the Curacao of the Pacific Coast 
 Line, and was doubtless northward bound to Gulf of 
 California ports. If this were the case it would suit 
 me exactly. I could take passage on her to Altata, 
 the seaport of Culiacan, and go thence by rail to 
 Culiacan, as the capital city, forty-five miles inland, 
 is connected with Altata by a railway. Thus I could 
 avoid an excruciating stage journey from Mazatlan, 
 and economize time. 
 
 The same doctor who had rejected us before now 
 pronounced us worthy of admission to Mazatlan 
 society, for our brief residence in Mexico had purged 
 us of such germs as we might have brought down with 
 us from our own pest-ridden country; and with this 
 permission to land, we engaged one of the numerous 
 boatmen, who were clamoring for passengers at the 
 ship’s side, to take us ashore. 
 
164 BEYOND THE MEXICAN SIERRAS 
 
 Once on land we hurried to the office of the Pacific 
 Coast Line, where I found my surmise as to the Cura- 
 cao’s course to be correct, and that she would sail that 
 very evening for Altata. My passage ticket was 
 quickly purchased, some other business transacted, 
 and then we called upon Mr. Louis Kaiser, the Ameri- 
 can consul, to pay our respects. 
 
 We found Mr. Kaiser* to be a jolly, cordial little 
 man, in dimensions about five feet tall and four 
 feet broad. He had occupied this post for several 
 years, and was one of the most efficient, active, 
 and popular of our consular agents in Mexico. He 
 evinced interest in my trip, and offered me every 
 possible assistance in collecting data, an offer which 
 I was profoundly grateful for, and of which I took 
 advantage later. 
 
 We ate dinner at the Hotel Central, Emerson, 
 Randall, and I, and a very good dinner it was. We 
 made much of it, too, for this was to be our farewell 
 meal together, and we realized how unlikely it was 
 that the three of us would ever sit at the same table 
 together again. We talked over the experiences of 
 past weeks with their delightful companionship, and 
 made plans and promises for future correspondence, 
 until the hour appointed to meet our boatmen. Then 
 we reluctantly returned to the wharf, loaded my 
 baggage, which had been left at the custom house, 
 into the boat, and rowed to the Curacao’s side. My 
 friends were not permitted to come aboard, because 
 of the yellow flag at the masthead; so we said farewell 
 at the ladder, and they proceeded to their ship. 
 
 The Pacific was aglow with the afterlight of a mag- 
 
 * Mr. Kaiser has since resigned. 
 
PARTING IN MAZATLAN HARBOR 165 
 
 nificent sunset as we steamed past the City of Para. 
 I sat upon the deck until she was swallowed up by the 
 night, and until the dark silhouette of Cerro del Creston, 
 surmounted by its lofty blinking light, was lost in the 
 distance. 
 
CHAPTER XVIII 
 
 NORTH OF THE TROPICS 
 
 T HE Curacao steamed into Altata harbor at 
 nine o’clock on the morning of November 
 twentieth. In the night we had crossed the 
 Tropic of Cancer, and passed out of the torrid into 
 the temperate zone. In even this short journey to 
 the northward there was a marked difference in the 
 temperature, and in a few hours the burning heat of 
 the south had been supplanted by a balmier and less 
 stifling atmosphere. 
 
 The white huts of Altata, with their thatched roofs 
 of sea grass clustering on the sandy beach or rising 
 on the face of a low sand hill, with little vegetation 
 to be seen, save here and there a stately cocoa- 
 nut palm, presented a picturesque, though squalid, 
 appearance. The lack of green shrubbery and grass 
 could not fail to strike one forcibly, and nowhere was 
 there a church spire or a substantial structure to give 
 dignity to the place. The unsubstantial character of 
 the buildings, I learned, was due to the fact that some 
 ten or twelve years before a tidal wave had submerged 
 and destroyed the greater part of the town. The 
 business portion of Altata previous to that time had 
 contained several buildings of brick and stone, but 
 they had crumbled away before the flood, and now 
 vessels anchor where they once stood. When Altata 
 was rebuilt only these flimsy huts were erected to 
 
 166 
 
NORTH OF THE TROPICS 
 
 167 
 
 take the place of those destroyed, "for/’ argued the 
 philosophical natives, “some time or other a tidal 
 wave may come again, and so what is the use of build- 
 ing good houses?” 
 
 The sand slopes out so gently toward the deep 
 water of the harbor roadway that the boat in which I 
 left the ship, in company with several other passengers, 
 was brought to a stop by the shallow water some ten 
 or fifteen yards from shore; and here our two bare- 
 legged boatmen sprang into the surf, and carried us 
 to dry land upon their backs. 
 
 Though I had just come from a Mexican port, a 
 fact of which the officers were well assured by ample 
 proof, I was called upon to unpack my bags and dis- 
 play to the gaze of the inspector and the assembled 
 populace every last article I had with me. One of 
 the onlookers was a fat Mexican of Spanish extrac- 
 tion, who could speak very good English. He politely 
 offered to interpret for me, and through him I explained 
 to the customs officers who and what I was, where I 
 bought this and that, how much I paid for it, the color, 
 sex, age, and nationality of the salesman or saleswoman 
 from whom I purchased it, where I had been and what 
 I had done during the past decade, my prospects in 
 life, my antecedents, in short, my pedigree generally. 
 I laid bare to them my innermost soul. A friend told 
 me later that I was subjected to this third degree 
 ordeal because I looked like an escaped bank embezzler 
 from the United States, and just then, in the midst 
 of the financial difficulty in the States, there were a 
 good many of these gentlemen floating down into 
 Mexico. 
 
 In this connection I may say that it is not good 
 
168 BEYOND THE MEXICAN SIERRAS 
 
 form to ask an American in Mexico his name, and it is 
 positively rude to ask him what part of the United 
 States he came from, for in doing so one is likely to 
 tread upon delicate ground. I know one American 
 down there who, when introduced to a fellow country- 
 man, always asks: “What was your name before you 
 came to Mexico?” This man is not in favor, and he 
 is ostracized by the wealthier members of the Ameri- 
 can colony — those whose feelings are injured by the 
 insinuation. 
 
 During the inquisition that the customs official 
 put me through I kept my temper. As a reward no 
 backsheesh in the form of duty was levied upon me. 
 I learned later that the fat Mexican was the leader 
 of a sort of Tammany Hall political organization and, 
 therefore, in him was combined the mayor, the officials 
 that take the place of aldermen, and so on — a sort 
 of Pooh-Bah concentrated essence of government, 
 although not nominally an office-holder at all; in 
 short, just like the leader of Tammany Hall in New 
 York City. Perhaps that was why he was so portly 
 and prosperous. 
 
 Altata, as was stated in a previous chapter, is the 
 seaport of Culiacan, the capital of the State of Sinaloa. 
 These towns, situated forty-five miles distant from 
 each other, are the terminals of the railroad that 
 connects them. Since it was put in operation in the 
 early seventies practically no improvement or addi- 
 tion has been made to the road or its rolling stock, 
 and the same wood-burning locomotives, with the 
 same wide-mouthed smoke-stacks, are still in service. 
 There are only two locomotives on the line and they 
 have undergone no change since they came from the 
 
Going ashore at Altata 
 
A scene in Altata 
 
NORTH OF THE TROPICS 
 
 169 
 
 shops of the Baldwin Locomotive Works in Paterson, 
 New Jersey, nearly forty years ago. There are first- 
 and second-class passenger cars on this road — no 
 stretch of the imagination could dignify them as 
 coaches — and tri-weekly trains are operated. The 
 first-class cars are nothing more or less than old- 
 fashioned box cars with doors and platforms built in 
 the ends, windows in the sides, and with rough slat 
 seats. The second-class cars are flat cars with similar 
 seats and a roof, but no sides. Formerly they had 
 third-class cars. What these could have been like it 
 is hard to imagine, unless they were plain flat cars 
 with no seats or roof. 
 
 Fortunately I had arrived on a day when a train was 
 scheduled to leave Altata. I say “scheduled to leave,” 
 for one can never tell whether it will actually leave or 
 not, and if it does, how far it will go, — it is so prone 
 to get off the rails. It was near twelve o’clock when 
 they finished with me at the custom house, and then 
 I had a mozo transfer my baggage to the station at 
 once, where I learned that the train would depart 
 for Culiacan at two. 
 
 At the station I met a young American, one of the 
 Curacao's passengers, who had come ashore to stretch 
 his legs and look around. I had nearly two hours at 
 my disposal, and we decided to utilize the time in a 
 joint survey of Altata, and in quest of dinner. 
 
 Our curiosity as to the town was soon satisfied, for 
 we found it to be a most miserable and unattractive 
 place. In the streets one sinks ankle-deep in sand, 
 the plaza is a square of sand void of all verdure, and 
 the interiors of the houses are squalid and dirty. We 
 were directed for dinner to one of the larger hovels 
 
170 BEYOND THE MEXICAN SIERRAS 
 
 down by the beach, which we were informed was the 
 principal hotel. When I saw the place I was most 
 thankful that it was not my lot to pass a night in it. 
 Several weeks later I had occasion to recall this, when 
 my fortune changed. 
 
 Shortly after two o’clock the train pulled out, to 
 bump leisurely along the streaks of rust that took the 
 place of rails, and presently the conductor, an Ameri- 
 can, a unique individual named Charley, appeared 
 to collect the tickets. The most noticeable charac- 
 teristics of Charley were a broad-brimmed sombrero, 
 attached to his coat by a string, and an impassive 
 face, punctuated by a sharp nose surmounted by two 
 small eyes. He was accompanied by a Mexican, who 
 received money, and supplied tickets to those who had 
 not purchased them at the station. Charley had this 
 Mexican ticket seller with him as a precautionary 
 measure, and as a matter of self-protection. In the 
 early days of the railroad he did the work alone, but 
 one day a passenger who had no ticket declined to 
 pay his fare,’ for the very good reason that he had no 
 fare to pay. Charley pitched the man off the train 
 without going to the formality of stopping it, and the 
 passenger was so careless and inconsiderate as to get 
 killed, which was quite uncalled for so far as the 
 speed of the train was concerned. It annoyed Charley 
 a good deal, for he had to stop the train to pick up 
 the remains and take them to the next house. It 
 annoyed him still more when the authorities put him 
 into jail for a few days while the occurrence was 
 investigated. Of course, Charley was set free, for 
 he had done nothing but pitch the fellow off the mov- 
 ing train, and it was not his fault if the man did not 
 
NORTH OF THE TROPICS 
 
 171 
 
 alight properly and was killed. After this occurrence 
 the native ticket seller was installed as a sort of official 
 bouncer. Charley, I might say, is many other things 
 on this railroad beside conductor. He is general 
 traffic manager, roadmaster, trainmaster, superin- 
 tendent of motive power, and holds other offices too 
 numerous to mention — a sort of railroad official 
 trust. 
 
 The railroad bridge across the Culiacan River, a 
 stream of considerable breadth, washes away each 
 year in the annual flood, and this year it had not yet 
 been replaced. The passengers were all ferried across 
 in canoes, and on the opposite side we found the other 
 engine and other cars waiting us, and after a half- 
 hour’s delay, to permit of the transfer of freight, were 
 on our way again. 
 
 There were two Americans on the train en route to 
 Culiacan. We three spent the time very pleasantly 
 chatting about the country and its possibilities, and 
 noting the condition of the crops. For a few miles 
 from the coast the soil is sandy and barren, and 
 then the train passes into a fertile district. This 
 section has a striking likeness to Southern California. 
 The soil and topography of the country resemble it 
 very closely, though the vegetation is naturally more 
 tropical. 
 
 There is marked contrast between the natives here 
 and those of Tepic Territory. These have a less 
 swarthy skin, and their features and movements 
 stamp them as of different blood. This is doubtless 
 to some extent due to the fact that here there is a 
 greater mixture of blood and races, brought about by 
 the readier means of communication with those farther 
 
172 BEYOND THE MEXICAN SIERRAS 
 
 north, supplied by frequent steamers and numerous 
 sailing craft on the coast, and extended inland from 
 Altata by the railroad to Culiacan. The men do not 
 wear pajamas, but otherwise the dress is similar to 
 that seen in Tepic. 
 
 Our train halted for some time opposite the refining 
 works of the Sinaloa Sugar Company, owned by an 
 American firm. It is one of the most extensive sugar 
 plants in Mexico, and one of very few where modern, 
 up-to-date machinery has been installed. The annual 
 production of the factory is over two thousand tons. 
 As a general rule, the sugar mills of Mexico are fitted 
 with antiquated machinery, and antediluvian methods 
 of manufacture are in vogue. On either side of the 
 railroad, for a considerable distance around the sugar 
 works, lay magnificent fields of cane, which here is 
 unusually rich in quality and large in size. 
 
 Darkness finally came to shut out our view of the 
 country. A native brakeman hung a smoky lantern 
 in the car, which cast gloom rather than light, and I 
 was glad when the glare of the electric lights of Culia- 
 can at length sprang into view on our left, as the 
 train lumbered around a curve. 
 
 It was seven o’clock when we came to a halt at the 
 station. Instantly a dozen men and boys rushed into 
 the car, in mad competition to secure possession of 
 the passengers’ hand baggage, with the avowed inten- 
 tion of carrying it, for a consideration, to waiting 
 carriages outside. I had been warned that sometimes 
 these fellows after securing baggage mysteriously 
 disappeared with it in the crowd and darkness, to be 
 seen no more, and I resolved to hold on to mine. 
 After two or three strenuous wrestling matches with 
 
NORTH OF THE TROPICS 
 
 173 
 
 insistent ones, I at length found myself on the plat- 
 form, still in control of my suit case, only to be beset 
 by a crowd of carriage drivers intent upon capturing 
 me bodily. I finally selected one who looked honest 
 and had a fairly good-appearing rig. He climbed to his 
 seat, another handed my suit case up to him, and with 
 the direction “Hotel Cosmopolita” we rattled away 
 toward the centre of the town, finally halting in front 
 of the hotel, which faces the spacious plaza. 
 
 It was an attractive-looking hostelry from without 
 and well situated. The room to which I was shown 
 was typical of Mexican hotels. When I came down 
 to supper, I was greeted by the proprietor, who proved 
 to be a German speaking very good English. What 
 was my astonishment at this moment to have a 
 young native appear and demand dos reales for hand- 
 ing my suit case to the driver of my carriage at the 
 station. I explained the circumstances to the land- 
 lord, who in turn expressed himself to the applicant 
 in what must have been forceful terms, to judge from 
 the fellow’s hasty withdrawal. I did not recall having 
 seen the man though I suppose he was the one who 
 had grabbed my suit case from me and had handed it 
 to the driver. My friend, the landlord, remarked with 
 commendable candor that it was because I looked 
 green and inexperienced that the fellow “tried to 
 touch me.” 
 
 Out on the wide brick sidewalk in front of the hotel 
 several Americans, clad in khaki, flannel shirts, and 
 sombreros, were gathered around a table smoking and 
 chatting, and after supper I lit a cigar and joined 
 them. They were miners and prospectors temporarily 
 in from the mountains. The subject of conversation 
 
174 BEYOND THE MEXICAN SIERRAS 
 
 was the burial that day in the Culiacan cemetery 
 of an American. They had contributed to give the 
 deceased a decent interment, and were shocked to 
 find that the Mexican gravedigger had shovelled up 
 the bones of other deceased individuals, and frag- 
 ments of the putrefied remains of a less ancient corpse, 
 for whom friends and relations had doubtless failed 
 to pay ground rent. 
 
 That is the way they conduct their cemeteries 
 generally in Mexico. The plots are not sold, but 
 rented, and upon failure to duly and promptly pay 
 rent, the corpse is unceremoniously disinterred, when 
 occasion arises to use the ground for the accommo- 
 dation of another. Coffins, too, are rented. The 
 body is taken to the grave in one, and there removed, 
 so that the same coffin serves over and over again. 
 The burial of a coffin would be looked upon as a sinful 
 waste. 
 
 This sprightly subject of conversation exhausted, 
 my friends discussed mines and mining, and I learned 
 that neatly all the operations had been affected by 
 the financial depression at home, and most of the 
 mines indefinitely closed. This was not very pleasant 
 news. I had planned to visit some of the workings 
 on my way to Tepehuanes, the nearest railway point 
 on the plateau beyond the Sierra Madres, which was 
 my next objective en route to Durango, Monterey, 
 and Mexico City. 
 
CHAPTER XIX 
 
 A WEDDING AND A BULL-FIGHT 
 
 HE town was just awakening when I arose in 
 
 the morning and stepped out upon the hotel 
 
 balcony, for a first daylight view of my new 
 surroundings. Early shafts of sunlight were falling 
 upon the tall spires of the beautiful cathedral and 
 shimmering in the treetops of the plaza, the sky was 
 cloudless, and the atmosphere, sweet with the per- 
 fume of dew-wet flowers, was balmy and delicious. 
 It was a superb and inspiring morning. For eight 
 months of the year this is the condition in Culiacan. 
 The air is balmy and full of sweetness; it is not so 
 warm as to be uncomfortable, and it is never cold. 
 The sun shines all day long from a soft blue sky, the 
 flowers ever bloom, the grass and trees are ever green. 
 
 The weather here is not a topic of conversation. It 
 would be superfluous and tiresome always to say when 
 one meets an acquaintance, "A fine day, sir,” or 
 "Beautiful weather we ’re having.” So that subject, 
 with its trite remarks, is entirely eliminated, and one 
 cannot fall back upon it when conversation lags. Even 
 during the four months or so of the wet, heated term 
 it is the same, for then, too, every one knows at night 
 just what to expect in the morning. 
 
 Culiacan lays claim to ancient origin and a romantic 
 past. There is a legend that the Aztecs, in their 
 migration to the southward, were so charmed by the 
 
 175 
 
176 BEYOND THE MEXICAN SIERRAS 
 
 situation, the climate, and the luxuriant flowers and 
 vegetation, that they halted here, decided to go no 
 farther, and built a town. They tarried in great con- 
 tent until one day the god Quitzalcoatl, who had long 
 been silent, commanded them through an oracle to 
 proceed again upon their journey and not to stop until 
 they came to a lake where they should see an eagle, 
 seated upon a cactus, devouring a snake. There they 
 were to build their city and found their kingdom. 
 And thus it happened that Tenochtitlan, instead of 
 Culiacan, became the seat of the Aztec Empire. 
 
 Some of the Aztecs remained behind in Culiacan, 
 and here the Spaniards found a considerable settle- 
 ment when they explored the country adjacent to the 
 Gulf of California. It was a rare situation, and the 
 conquerors so quickly made of it a military stronghold 
 that only nine years after the Conquest, when two 
 escaped priests, who had been members of an expe- 
 dition which was massacred by Indians in what is 
 now Arizona, found their way here, the commander 
 of Culiacan fortress was able, on a day’s notice, to 
 despatch a thousand troops to avenge the massacre, 
 and incidentally to force the untractable Arizona 
 Indians to become Christians. 
 
 It is not to be supposed that this and others of the 
 pretty legends recorded in the course of our narrative 
 are substantiated history, but only that they are about 
 as well authenticated as two-thirds of what we read 
 of the “history” of Mexico previous to the Conquest, 
 and as reliable as most of the surmises of the anti- 
 quarians, who consistently disagree with one another. 
 These legends are repeated as I heard them, and the 
 reader may believe them in toto, in part, or not at all, 
 
Cave with adobe front, used as a dwelling, near Culiacan 
 
An American ranch-house near Culiacan 
 
A WEDDING AND A BULL-FIGHT 177 
 
 according to his credulity. My own credulity is weak. 
 However, the word “Culiacan” is of Indian origin and 
 that is something. 
 
 I purchased some delicious fruit from a street 
 vender — whom I later learned was a leper, — and 
 after a walk in the plaza and breakfast at the hotel, 
 called at the office of the Sinaloa Land Company, 
 and presented a letter of introduction from its presi- 
 dent in Los Angeles to Mr. J. C. McCarthy, its resident 
 manager. Mr. McCarthy welcomed me most cor- 
 dially, and not only expressed an interest in my trip 
 but was good enough to offer to assist me in my quest 
 for information about the country. He had spent 
 many years in various parts of Mexico, with unusual 
 opportunities for observation, and I felt myself fortu- 
 nate indeed in thus securing his kindly cooperation. 
 I accepted an invitation to drive with him in the after- 
 noon, and in his company saw and learned more of 
 the capital city of Sinaloa in two or three hours than 
 I could have observed otherwise in a week. 
 
 Culiacan has at present a population of about 
 fourteen thousand. Its railroad connection with the 
 coast makes it so accessible to the Pacific steamers, 
 and therefore to San Francisco by that route, and to 
 the southwestern United States by way of the Gulf 
 of California steamers to Guaymas, and thence by the 
 Sonora Railroad which connects with the Southern 
 Pacific Railroad, that it is quite Americanized and 
 modernized in many respects. It has several good, 
 up-to-date stores where nearly anything one may 
 desire can be found.* 
 
 * Since my visit the new railroad has been put into operation to 
 Mazatlan, and one may ride in a Pullman car, without change, from 
 Los Angeles to Culiacan. 
 
178 BEYOND THE MEXICAN SIERRAS 
 
 Being the seat of the Sinaloa State government, it 
 numbers among its residents some of the best families 
 of the Republic; and in the better society one finds a 
 degree of refinement and culture not usual in Mexican 
 cities of its size. Several of the younger set, par- 
 ticularly, have travelled and been educated in the 
 United States and Europe. Naturally they reflect 
 what they have absorbed abroad, and the effect of it 
 is plainly visible. The leading families are almost 
 wholly of Spanish origin, though some of them have 
 intermarried with Europeans and Americans, and it 
 may be pertinent to remark that young American 
 gentlemen are looked upon by the marriageable ladies 
 with much favor. 
 
 These advanced conditions of Culiacan society are 
 due, in no small measure, to the influence of the en- 
 lightened and progressive governor, Senor Francisco 
 Canedo.* He is a stanch supporter of President Diaz, 
 — one of that group of patriots mentioned in an earlier 
 chapter, who are working for the purity of government 
 and morals and for the uplifting of their country. There 
 is, too, a remarkable public spirit manifest in the State 
 legislature. Broad and just laws have been enacted 
 and are intelligently administered, and life and prop- 
 erty of foreigners and natives alike are as well pro- 
 tected as in the United States. 
 
 One of the things that impressed me in my after- 
 noon drive with Mr. McCarthy was the cleanliness of 
 the streets. In this respect Culiacan is far above the 
 average Mexican city. The laws require that every 
 householder shall each morning sweep clean the side- 
 walk and street opposite his house, and this require- 
 
 * Recently deceased. 
 
A WEDDING AND A BULL-FIGHT 179 
 
 ment induces care. It is a conceit of the inhabitants 
 that they have the best kept city in the Republic, and 
 they try to live up to it. 
 
 There is a large cotton mill situated here, where 
 coarse cotton fabrics and zerapes, such as are worn 
 by the peons, are manufactured. We were shown 
 through it, and I could almost have imagined myself 
 in a New England mill. It was running to its full 
 capacity on cotton raised on local haciendas. 
 
 Culiacan has two plazas, and music is to be heard 
 nearly every afternoon or evening in one or the other 
 of them. The boys’ band from the Industrial Reform 
 School, a Mexican institution unique to Culiacan, was 
 playing in one of them and we halted our carriage to 
 enjoy the very excellent music, which, it might be 
 remarked, did not partake of the mournful character 
 so noticeable in Tepic. 
 
 After dinner that evening I took early leave of Mr. 
 McCarthy, that I might attend the cathedral, where 
 the religious half of a marriage ceremony was to be 
 performed in public. The civil half was reserved for 
 the seclusion of the home of the bride’s parents, and 
 to this only invited guests were admitted. 
 
 The general public and myself were lined up on 
 either side of the cathedral interior, leaving a wide 
 aisle from the broad main entrance doors, in front, 
 to the altar. There we waited patiently for half an 
 hour, until a signal was given for the music to begin, 
 and the wedding party appeared. 
 
 The bride was very attractive, as were the eight 
 bridesmaids. I do not remember anything about the 
 gentlemen. I forgot to look at them. The ladies 
 were dressed in some sort of fluffy white stuff, the 
 
180 BEYOND THE MEXICAN SIERRAS 
 
 bride wearing a veil, and the bridesmaids white lace 
 mantillas. None of them wore gloves, save possibly 
 the bride, and of that I am not certain. To the 
 advantage of the exchequer of the head of the family 
 ladies do not wear gloves and bonnets in Western 
 Mexico. 
 
 At the altar the bride’s father duly asserted that 
 she was his legitimate daughter, and with solemn ser- 
 vice the padre performed the marriage ceremony. 
 Then the band struck up and bride and groom walked 
 out with their guests, to be driven to the home of the 
 bride’s father, where a civil officer was waiting to 
 legalize the ceremony. Here, in accordance with cus- 
 tom, all doors were locked, no guest allowed to depart, 
 and the night was given over to dancing, champagne, 
 and hilarity until four o’clock in the morning, when 
 the whole party returned to the cathedral to attend 
 mass. 
 
 Every traveller in Mexico desires to see one bull- 
 fight before he leaves the country, and an opportunity 
 to satisfy my curiosity in this respect was offered me 
 soon after my arrival in Culiacan. I was walking with 
 an acquaintance one morning, when a band marched 
 past, playing lively airs, accompanied by several men 
 distributing hand bills. They were announcing a bull- 
 fight to take place that afternoon. 
 
 Every American in the place had seen a bull-fight, 
 and I was unable to find any willing to have his sensi- 
 bilities again shocked by the spectacle; so a little 
 before the hour announced for it to begin, I made 
 my way alone to the grandstand in the arena. 
 
 Though it was early when I arrived, the spectators 
 were already rapidly filling the seats. Men, women, 
 
A WEDDING AND A BULL-FIGHT 181 
 
 and children, for the most part the peon class, crowded 
 the ordinary seats, while the more prosperous ones 
 occupied the grandstand. I was happy to note that 
 not many among them belonged to the better society 
 of the city, and that State officials were conspicuously 
 absent. This, it seemed to me, was an indication 
 that, though bull-fights were permitted, the better 
 people were not altogether in harmony with them. 
 
 The arena was about eighty feet in diameter, encir- 
 cled by a fence five or six feet in height, behind 
 which, in tiers, were seated the spectators. In front 
 of this fence, at intervals of a few feet, shields were 
 built as a retreat for the fighters when closely pressed 
 by an infuriated bull. 
 
 Amid the clamor and shouts of the peons the actors 
 marched in and around the arena before taking their 
 respective places. They were dressed in tight-fitting 
 trousers, short jackets of bright-colored velvet, and 
 velvet capes, elaborately trimmed with gilt lace. 
 Presently a bugle sounded and the capes were thrown 
 to favorites in the audience to hold, as the gate opened 
 to admit the bull. 
 
 In a moment the animal appeared and at the in- 
 stant it passed through the gate two vicious barbed 
 darts, called banderillas, surmounted by rosettes and 
 streamers of colored paper, were sunk deep into its 
 shoulders. Thus driven by pain into a spirit of self- 
 defence, the poor beast at first rushed around the ring, 
 and then stopped to shake its head and shoulders in 
 a vain attempt to dislodge the torturing darts. From 
 the wounds blood ran down its quivering sides. 
 
 At this moment a mounted picador charged with 
 a lance and, as its sharp point stuck into the bull’s 
 
182 BEYOND THE MEXICAN SIERRAS 
 
 shoulder, the animal turned to charge the horse. Usu- 
 ally an old horse is used for this purpose, and the bull 
 is permitted to gore it. Not infrequently the horse 
 is driven about the ring, to the delight of the audi- 
 ence, with its entrails dragging upon the ground. In 
 this instance, however, the horse was a good one, and 
 was well protected by leather. Three times the picador 
 charged, and the bleeding, tortured bull returned the 
 assault. Then the picador withdrew while a capeador 
 flaunted a red cape in front of the bull to distract it. 
 
 Now came the placing of more banderillas. The 
 banderillero, or man who manipulated them, took a 
 position directly in front of the bull, and shook them 
 in its face to attract its attention. The animal charged, 
 and the darts were both stuck deep as the man stepped 
 lightly to one side. There were two of these men, 
 and each placed two pairs of banderillas in the bull’s 
 shoulders, besides the two original ones, during which 
 time every conceivable means to torment the poor 
 animal were resorted to. Once the bull nearly caught 
 one of the men, and I was, I must confess, almost 
 sorry it did not succeed. The fellow was knocked 
 down and trampled upon, but not badly injured. 
 
 Finally the bull, unable to fight further, with blood 
 streaming from its many wounds, stood trembling and 
 exhausted. Then, at a signal, came the matador with 
 a long thin sword, which he jabbed several times into 
 the bull, reaching over the horns and sinking it deep, 
 until the poor beast tottered and fell. A team of 
 mules were driven in, a rope attached to the bull’s 
 horns, and the animal, still living, was dragged away 
 to the vociferous applause of the people. 
 
 Four other bulls were tortured, but only one of 
 
The hull-fight 
 
Indian pottery vender 
 
A WEDDING AND A BULL-FIGHT 183 
 
 them was killed. One poor, frightened animal abso- 
 lutely refused to get angry, and in disgust they drove it 
 away. I saw one of these animals an hour after it was 
 driven out, standing in a corral with nine of the ugly 
 darts still hanging in its quivering, bleeding body. 
 
 During the performance some of the seats opposite 
 me broke down, and several people were badly in- 
 jured, one woman, I understood, quite seriously. The 
 accident did not delay the bull-fight for an instant. 
 In fact no attention was paid to it, except that those 
 who were not injured made a scramble to secure new 
 points of vantage. 
 
 Bull-fighting possesses no element of sport what- 
 ever. It is nothing more nor less than an attempt to 
 satisfy the craving of the savage nature of a half- 
 civilized people to witness scenes of torture and blood- 
 shed. It is not far removed from the gladiatorial 
 combats of ancient Rome — a survival of them, in 
 fact — and it should no more have a place in our 
 twentieth-century civilization than they. 
 
 I am happy to say that only one American besides 
 myself was present at this bull-fight, and he was a 
 photographer filling a commission. It has been said 
 and written many times that bull-fighting would not 
 long exist in Mexico if it were not for the patronage 
 of Americans. My observation completely refutes the 
 charge. It is not founded upon fact in any instance, 
 but is the statement of maudlin sentimentalists who 
 desire, at the expense of truth and their own country- 
 men, to throw a halo around a people whom they look 
 upon with romantic veneration, and whom they endow 
 with a refinement, gentleness, and artistic instinct 
 entirely foreign to the subject. 
 
CHAPTER XX 
 
 ON THE EDGE OF A BOOM 
 
 T HE State of Sinaloa stretches along the west- 
 ern coast of Mexico for a distance of nearly 
 four hundred miles. It has an average 
 breadth of eighty miles, which carries its eastern 
 boundary inland amongst the jagged peaks of the 
 Sierra Madres. While the western half of the State is 
 a comparatively level and arable country, the eastern 
 half is rough and broken. Of the large area included 
 within these boundaries, it is safe to say six-tenths 
 is practically an unknown wilderness, traversed only 
 by obscure and difficult trails. And yet, in undevel- 
 oped natural wealth, resources both agricultural and 
 mineral, and in its splendid water powers, with the 
 opportunities they offer for manufacturing enterprises, 
 Sinaloa is probably not approached by any other State 
 in Mexico. 
 
 Governor Canedo is fully alive to this fact, and he 
 realizes, too, that the only hope for development lies 
 in the attraction of foreign, and particularly American, 
 capital and enterprise. For some time he has been 
 lending his efforts to this end, with the result that 
 to-day foreign investors are assured full and ample 
 protection, and unusual opportunities are offered 
 them, a condition that has only just begun to be 
 realized and taken advantage of. 
 
 The Sinaloa Land Company, heretofore referred to, 
 
 184 
 
ON THE EDGE OF A BOOM 
 
 185 
 
 is an American corporation with headquarters in Los 
 Angeles, California. A few years ago it accepted a 
 commission from the Sinaloa State Government to 
 survey a portion of the State, and in return received 
 a concession of approximately two million acres of 
 agricultural and timber lands — an area equal to two- 
 thirds of the State of Connecticut. Some of this vast 
 tract is semi-desert, some of it well watered and natu- 
 rally productive without artificial watering, and some 
 of it rocky and useless mountain land. The company 
 has now under construction extensive irrigation plants, 
 which will eventually make fertile, and easily equal 
 to the irrigated section of Southern California, even 
 the semi-desert lands. Numerous large and never 
 failing rivers assure a certain and inexhaustible supply 
 of water, many times sufficient for the purposes of 
 irrigation. 
 
 With its immense land holdings, this company is 
 certain to be an important factor in the development 
 of the State. It is intended that the agricultural 
 lands of the company shall be divided into farms to 
 suit the requirements of settlers, after the plan fol- 
 lowed in California, and as soon as proper facilities are 
 established they are to be thrown open to American 
 colonists. When this takes place, these lands are 
 pretty sure to fill up rapidly, and it is hard to prophesy 
 the ultimate results of the movement. 
 
 During the time that I made Culiacan my head- 
 quarters, I took occasion to observe as much of the 
 present conditions of the neighboring country as 
 possible. One of my excursions was to the rich 
 agricultural country adjacent to Yebbatito las Chivas. 
 This district is representative of a large portion of 
 
186 BEYOND THE MEXICAN SIERRAS 
 
 lower Sinaloa. Here I rode over a section of one of 
 the cultivated haciendas owned by the Sinaloa Land 
 Company. Corn, beans, barley, alfalfa, and sugar- 
 cane are the chief products of this ranch, and I saw 
 one considerable field of young banana plants recently 
 set out. They raise two, and sometimes three, crops 
 a year without artificial watering, and corn yields 
 under ordinary conditions from four hundred to five 
 hundred fold. 
 
 There is a ready market for corn at an average 
 price of seventy-five to eighty cents, gold, per bushel. 
 At the time I was in Culiacan corn was selling at one 
 dollar. As an instance of the rapid maturity of 
 crops here, I might say that on November twenty- 
 fifth I saw a field of corn just appearing above the 
 soil, and on January first, when I visited it again, it 
 was higher than my head, and in tassel. 
 
 Beans, too, yield marvellously, and as they are a 
 food staple of Mexico a ready market and a good 
 price is always assured. Sugar-cane averages from 
 thirty to forty tons to the acre, and commands, at 
 the mill, two dollars per ton, giving a net profit, over 
 and above all expenses of labor, cartage, and freight, 
 of about seventy-five cents per ton. This, of course, 
 applies to points not too far removed from the mill. 
 Two or three crops are grown each year. 
 
 At present the four principal crops of this locality, 
 speaking generally of the territory adjacent to Culia- 
 can, are corn, beans, sugar-cane, and cotton, though 
 almost any of the tropical and temperate zone crops 
 grow to perfection at the various elevations. The 
 soil and climate are ideal for the culture of oranges, 
 and fruits generally; but until quick railroad com- 
 
ON THE EDGE OF A BOOM 
 
 187 
 
 munication is established, it will be useless to devote 
 attention to them. 
 
 The culture of henequen {agave rigida elongata), or 
 fibre plant — also known as Sisal hemp — offers great 
 possibilities, though as yet it has received but scant 
 attention in this part of Mexico. Henequen is a 
 species of the century plant. It has a short, thick 
 stem, with leaves from six to seven feet in length, 
 three inches wide at the base, widening to five inches 
 at the centre, and two inches thick at the base, with 
 lateral teeth, one or two inches apart, its entire length. 
 Pulque and taquila are manufactured from broader 
 leafed varieties of the same plant. That utilized for 
 pulque is somewhat lighter in shade than the hemp 
 species, and the taquila variety a somewhat darker 
 green. The fibre plant grows spontaneously on almost 
 any soil, yields rich returns, and may be counted 
 upon as a safe crop. Approximately eight hundred 
 plants are set out to the acre, and after development, 
 which requires from three to five years, each plant 
 yields annually, during the next ten years, an average 
 of thirty leaves, or twenty-four thousand leaves the 
 acre, producing twenty-four hundred pounds of cleaned 
 fibre. Baled fibre commands in San Francisco market 
 from five and a half to seven and a half cents per pound 
 depending upon quality. It is manufactured into 
 binding twine and cordage in the United States. 
 There are no cordage mills in Mexico, but rope, nets, 
 and brushes are largely made by hand from the hene- 
 quen fibre. 
 
 Rough, rocky ground or steep hillsides, where noth- 
 ing else will grow, may be devoted to fibre culture 
 with good results, though the plant matures somewhat 
 
188 BEYOND THE MEXICAN SIERRAS 
 
 earlier in the moist climate of the lower levels. While 
 advisable, it is not necessary to plough the ground 
 when the plants are set out, and subsequent wor kin g 
 of the soil is unnecessary. There is no fixed time for 
 harvesting the crop, that being determined by signs 
 of maturity. One man with a machete can cut eighteen 
 hundred leaves a day. He is followed by a boy, who 
 trims off the thorny teeth, and the spine on the end, 
 after which the leaves are transported on mule-back 
 or in carts to the cleaning machine, known as the 
 raspador, where the hemp is extracted from the pulp. 
 One machine, attended by a man and three boys, 
 will clean, on an average, one hundred thousand 
 leaves a day. The fibre, as it comes from the machine, 
 is hung upon galvanized iron wire racks, and, when 
 thoroughly dried, is put into bales of four hundred 
 pounds each, and is then ready for market. 
 
 Before the coming of the Spaniards, henequen was 
 utilized in Yucatan by the natives, but it is only in 
 comparatively recent years that it has become of 
 great commercial importance. In 1839, an associa- 
 tion was formed in Mexico to promote its cultivation, 
 but, with the rough wooden instruments then employed 
 in its manufacture, the venture proved unprofitable. 
 Later, the Government offered a bonus for a practical 
 fibre-extracting machine, and a Franciscan friar 
 invented the raspador and w T on the bonus. With a 
 few slight improvements, this is the machine in use 
 at the present day. It is a simple and inexpensive 
 contrivance. 
 
 Wdiat California was in forty-nine and the early 
 fifties, Sinaloa is to-day — primitive, new, and but 
 just beginning to be appreciated. The prospector 
 
ON THE EDGE OF A BOOM 
 
 189 
 
 and miner are on the ground, and the land-looker is 
 appearing. 
 
 Culiacan is the outfitting point for the prospectors, 
 and any evening one may see a group of them in 
 khaki and broad-brimmed sombreros, lounging about 
 tables on the sidewalk in front of the cantina of the 
 Hotel Cosmopolita, smoking and telling stories and 
 exchanging experiences. These are the trail-blazers 
 of the Mexican Sierras, the advance guard of civiliza- 
 tion, the counterpart of those pioneers who drove 
 our frontier beyond the Mississippi and across the 
 Rockies to the Pacific. They are Americans, and most 
 of them veteran gold-hunters of our own Western 
 mountains and deserts — a rough-and-ready, big- 
 hearted, red-blooded lot of fellows, capable, fearless, 
 and energetic. They are laying the cornerstone of 
 this new land. 
 
 The vanguard of land investors has already appeared 
 in Sinaloa. I met three or four of them, who were 
 looking over haciendas with a view to purchasing and 
 holding the land for future colonization. But these 
 men work in secret, always fearful that some one will 
 discover their plum tree and pluck the fruit before 
 it is ripe. They try, with indifferent success, to cover 
 their movements and purpose with a shroud of mys- 
 tery. Even the native hidalgos are beginning to open 
 their eyes to the fact that something is about to 
 happen, and they are becoming suspicious and reluc- 
 tant to sell their holdings. 
 
 Sinaloa is on the edge of a boom, and it is safe 
 to predict for it a great future. 
 
CHAPTER XXI 
 
 THE TRAILS AND THE PROSPECTORS 
 
 T HE nearest railroad point to the eastward of 
 Culiacan is Tepehuanes, a small town on the 
 central Mexican plateau. Between Culiacan 
 and Tepehuanes the Sierra Madres, stretching north 
 and south, form a mighty and almost impassable 
 barrier. The only links connecting the two towns are 
 mule trails of the roughest and most difficult char- 
 acter. These trails mount the Sierras sharply, on the 
 western side rising to an altitude of nearly ten thou- 
 sand feet before they begin their descent on the oppo- 
 site slope to the plateau; and a journey over them 
 is attended with enough danger to rob it of monotony, 
 and to add to it the spice of adventure. 
 
 This was the route that I was to take to Mexico 
 City. It would give me an opportunity to see the 
 wildest sections of Sinaloa and Durango States, and 
 to come in intimate contact with the mountain Indians, 
 before leaving my mules for the railroad. For this 
 reason I chose it, rather than to take a long detour 
 of several hundred miles to the south by the more 
 conventional stage route to San Marcos, and it was 
 with eager anticipation that I made preparations for 
 the journey late in November. 
 
 I had a choice of two trails. One, known as the 
 “river trail,” follows the Culiacan River, through its 
 winding canyons, into the heart of the mountains, to 
 
 190 
 
THE TRAILS AND PROSPECTORS 191 
 
 its junction with the Topia River, and thence along 
 the latter river to the mining town of Topia, by more 
 or less easy grades. At Topia it rises suddenly to 
 the heights and takes a southeasterly direction over 
 the ridges to Tepehuanes. This trail is the one gen- 
 erally used by miners and is much the easier one of 
 the two; but as it crosses the river some three hundred 
 and sixty times between Culiacan and Topia, it is only 
 passable during the dry season, when the streams are 
 low enough to ford in safety. Even at this season 
 storms are liable to occur in the high altitudes, and 
 sometimes sudden and unexpected rises of the rivers 
 take place, when they should normally be low, and at 
 such times travellers caught between the high, steep 
 walls of the river canyons find themselves in an 
 unpleasant and often dangerous position. 
 
 The other trail is known as the “ upper” or “moun- 
 tain trail,” and ascends abruptly from the lower level 
 of Culiacan to the lofty heights of the Sierra Madres, 
 where it traverses broken ridges, skirting the upper 
 walls of canyons, dipping now' and again into deep 
 chasms or across canyons, but keeping generally to 
 the heights. This trail is seldom used by any but 
 Indians, for it follows an exceedingly difficult route, 
 and to traverse it is considered no small undertaking. 
 
 As it was my desire to see all I could of the interior 
 country, I resolved to travel both the river and the 
 mountain trail. I made my plans accordingly to go 
 to Tepehuanes by the upper trail, and, after my visit 
 to Mexico City, return by the other, thus securing all 
 the experiences the trip could afford. 
 
 It was not easy to find a competent guide. Though 
 several mozos knew the river trail to Topia, there were 
 
192 BEYOND THE MEXICAN SIERRAS 
 
 only two or three available who had ever been so far 
 as Tepehuanes. But one of these had been over the 
 upper trail at all, and he was not acquainted with 
 it for any considerable distance into the mountains. 
 He was the nearest approach to a guide that I could 
 find, however, and finally, upon his assurance that, 
 through inquiry from Indians whom we should cer- 
 tainly meet, he could doubtless find his way, and upon 
 the recommendation of a Culiacan merchant that he 
 was a man upon whom I could depend to look after 
 my interests and not kill and rob me while I slept, 
 I engaged him for the journey. I congratulated my- 
 self upon being so fortunate as to secure him, for he 
 had the appearance of a superior man, with an intelli- 
 gence far above that of the average mozo. 
 
 Two saddle mules and a pack mule were placed at 
 my disposal by Mr. McCarthy, of the Sinaloa Land 
 Company, my provisions and outfit purchased. Prepa- 
 rations finally completed, I arranged to leave Culiacan 
 on the morning of November twenty-eight. 
 
 I had planned an early start, but plans go awry in 
 Mexico, where one has to depend upon native ser- 
 vants; for neither abuse nor prayer will rouse a Mexi- 
 can mozo out of the even tenor of his languid way or 
 inspire in him a semblance of activity. My mozo, in 
 spite of his superior personality, was no exception to 
 the rule, and though I had directed him to be ready 
 with the mules promptly at seven o’clock, it was not 
 until ten that he appeared, placid and smiling. Even 
 then, in spite of my impatience, I had to wait still 
 another half-hour while he returned to the masson for 
 some forgotten article. 
 
 My friends, the miners, had warned me to order 
 
On the canyon trail 
 
Wilkinson 
 
THE TRAILS AND PROSPECTORS 
 
 193 
 
 the mules for five o’clock if I wished to leave at seven, 
 but I had not heeded the warning. Now, while I 
 awaited the pleasure of my mozo, they proceeded to 
 give me further advice and warnings which were 
 calculated to put me on the alert and add to my wis- 
 dom. They looked upon me not exactly as a tender- 
 foot, perhaps, but as a stranger in a strange land who 
 was not quite familiar with the conditions, and who 
 might well profit by a little instruction. 
 
 “What kind of a gun have you?” asked one. 
 
 “A Colt forty-five,” I answered. 
 
 “That ’s good. Them ’s the best,” said he, “a good 
 old single-action. You better buckle it on soon ’s 
 you get out of town, and keep it prominent and handy, 
 and loose in the holster, for sometimes there ’s hold- 
 ups. If any stranger you meet puts his hand on his 
 gun you get yours out first an’ shoot, an’ ask questions 
 afterward. But never pull your gun unless you ’re 
 goin’ to use it, and when you do pull it, kill every 
 greaser in sight, so ’s there won’t be no one t’ tell 
 tales. If one gets away he ’s plum sure t’ get you or 
 make trouble for you afterwards. One of our boys 
 was held up one day by two greasers, an’ he got in 
 trouble by not killin’ ’em. They had th’ drop on 
 him, but he was pretty quick with his Colt an’ they 
 did n’t shoot straight. When they saw he was ready 
 for ’em they was scared and run. He could have got 
 ’em both, but there was more fun seein’ ’em run, an’ 
 he just plugged one in th’ arm for luck and to hurry 
 ’em up some. Then he shot in th’ air, and laughed 
 till they was out of sight, which wasn’t long, seein’ 
 they was some anxious t’ disappear. 
 
 “After a while he come back to town, and there 
 
194 BEYOND THE MEXICAN SIERRAS 
 
 them two greasers was waitin’ for him. They had him 
 arrested for holdin’ them up. They both swore in 
 court he did it, and with two witnesses against his 
 word things looked pretty bad for him, and he was 
 some worried. When th’ judge asked him what he 
 had to say for himself, he says, in a injured sort of 
 tone: 
 
 “‘ Judge, do you suppose it’s probable that either 
 of them fellers would be livin’ if I’d pulled my gun 
 on ’em? When an American shoots he most generally 
 kills, an’ don’t make no botch of it by just scratchin’ 
 a man’s arm. I don’t brag, Judge, but I generally 
 shoots pretty straight. Now, you don’t suppose I’d 
 have let ’em go, do you?’ 
 
 “‘No,’ says th’ judge, ‘I think you’d have killed 
 ’em both. Any American would have. You’re dis- 
 charged.’ 
 
 “Th’ moral is,” added the prospector, “kill th’ 
 greaser that draws on you and all th’ witnesses he 
 has with him, and you won’t have any trouble after- 
 ward.” 
 
 I thanked my advisor, and remarked that I had a 
 good mozo, and I thought that between us we made 
 a rather formidable outfit, and would get through all 
 right. 
 
 “Keep an eye on your mozo too,” advised another 
 of my friends. “Don’t be too sure of him, an’ don’t 
 be too confidin’. You can’t always trust ’em. There ’s 
 lots of ’em would knife you for your outfit. Once there 
 was a stranger started out from here on a prospectin’ 
 trip with a mozo he picked up in town just like you ’ve 
 done. Th’ stranger was a new hand in th’ country, 
 and thought th’ greaser was a innocent feller with 
 
THE TRAILS AND PROSPECTORS 195 
 
 wi ng s sproutin’ ready to go to glory, and he trusted 
 th’ greaser to anything. They was ridin’ in th’ moun- 
 tains one day when th’ mozo, bein’ ahead, slips off 
 his mule and runs back, say in’: 'Give me your rifle, 
 quick, I want to shoot a deer I see.’ Th’ man gives 
 up th’ gun, and before he knows it th’ greaser has him 
 covered, and says, 'You ’re th’ deer,’ and shoots. 
 
 "After a while th’ man comes to. His outfit is 
 gone an’ so is th’ mozo, an’ he ’s pretty bad off. But 
 he takes to crawlin’ an’ strugglin’ along, an’ after two 
 or three days reaches an Indian shack, his wound all 
 maggoty, an’ he most dead. Th’ Indians packed 
 him right off to town, an’ th’ doctor fixed him up an’ 
 he got well. 
 
 "Th’ mozo thought the man was dead when he 
 left him an’ took his outfit an’ money, an’ he went 
 to town and got drunk an’ showed off. He was caught 
 an’ died from absorbin’ too much lead from Rurales ’ 
 rifles. 
 
 "I’m just tellin’ you this so you’ll look out for your 
 mozo, an’ do all the gun-handlin’ yourself, an’ sleep 
 with one eye open nights, for they ’re all mighty handy 
 with knives.” 
 
 At length the mozo said all was ready. I shook 
 hands with my comforting friends, and, amid many 
 wishes that “nothin’ would happen” to me, mounted, 
 and rode away. It was a beautiful, balmy day with 
 an atmosphere as clear as crystal. My heart beat 
 high with the expectation of adventure and the joy 
 of life, as we rode out of the cluttered town and turned 
 toward the distant mountains, rising before us in 
 majestic grandeur, their lofty blue peaks cut in sharp 
 silhouette against the lighter blue of a perfect sky. 
 
CHAPTER XXII 
 
 INTO THE FOOTHILLS 
 
 M Y mozo’s name was Barragan, though I called 
 him Wilkinson for short. “Wilkinson” was 
 easier to remember than “Barragan” and 
 not nearly so hard to pronounce; and besides, it was 
 the only word with an English sound that I was ever 
 able to make him comprehend. I tried it on him two 
 or three times, and after that he accepted it and 
 answered to it. I used other English words in address- 
 ing him, on occasion, but he did not understand them. 
 It was just as well he did not, for sometimes my 
 remarks might have disturbed his equanimity of 
 temper. 
 
 Our saddle mules were excellent young animals. 
 My own I dubbed Bucephalus, though her sex did not 
 warrant it, neither did her action. She was a very 
 meek and well-behaved animal, though she sometimes 
 had ideas of her own that did not coincide with mine. 
 For instance, when we forded a stream it nearly 
 always occurred to her that it would be a delightful 
 sensation to lie down in the water, and on these occa- 
 sions I had to bring strong arguments to bear before 
 I could convince her that bathing with a rider would 
 be detrimental to her health. Occasionally, too, when 
 we halted, she conceived the idea that it would be nice 
 to roll with me on her back, and several times she 
 dropped to her knees with that not very laudable 
 object in view, before I could persuade her that it 
 
 196 
 
INTO THE FOOTHILLS 
 
 197 
 
 was not good form. Then she always assumed an 
 injured air, and for half an hour would not be very 
 cheerful. But on the whole, Bucephalus was a good 
 mule and I became attached to her. 
 
 Our pack mule was a self-centred individual, with 
 but one eye and a halt in one shoulder. I called her 
 Maud. She was a veteran of many trails, and knew 
 what she wanted and what she did not want. One 
 thing she did not want was to go on that trip. She was 
 very docile and nice until we reached the outskirts 
 of Culiacan. Then it dawned upon her that we had 
 destined her for a long journey somewhere, unless 
 she took prompt action to divert us from our inten- 
 tion. Wilkinson, tranquilly smoking a cigarette and 
 fanning his spurs against his mule’s side to keep it in 
 motion, was jogging along ahead, Maud following, with 
 Bucephalus and myself in the rear enjoying the dis- 
 tant prospect of the mountains. Maud concluded 
 that it was an opportune moment to assert her dis- 
 approval of our plans, and before we realized her 
 intention she turned and bolted back toward Culiacan. 
 We cornered her, to her disgust, after a half-mile run, 
 and then, to guard against a repetition of her unseemly 
 behavior, one end of a lariat was fastened about her 
 neck, the other end to Wilkinson’s saddle horn, and 
 for a while she trotted along quite meek and contrite. 
 
 The road was very muddy, and we were compelled 
 to go slowly and pick our way to avoid quagmires. 
 Pack trains, laden with produce from outlying hacien- 
 das, crawled past us on their way to market. One 
 long train of burros and mules, laden with lumber 
 from the foothills, interested me particularly. Each 
 animal carried two great planks of white mahogany, 
 
198 BEYOND THE MEXICAN SIERRAS 
 
 one lashed on each side, giving the burros the appear- 
 ance of animated sheds. These planks must have 
 weighed fully a hundred and fifty pounds each. As 
 we were passing them, one of the animals fell under 
 its excessive load, and was unable to rise to its feet 
 again until its burden was removed. The planks are 
 cut by hand, two or three days’ journey inland, and 
 packed by this method to Culiacan, whence they find 
 their way to the manufacturer. 
 
 We rode through two or three small villages during 
 the morning and early afternoon, but they were 
 notable only for their squalor. In front of a hut in 
 one of these villages, a little boy and girl were selling 
 fruit. The girl had an unusually attractive face, with 
 big wondering eyes, that looked at me so wistfully, 
 and I fancied appealingly, I was impelled to rein in 
 my mule and purchase some of her oranges. Then 
 I noticed that in marked contrast to the average peon 
 child she was scrupulously clean and wore shoes and 
 stockings. After I had paid them for the oranges I 
 dropped some loose centavos into the hands of each 
 of the little ones, and the look of pleasurable surprise, 
 the bright smile, and the polite “Mucha gracias, 
 sehor,” rewarded me a hundred-fold. 
 
 For several miles beyond Culiacan the land is, for 
 the most part, under cultivation. Fields are fenced 
 by barbed wire or surrounded by hedges of organ 
 cacti, to protect the crops from wandering cattle. 
 The country is level, reaching back with a very gentle 
 and almost imperceptible rise toward the foothills 
 of the distant Sierras. But gradually, as we drew 
 away from Culiacan, the tilled and fenced fields grew 
 fewer, until they gave place finally to timber and wild 
 
Each animal carried two great planks 
 
“ Mucha gracias, senor ” 
 
INTO THE FOOTHILLS 
 
 199 
 
 pasture land, and in mid-afternoon the wide and well- 
 beaten, but muddy, trail narrowed down to a bridle- 
 path, dry and hard. This was a relief, for the mud 
 had held us down to a pretty slow gait. Now with 
 firm ground, and no quagmires to circumvent, we were 
 enabled to proceed at a fast trot and make fairly 
 good time. 
 
 Maud objected strenuously to increasing her speed, 
 and held back to such an extent that I finally signalled 
 Wilkinson the suggestion that we change our forma- 
 tion. “ Signalled” is the proper word, for I used that 
 half of the Spanish language expressed with the hands. 
 The vocal half I had not mastered sufficiently. We 
 ceased hauling Maud along by the lariat, undid it 
 from her neck, and Wilkinson took his position behind 
 her with his quirt, which he was to use freely upon 
 her hinder extremities, as an inducement to speed. 
 Bucephalus and I took the lead. This we did with 
 good results, and a stiff trot was attained. 
 
 Occasionally I glanced back, to see Wilkinson work- 
 ing his spurs on his own mount, and the quirt on Maud, 
 regularly and persistently, like a well-lubricated ma- 
 chine, and shouting what sounded like “Vamonos! 
 Vamonos! Anderle!” — words which were quite unin- 
 telligible to me, but which Maud seemed to understand, 
 for she had a decidedly pained and surprised expression 
 upon her countenance. Our new method of procedure 
 proved so successful that it was maintained for the 
 rest of the journey. Though Wilkinson occasionally 
 complained of a lame arm through strenuous exertions 
 with the quirt, he was quite satisfied with it; and so 
 was I, for when things grew monotonous I had only to 
 glance behind at him and Maud for diversion. 
 
200 BEYOND THE MEXICAN SIERRAS 
 
 Shortly after dark we caught the distant glimmer of a 
 light and presently drew up in front of a hut, or rather 
 shed, where, by the light of a pine knot, a young 
 woman was grinding corn for tortillas, while her 
 husband lounged on a rough bench and smoked ciga- 
 rettes. Before we dismounted Wilkinson opened nego- 
 tiations with the man for the entertainment of ourselves 
 and our animals, and when the terms were finally 
 settled I paid in advance the amount agreed upon. 
 This advance payment was probably required because 
 we were, on the whole, a pretty rough and suspicious- 
 looking outfit. 
 
 But Wilkinson was an adept at making friends. 
 His suave manners and well-poised rhetoric soon 
 quieted the last suspicion of the most reluctant native. 
 And so it was in this instance. In a short while after 
 our mules were unsaddled and unpacked, and turned 
 into a corral to feed, and we ourselves had sat down 
 to cultivate the acquaintance of our host, an onlooker 
 would have supposed that Wilkinson and he were 
 two brothers, just met after a long separation. 
 
 When our coffee was made over their fire, the man 
 and woman both protested against our eating cold 
 provisions from our bags, and the woman insisted 
 upon setting before us hot tortillas and frijoles, the 
 latter very gritty, but palatable. Their hospitality 
 even extended to their beds. I had expected to sleep 
 upon the ground, but when I indicated my desire to 
 retire two canvas cots were brought forth — I am 
 sure the only ones the pair possessed — and Wilkinson 
 made my bed on one, with my saddle bags for a pillow 
 and my blanket for covering, while he appropriated 
 the other to his own use. Then the man and woman 
 
INTO THE FOOTHILLS 
 
 201 
 
 left us in full possession of their home, to take up their 
 quarters in a neighboring hut, whose flickering light 
 we could see through the trees in the distance. 
 
 Wilkinson was a good mozo and exceedingly careful 
 of my comfort. In spite of my indicated desire to do 
 such services for myself, he always persisted in making 
 my bed, and bringing me a drink of water before I lay 
 down, and even pulled off my riding boots when I 
 stooped to remove them. When I was settled in my 
 blankets at night, he would get my cartridge belt and 
 revolver, and place them within reach of my hand. 
 It was my custom when I entered a native hut to hang 
 my belt and gun upon a peg to show my hosts that I 
 considered them my friends, and had no fear that they 
 would do me harm; but Wilkinson, in spite of his 
 brotherly attitude toward all, in reality trusted no 
 one that he did not know, and took no chance with 
 treachery. 
 
 The air was cool and exhilarating, the night was 
 calm, and the stars, in the clear subtropical sky, shone 
 exceedingly bright — one of those peaceful, delicious 
 nights that bring with them the joy of life, and that 
 inexplicable charm and fascination peculiar to the 
 wilderness. Our beds were spread under a thatched 
 roof, supported by four posts. Beneath was Mother 
 Earth and there were no walls to shut from us the great 
 free out-of-doors. A sense of perfect contentment 
 and freedom possessed my soul as I settled to rest, 
 and I was thankful that, for a time at least, I had 
 escaped from the four prison walls of a hotel chamber. 
 
 I was sinking into a blissful unconsciousness, when 
 suddenly I was lifted several inches bodily and dropped 
 with a thud. Then a familiar grunt, and some lesser 
 
202 BEYOND THE MEXICAN SIERRAS 
 
 squeals, advised me that an old sow and her pigs were 
 taking up their quarters beneath my cot. The sow 
 had stood up directly under me, lifted me upon her 
 back, and when she settled again dropped me, the 
 slack of the canvas saving me from rolling out of bed. 
 Wilkinson heard her too, and immediately gave her a 
 whack with a stick that sent her away with complain- 
 ing squeals. But she was a persistent brute, and re- 
 turned again and again, to be driven away each time 
 by the faithful mozo, who varied his whacks with 
 hisses and a monotonous flow of Spanish, which I 
 judged by the intonation consisted of choice phrases 
 not adapted to polite society. I do not know how 
 long the contest lasted, for I finally dropped asleep 
 before the sow had decided that the shelter of my bed 
 was not a proper place to herd her brood. 
 
 It was still starlight when we arose and saddled up, 
 and day was just breaking when we hit the trail, with- 
 out waiting for breakfast, which Wilkinson indicated 
 to me we should eat farther on. 
 
 A heavy fog lay around us and moisture dripped 
 from everything. It was chilly, too, and I was glad 
 to get started. But soon the sun arose and lifted the 
 fog like the raising of a curtain on a stage, and dis- 
 closed a world of beauty. Trees, shrubs, and grass, 
 wet with dew, glistened as though encased in polished 
 silver. Wild flowers bloomed along our trail amid 
 cacti and other more or less unfamiliar vegetation, 
 and with the waking day the birds burst into song. 
 
 The country was growing rougher. We were in the 
 first foothills of the mountains now, and our trail rose 
 and fell over hills and into valleys. After a two hours’ 
 ride we came upon another hut, where an old woman 
 
INTO THE FOOTHILLS 
 
 203 
 
 resided who seemed to be a friend of Wilkinson’s. 
 We dismounted here and made our coffee over her 
 fire, and when we sat down to eat our canned meat 
 and store biscuits, she set before us a dish of tortillas 
 and native cheese. 
 
 We did not halt again until evening, when we rode 
 into a small village of adobe huts, the centre of a 
 hacienda, and secured entertainment in one of them. 
 The place was like a cellar and void of every means 
 of comfort. The night was one of the most miserable 
 of the trip. My bed was the abode of innumerable 
 parasites that fed upon my flesh, men and women 
 shouted and talked in an adjoining apartment, and 
 gaunt, swarthy, bedraggled, unkempt women, with 
 matted hair hanging down their backs and carrying 
 smoky, flickering torches above their heads, flitted 
 back and forth through my room like evil spirits. 
 
 Once, long after midnight, after a degree of quiet 
 had settled upon the place, some one was seized with 
 a violent fit of coughing, then another and another, 
 until it seemed as though the whole numerous house- 
 hold were afflicted. It gave me a vague feeling that 
 I was in a pest-house of some kind, but it was only 
 whooping-cough perhaps. A young mining engineer 
 told me that he once spent a night in one of these huts 
 where a member of the family was ill. He did not 
 inquire into the nature of the sickness until morning, 
 and then discovered it to be smallpox. In due time 
 my friend was brought down with the dreadful disease, 
 and barely came out of it with his life. 
 
 Our trail from the adobe village carried us into 
 steeper hills, and we had some bits of rough climbing. 
 During the day we passed the first mining prospects, 
 
204 BEYOND THE MEXICAN SIERRAS 
 
 but no one appeared to be working them, and we did 
 not halt. The earth here was of a light red-brick 
 color, and a good deal of the soil was rough and barren, 
 save in the valleys, which were watered by mountain 
 streams. 
 
 At twelve o’clock we rode into the mining village 
 of Chacala, just as the first big drops of a threatened 
 rain began to fall. Here we were to put up for the 
 day. We were now at the very base of the great 
 Sierras. Above us they raised the thousands upon 
 thousands of feet of sheer and mighty wall that we 
 were to scale. 
 
CHAPTER XXIII 
 
 UNDER THE SHADOW OF THE SIERRAS 
 
 S the name indicates, Chacala is of Indian 
 
 origin, and its battered appearance bears out 
 
 its claim to venerable age. Down through 
 the centre of the town runs one long street, with 
 one-story houses of adobe and brick massed solidly 
 together on either side. The tiled roofs of those on 
 the north, supported by a row of pillars reaching the 
 length of the street, extend over the wide sidewalk of 
 well-worn brick. There are other streets reaching 
 out from a small central plaza, but they are narrow 
 and crooked and scarcely more than alleyways. 
 
 The place has a romantic situation, under the shadow 
 of the towering peaks of the Sierra Madres. A small 
 but turbulent river flows out of a canyon and through 
 a deep gulch, to the north of the village. High and 
 rugged hills and mighty mountains rise everywhere, 
 their steep sides here and there dotted with fields of 
 ripening corn or green patches of maguey, the latter 
 supplying the thirsty inhabitants with fiery mescal. 
 
 While Wilkinson arranged for our entertainment, I 
 bent my energies to discovering some one who could 
 speak English, and finally was directed to a hut on 
 one of the side streets. Here I was met by a jovial 
 Mexican with, 
 
 “How do you do, sir?” 
 
 He shook my hand cordially, and even before I had 
 time to introduce myself, called directions in Spanish 
 
 205 
 
206 BEYOND THE MEXICAN SIERRAS 
 
 to some one within to set the table for two, as he had 
 a friend to dine with him. 
 
 “It is just dinner time, sir, and you will keep me 
 company. You are a stranger — I know before you 
 tell me — and an American — I know that, too — 
 and I am glad to see you. All Americans are my 
 friends.’’ 
 
 I thanked him heartily for his hospitable greeting, 
 which was so unusual that I wondered if he had a 
 mine to sell, or some confidence game to work, but 
 I was soon assured of his sincerity. I presented my 
 card, and explained the object of my journey. 
 
 “And you are from New York! Great old New 
 York!” exclaimed my loquacious and genial friend. 
 “It is adorable! I have been there much. I was for 
 one year a student at Cornell University, but I loved 
 the ladies too much, amd my studies too little. Ah, 
 the American ladies with their lovely complexion! I 
 was what they call conditioned for one year, and then 
 I failed in all the subjects at the end. The good 
 faculty told me that I was not destined for a scholar. 
 My walk in life should be in other fields. But I had a 
 great time that one year! If I am dull you must 
 excuse me. We had a dance last night, and I got 
 very drunk. To-day is 'the day after.’” 
 
 Dinner was announced, and as we sat down I 
 assured him he was not dull in the least; that I was 
 very much entertained, in fact charmed, with his 
 conversation. “I am sure,” said I, “that you have 
 had many interesting experiences, and I should be 
 glad to hear more of them. Have you been to the 
 United States recently?” 
 
 “No, not for three or four years. My father has 
 
THE SHADOW OF THE SIERRAS 
 
 207 
 
 mines and land, and I am engaged in looking after 
 them. He had me learn English so I could do it 
 better. He confides much in me, which is proper. 
 When I was a young lad he sent me to San Fran- 
 cisco, to stop with friends, and go to school, that I 
 might learn well the language. I had some good 
 Mexican friends there, and together we had a fine 
 time. But I did not bother to study English, for it 
 was hard to learn, and I kept only with those of my 
 own tongue. There I stayed for two years, when my 
 father wrote me to come home. In those two years, 
 he thought, I must have learned English well. When 
 I came back, he asked me how I did with English. 
 I told him I could speak it as well as Spanish, and 
 he was proud. 
 
 “But one day he said to me, ‘I have to go to San 
 Francisco on business, and you I will take to interpret.’ 
 I told him yes, I would like that. But I felt some 
 worry, for my old man — I believe that is what they 
 call the father in the States — has a good temper. I 
 feared at what he might do when he learned I knew 
 no English. While we were yet on the ship, he called 
 me one day to interpret for him, but I could not 
 interpret a word, and he was angry. He was properly 
 very angry. Then he sent me to a school in New York 
 where there were no Mexicans nor Spaniards for me 
 to talk with, and I had to learn English. For many 
 years he kept me there, until I could prepare for Cornell. 
 Oh, New York! It is adorable!” 
 
 We chatted for two hours, and he informed me that 
 the mining operations had pretty much all come to 
 a standstill through the financial depression in the 
 United States; for Mexico was largely dependent 
 
208 BEYOND THE MEXICAN SIERRAS 
 
 upon the United States for an outlet for mine products, 
 and many of the largest and best mines were controlled 
 by American capital. “But Mexico,” said he, “will 
 not suffer much. It is the greatest mineral country 
 in the world. Right here around Chacala there is 
 lots of silver, and perhaps gold, too, that has never 
 been found. In fact the prospectors are only beginning 
 to look for it. You can’t wash a pan of dirt in any 
 of the canyon streams hereabouts without finding 
 color. The mountains are loaded with it.” 
 
 Before we parted he gave me some points on my 
 route over the mountains, and reiterated the advice 
 given me by the miners in Culiacan, to keep my gun 
 handy. 
 
 “My experience,” said I, “is that it might as well 
 be a wooden gun. Every one I have met has been 
 very polite, and peaceably inclined.” 
 
 “That is not a safe thing to think here,” he cau- 
 tioned. “Some you have met would shoot you if 
 they had a chance, but they fear an American with 
 a gun. I always carry a six-shooter and keep it in 
 sight. I learned to shoot well in the United States, 
 and I can make a target at two hundred yards. It 
 has saved my life more than once.” 
 
 As I took my leave he pressed upon me a cordial 
 invitation to visit him at his home, but unfortunately 
 time did not permit me to do so. 
 
 A cold, drizzling rain had set in, and a mist had 
 settled over the valley. Out on the main street I 
 found Wilkinson sitting in front of a meat shop, and 
 learned that this was where we were to spend the 
 night. Wilkinson, with his accustomed celerity, had 
 in short interval made a bosom friend of our host. 
 
THE SHADOW OF THE SIERRAS 
 
 209 
 
 He introduced me with a Chesterfieldian bow as 
 “Senor Wayas,” and evidently eulogized me, for I was 
 all but embraced by the susceptible butcher and his 
 wife, and admitted like an old and tried friend to the 
 charmed circle. My command of Spanish was so 
 limited, however, that I could not take an active part 
 in their spirited conversation, and I soon excused 
 myself to walk out to a silver mine on a bluff, a mile 
 or so from town. 
 
 The mine was closed, save the pumping station, 
 and there was not much to see. But I found an Ameri- 
 can foreman in charge, and from him I learned that 
 the plant was owned by a United States corporation. 
 It had been opened and equipped a year or so before, 
 and had a small though complete outfit, with modern, 
 up-to-date machinery. The money depression at 
 home had compelled them to shut down a month or 
 two before my visit, with no prospect of immediate 
 resumption. The foreman told me there were some 
 other operations, all of them small ones, in the surround- 
 ing foothills, but all were idle like this one, for they 
 were in the hands of Americans without funds. 
 
 “How,” I asked, “was it ever possible to get this 
 heavy machinery in here?” 
 
 “It all came in sections, and was set up here,” he 
 explained. “The sections usually weigh not over 
 three hundred pounds — a mule’s load — but we had 
 a few that went beyond four hundred, and one or 
 two nearly five hundred. Very large, powerful mules 
 were selected to carry these, and even then the ani- 
 mals were ruined.” 
 
 “Is it all American machinery?” 
 
 “All of ours is, but some of the mines are compelled 
 
210 BEYOND THE MEXICAN SIERRAS 
 
 to use German machinery, because the Germans make 
 theirs in smaller sections, and it ’s easier to transport 
 on mule-back, though it is not so good. It ’s just a 
 matter of necessity when it ’s used. American manu- 
 facturers can’t seem to understand that it is neces- 
 sary to make their machines so they can be knocked 
 down to three-hundred-pound parcels.” 
 
 This criticism of the foreman as to machinery, I 
 may say, I had heard in other quarters as to general 
 merchandise. The Mexican merchant orders goods 
 packed in packages of one hundred fifty pounds, that 
 one package may be lashed on either side of a mule 
 for transportation. The American insists in packing 
 in his own way, which is usually in large cases of four 
 or five hundred pounds, and this necessitates repack- 
 ing and rehandling in Mexico. The Germans, English, 
 and French, on the other hand, comply strictly with 
 the purchaser’s directions in this respect, and capture, 
 therefore, a good deal of trade that normally belongs 
 to the United States, and that the United States 
 would get with proper packing, for freight rates from 
 American points are cheaper than from Europe, and 
 American goods are, in general, preferred. 
 
 The drizzle had turned into a steady downpour 
 before I reached my quarters, and it precluded further 
 explorations. My butcher host bent himself to my 
 entertainment. He sent his wife to a neighboring 
 house to bring a new baby which, when it appeared, 
 was very dirty and red-faced and made a great deal 
 of noise with a pair of healthy lungs, and looked 
 exactly like all other babies. They seemed to think, 
 however, it possessed some superior qualities, for it 
 was a relative’s child. I did not offer to hold it, and 
 
THE SHADOW OF THE SIERRAS 
 
 211 
 
 made no advances toward kissing it, though Wilkin- 
 son did; but just to show my appreciation, I chucked 
 it under the chin with one finger, a proceeding that it 
 seemed to appreciate, for it stopped squalling immedi- 
 ately, and just stared. This remarkable display of 
 intelligence on the youngster’s part, and interest on 
 mine, pleased the older ones greatly. They laughed, 
 and patted me on the shoulder, and were generally 
 idiotic in their actions over the baby. My notice of 
 the child proved a good bit of diplomacy, for it won 
 for me an excellent piece of beef, broiled over the coals, 
 for supper, with other unwonted delicacies. 
 
 Our butcher’s business establishment consisted of 
 a rack, on the sidewalk, upon which hung scraps of 
 meat to tempt the good people of Chacala. His home 
 consisted of a narrow enclosed passageway leading to 
 the rear, and one room that answered for kitchen 
 and general living-room, though he and his wife spent 
 their waking hours upon the sidewalk, where he served 
 his customers, and she sewed and gossiped with her 
 neighbors, and kept him company. At night the 
 meat rack was carried into the passageway, and the 
 street door locked and barred against intruders, while 
 the good couple retired to the kitchen. 
 
 I had my choice of places in which to sleep, but 
 rather than deprive them I took a corner under the 
 patio porch roof in the rear. Here a cot was brought 
 and placed where not a great deal of the pouring rain 
 could reach me, and Wilkinson made my bed upon it. 
 Wilkinson himself rolled in his blankets on the floor 
 beneath the meat rack, where we had also stored our 
 saddles and baggage; but it was a cellar-like place and 
 I preferred the open, even with a little wet thrown in. 
 
212 BEYOND THE MEXICAN SIERRAS 
 
 Chacala has an altitude of thirteen hundred feet, 
 and there was a marked difference between the tem- 
 perature here and in Culiacan. In fact it grew so 
 uncomfortably cold in the night that I arose and 
 donned woollen underwear, which I was profoundly 
 grateful to have brought. 
 
CHAPTER XXIV 
 
 THE THRONE OF THE GODS 
 
 HE eastern sky was just taking its first purple 
 
 coloring from the still invisible sun as we 
 
 mounted and rode out of Chacala. The wet 
 earth gave forth its fragrance to the cool morning air; 
 the rain had washed the foliage clean of its coating of 
 brick-red dust, and transformed it into brilliant green ; 
 the birds sang a proclamation of joy and freedom to 
 all the world. I drank the clear, pure atmosphere 
 into my lungs in great draughts, until it intoxicated 
 and exhilarated me to the point where I shouted with 
 the mere delight of life. I would have sung had 
 I not feared the consequences on Wilkinson, and a 
 probable stampede of Maud. But even they seemed 
 to share with me the spirit of the morning, and for 
 the first time Maud trotted along submissively and 
 freely, to Wilkinson’s evident satisfaction. 
 
 Outside the town our trail took an abrupt turn to the 
 left, and rose at once a thousand feet to the summit 
 of a ridge. Here we halted for a moment to enjoy 
 the beauty of the scenery. The first golden rays of 
 sunlight were now glorifying the mountain peaks that 
 lay about us in a confused mass. Below, in a hollow, 
 Chacala nestled like a toy village, while along its 
 northern edge the creek wound down through the 
 gulch, a silver thread. 
 
 We followed the crest of the ridge for a little dis- 
 
 213 
 
214 BEYOND THE MEXICAN SIERRAS 
 
 tance, then turned into a canyon where the trail 
 hung upon the almost perpendicular face of the wall 
 for a few miles, midway between heaven and earth, 
 before it finally dipped to the bottom with a steep 
 descent. Here it branched, and Wilkinson, for a time, 
 was puzzled, but finally decided that we should ascend 
 the rocky bed of a stream between the canyon walls. 
 
 It was rough travelling. I marvelled at the ability 
 of the mules to keep their footing among the great 
 bowlders piled thickly along our way, but they stepped 
 from rock to rock setting their feet firmly, with won- 
 derful and never failing precision. Several times we 
 had to stop to reconnoitre. At length, on the opposite 
 side of the canyon from where we had entered it, we 
 found the trail where it took to the earth again above 
 the creek bed. 
 
 Presently the ascent was begun — the great ascent 
 of the Sierras. Thousands of feet above us towered 
 the canyon wall, and the trail took its very face. 
 To the right a few yards, a sharp turn to the left, 
 another few yards, then another sharp turn, but 
 always rising, the narrow path zigzagged like a snake, 
 up — up — up — until it made me dizzy to look 
 below at the receding and diminishing stream that we 
 had recently left. Maud’s back and Wilkinson’s head 
 were always directly under my feet. At one point 
 I believe I could have leaped a sheer three thousand 
 feet into the dark depths of the canyon without once 
 touching earth in the descent. 
 
 We had climbed a full five thousand feet before the 
 trail quit its windings for a gentler ascent, and here 
 we halted and dismounted to view the world — the 
 little, shrivelled world below. We stood on the throne 
 
THE THRONE OF THE GODS 
 
 215 
 
 of the gods, with their kingdom at our feet. We 
 looked down upon the tops of mountains that in 
 the level of Chacala had towered grandly above our 
 heads. The high foothills had shrunken into pigmy 
 mounds. The verdant plain that spread beyond them 
 to the Pacific was a green ribbon, and the ocean itself 
 shimmered in the white sunlight, a mighty opal, 
 mingling its colors with the turquoise sky, where they 
 met in the line of far western horizon. Through my 
 binoculars I could descry Culiacan, a mere speck on 
 the green ribbon, but no moving thing was to be seen 
 anywhere. 
 
 Upward our trail led, taking easy swings, now 
 around obstructing heights, now crossing declivities 
 with descents and rises, but always attaining a higher 
 level. Sometimes it was very rough, and we skirted 
 the brinks of dangerous cliffs; but we felt no fear, 
 for the spirit of the mountains possessed us. 
 
 It was scarcely noon when clouds began to gather 
 and settle ominously about us. Then rain came, and 
 the wind rose in fitful gusts to dash it into our faces. 
 It was cold, too. 
 
 “Mucho frio, mucho frio,” Wilkinson complained as 
 he wound a zerape and oil skin about him, and I 
 shivered in my khaki suit and rubber poncho. 
 
 We did not halt to make a fire for luncheon, but 
 contented ourselves with cold tortillas and canned 
 dried beef, munching as we rode. It became a cheer- 
 less ride, for we were denied the diversion of viewing 
 some of the grandest scenery in the world, and I felt 
 a sort of resentment against the persistent low-hanging 
 clouds and mist that obscured our view. 
 
 Once we met two mounted Mexicans, swarthy 
 
216 BEYOND THE MEXICAN SIERRAS 
 
 fellows, armed to the teeth with rifles, revolvers, and 
 knives. They looked at us suspiciously as we passed, 
 but answered my “Buenas tardes” civilly enough, and 
 were soon lost in the mist and rain. 
 
 Finally, when we had climbed to an elevation of 
 eight thousand feet, the clouds lifted for a little and 
 we could see that all about us, in the higher peaks, 
 snow was falling. The temperature had crawled down 
 to forty degrees, and when, well into the afternoon, 
 we rode into the shelter of a pine forest, and were 
 comparatively free from the cutting wind, I was 
 thankful. Straight and tall the trees stood, ninety 
 to a hundred feet without a limb, and underneath was 
 a carpet of needles with scarcely any undergrowth or 
 shrubbery. 
 
 At one point some one had undertaken a lumbering 
 operation, and begun the building of a camp; but it 
 had long been abandoned, and now lay in ruins. It 
 is probable that practical figuring disclosed the fact 
 that the cost of transporting the lumber to market 
 from this inaccessible wilderness was far beyond its 
 market value, and so the magnificent primeval forest, 
 protected by nature from the lumberman’s ruthless 
 axe, was permitted to stand. 
 
 Night came suddenly. With hardly a twilight 
 introduction darkness fell, as though the great light 
 of heaven had been snuffed out by an invisible hand. 
 We were just emerging from the forest into a wide 
 level hollow, like a great corral set amongst the moun- 
 tain tops. A brook ran beside our trail. There was 
 good feed for the mules here, and it was altogether an 
 ideal place to camp. I was somewhat in advance, 
 and stopped for Wilkinson to overtake me, deter- 
 
Hedges of organ cacti 
 
On the trail 
 
THE THRONE OF THE GODS 
 
 217 
 
 mined to pitch my tent under the shadow of the 
 pines, when I glimpsed the faint flicker of a light not 
 far ahead. We made for it at once. 
 
 A little way and the outlines of a cabin appeared 
 — if I may dignify the miserable shack with that name. 
 We could dimly discern a shed, attached to a small 
 log habitation in the rear. Between the unchinked 
 logs and open gable ends of the latter came the un- 
 certain light of a fire. We could see that it would 
 be a disagreeable place in which to spend the night, 
 but as the rain was pouring down, and it was now 
 so dark that to find wood for our fire, even though 
 we were to pitch our tent, would be tedious work, we 
 chose the poor shelter of the hut. 
 
 Wilkinson shouted to the occupants, and in a 
 moment the door opened and a woman appeared, her 
 hand raised to shade her eyes as she endeavored to 
 penetrate the blackness that surrounded us. Pic- 
 turesque and weird she was as she stood framed in the 
 doorway, in sharp silhouette against the interior glow, 
 her tall, gaunt figure leaning forward, a mass of tangled 
 black hair half hiding her Indian features, and a 
 frightened child clinging to her skirts. 
 
 “Who are you?” she asked in Spanish. 
 
 “An American and his mozo. We are your friends 
 and we crave shelter from the storm,” answered 
 Wilkinson. 
 
 “You are welcome.” 
 
 The child was lifted by an arm and swung impa- 
 tiently out of view, the woman retreated, and the door 
 closed sharply. 
 
 We dismounted, unsaddled, and piled our things 
 in the shed. The roof was leaky and the earth beneath 
 
218 BEYOND THE MEXICAN SIERRAS 
 
 muddy, but it was better than the open. The mules 
 were turned to pasture, and then we entered the room. 
 
 It was not over twelve feet square. A small fire 
 burned in one end, in an improvised fireplace built of 
 loose stones. There was no chimney, and the place 
 was partially filled with smoke, though the open 
 gables and wide-spaced logs offered small impediment 
 to its escape. The woman was baking tortillas for 
 supper, and four small children huddled and shivered 
 around the fire. The oldest child was not over six 
 years of age, the youngest perhaps one — three girls 
 and a boy. Each was clad in no other garment than 
 a ragged calico frock. Neither the woman nor the 
 children wore shoes, stockings, or even sandals. The 
 only furniture was a hewn log, raised somewhat above 
 the earthen floor, at the back of the room, and sup- 
 ported by stones. There was neither chair nor table, 
 nor other convenience of civilization. Everything, 
 including the people, reeked in filth. As the woman 
 slapped tortillas into form I could see, by the firelight, 
 encrusted soil on the backs of her hands. The tor- 
 tillas had cleansed the palms. 
 
 I had hardly completed my observations when the 
 door opened and a man appeared — a great unkempt 
 fellow, dripping wet. He was much larger than the 
 average Mexican Indian, and coarser of feature. 
 His thin cotton shirt and trousers, soaked with the 
 rain, clung close to his body and set off his powerful 
 frame. Below the knees his legs were bare, and on 
 his feet were sandals. 
 
 The only notice he gave us was a grunt, probably 
 intended for a greeting, as he shook the water from a 
 shabby straw sombrero. Then, squatting upon his 
 
THE THRONE OF THE GODS 
 
 219 
 
 haunches, he called the boy to him, and after tenderly 
 kissing the child produced some handfuls of nuts from 
 the depths of his pockets. They were apparently 
 a great treat to the little ones, who made exclamations 
 of delight, and their features glowed with pleasure 
 as they crowded around the father. 
 
 It was plain that the boy was the favorite. It is 
 the way of the Indian everywhere. The little girls 
 were pushed rudely back, until a division was made 
 of the nuts, half for the boy, the other half to be 
 apportioned among the three girls. This seemed 
 to be the accepted thing, for there was no murmur 
 of protest from any of them, but rather, an overflow 
 of appreciation for what they received. Poor little 
 youngsters, going in ecstasies over a few paltry nuts! 
 Half starved, their nakedness hardly covered, sleep- 
 ing at night upon the bare ground, huddled around 
 a meagre fire, never a blanket or covering, with a 
 temperature in this high altitude hovering close to 
 freezing-point, and with nothing else to look forward 
 to in life, knowing nothing else, they are indeed not 
 far removed from the primordial. 
 
 There was manifestly no room for Wilkinson and 
 me within, and I had no desire to stay; so we retired 
 to the shed, and by the light of a fat pine knot soon 
 had a cheerful little camp-fire by which to dry and 
 warm our chilled selves, and in a little while a sizzling 
 pan of bacon and a pot of fragrant coffee set all the 
 world to rights. 
 
 After we had eaten, I had Wilkinson make another 
 pot of coffee and hand it indoors with some canned 
 meat. Wilkinson was a tender-hearted fellow, and 
 he did it with a will, Those within were making a 
 
220 BEYOND THE MEXICAN SIERRAS 
 
 cheerless meal of dry tortillas and water. Our little 
 treat was an event in their lives, for which the man 
 thanked us in a few rough words, and the children 
 in the pleasure that their faces reflected. They had 
 but one cup, and no plate, and we lent them ours, 
 and then left them to enjoy their meal while I smoked 
 my pipe and ruminated upon the share that chance 
 plays in casting one’s lot in life. 
 
 The rain ceased before bedtime. We spread our 
 tent upon the muddy earth near the fire and rolled 
 into our blankets upon it. Wilkinson placed my six- 
 shooter between us, and with a feeling of blissful 
 comfort I fell asleep. 
 
CHAPTER XXV 
 
 LOST IN THE SNOW 
 
 FLIGHT sound as of some one moving about 
 
 awoke me. I had unconsciously covered my 
 
 head with my blanket as I slept, and I threw 
 the covering aside. I could see no one. A new fire, 
 however, struggling into being where our night fire 
 had died, told me that Wilkinson was up. There 
 was absolute silence. The stars shone with unusual 
 brilliancy — a million gems — so close I fancied I 
 could almost pluck them from their settings in the 
 blue-black heavens. 
 
 I arose, and looking to the north saw the Great 
 Dipper and Polaris, just above the horizon, and knew 
 that morning was near, for in that latitude Polaris is 
 visible only in the morning. In the starlight I could 
 discern the retreating figure of a man in the open space 
 that surrounded us, the dark outline of forest beyond. 
 Wilkinson was looking for the mules, that he might 
 bring them in in time to eat their corn at leisure 
 before we saddled up at daylight. 
 
 The morning was cold and crisp, with a tang of 
 frost in the air. I returned to the fire, threw on more 
 wood, and by the light searched the depths of my camp 
 bag for woollen socks and a heavier woollen outer 
 shirt. I found them, but to my chagrin discovered 
 that I had left my Pontiac shirt at Culiacan. Now I 
 needed it, for before the day was ended we should 
 
 221 
 
222 BEYOND THE MEXICAN SIERRAS 
 
 be in snow at the top of the world. But I was glad 
 of the instinct that had led me to bring even such 
 warm clothing as I had, and I slipped into it with 
 thankfulness. 
 
 Wilkinson had thoughtfully set a kettle of water 
 near. I put it over for coffee, and then sat down to 
 wait. The water boiled and I took it off, — and still 
 no Wilkinson. An hour passed, and the first hint of 
 light appeared in the east. Another half-hour, and 
 broad day broke. I began to be concerned at the 
 mozo’s long absence. I walked down on the open, 
 but there was no sign of mule or man. It was sunrise 
 when at length I saw them coming a mile away. 
 
 Wilkinson was plainly in bad humor when he rode 
 up with Maud and Bucephalus in tow. “Mucho malo! 
 Mucho malo!” he exclaimed, as he dismounted and 
 directed an angry slap at innocent-looking Maud. It 
 turned out that she had led the others far away and 
 into hiding in the timber, a proceeding that seemed 
 nothing short of contemptible to Wilkinson. 
 
 The sun was an hour old when we finally started. 
 Higher and higher we climbed until the snow was 
 reached. Bucephalus had never seen snow before, 
 and at the first white patch she balked. She would 
 not step upon it, in spite of my active spurs. Finally, 
 with long ears held forward, every nerve alert, she 
 smelled of it, touched her nose to it, jerked it back as 
 though stung, tried it again, grew bold and gingerly 
 put a foot upon it, and we were off. 
 
 Clouds gathered and obscured the- sun, a cutting 
 wind arose, and the day grew raw and chill. The 
 snow-covered trail was exceedingly slippery, and at 
 many points dangerous. We passed around rocky 
 
LOST IN THE SNOW 
 
 223 
 
 walls with a perpendicular drop of thousands of feet 
 below us. Frequently the ascent or descent was over 
 smooth granite, with a path not much more than a 
 foot in width, and at hair-raising angles. The slightest 
 misstep or stumble meant death for mule and rider. 
 
 Often, near these dangerous points, suggestive cairns 
 surmounted by crosses told the story of tragedies. 
 Above one particularly hazardous descent I counted a 
 group of five of these crosses, indicating that there, 
 probably at different times, five riders had stumbled 
 into eternity without a moment’s warning. They 
 recalled to me the advice of a prospector in Culiacan: 
 
 “ Always be ready to slide off your mule on the upper 
 side when you’re ridin’ bad trail,” he said, “an’ if 
 your mule stumbles, slide an’ get a footin’ an’ let him 
 get straight if he can, for if he goes over the brink an’ 
 tumbles down a couple o’ thousand feet you don’t 
 want t’ be on his back a-wingin’ your way t’ glory. 
 I never tried it, but I opine it ain’t pleasant, an’ be- 
 sides it would make your mozo feel plum lonesome t’ 
 leave him behind without at least sayin’ ‘ adios ’ to 
 him. 
 
 “Once I was ridin’ along one o’ them trails an’ I 
 met a feller afoot. He had on spurs an’ did n’t look 
 like a pedestrian. 
 
 “‘Where’s your mule, stranger?’” I asks. 
 
 “‘Down there,’ says he, pointin’ into th’ canyon. 
 
 “‘Goin’ t’ look him up?’ I asks, glancin’ down t’ 
 th’ bottom which was so deep I could n’t see it. 
 
 “ ‘Nope,’ says he. ‘It ’s a good week’s walk around, 
 an’ I reckon what ’s left of him an’ my trappin’s ain’t 
 worth th’ trouble.’” 
 
 All around us mountain peaks rolled away in the 
 
224 BEYOND THE MEXICAN SIERRAS 
 
 distance like the mighty billows of a storm-tossed 
 sea. Huge crags, of fantastic outline, tall pines sur- 
 mounting pinnacled rocks, silhouetted against banks 
 of ominous, low-hanging clouds, mysterious depths 
 shrouded in the darkness of night, combined to form 
 a scene of majestic, awe-inspiring grandeur. How 
 insignificant we puny mortals felt! We were face to 
 face with God and His immortal works. 
 
 We wound our way out upon a ridge that dropped 
 down into a mighty canyon on either side. At the 
 end, where the canyons came together, we descended 
 to the bottom of the abyss, and on the farther side 
 rose to a still higher altitude, when to my great relief 
 we entered a comparatively level stretch and were 
 soon within the depths of a magnificent pine forest. 
 
 Here was a complete change of topography. The 
 ground grew gently undulating, the tall, straight trees 
 stood thick about us, and every vestige of rugged 
 mountain peak and crag was shut from view. We 
 had reached an elevation of ninety-five hundred feet. 
 
 Under the trees was spread an even carpet of snow, 
 which covered and completely hid the trail. In 
 blind search for it I rode ahead for some distance, and 
 then halted for Wilkinson. He too was completely 
 confused. Nowhere was there a mark or sign to indi- 
 cate our course. Vainly we circled amongst the trees 
 for some depression .in the snow, or token to guide 
 us, but none was found. 
 
 There was nothing to do but keep an easterly direc- 
 tion. We jogged along in a disturbed state of mind 
 for several miles, when we came upon some trees 
 tapped for rosin. Not far beyond we discovered an 
 improvised lean-to, which had sheltered a man during 
 
LOST IN THE SNOW 
 
 225 
 
 the previous night, and the still smoking embers of 
 a fire. The camper’s tracks led away in the direction 
 we were taking. They were the tracks of a man in 
 sandals, as prints of bare toes in the snow plainly 
 indicated. 
 
 For two hours we followed the trail, then suddenly 
 broke into a clearing in the centre of which stood a 
 small log hut, with smoke issuing from its open gables. 
 As we approached, a tall young Indian, thinly clad, 
 with bare legs and sandalled feet, came out to give 
 us a smiling welcome. He was quite alone, and 
 invited us to join him at his fire. 
 
 The invitation was accepted, and over a kettle of 
 hot coffee, which Wilkinson brewed, we learned that 
 we had gone many miles astray. The Indian offered 
 to lead us by a short-cut to a trail that would take us 
 to Canelas, a mining village to the northeast, at which 
 point we could resume the regular trail direct to 
 Tepehuanes. 
 
 The short-cut that the Indian proposed was little 
 used save by footmen, and was rough, and led over 
 some high elevations, but he assured us our animals 
 would find no difficulty in following it, and it would 
 save us at least a day’s travelling. Sleet and snow 
 were falling and it was very cold. In my broken 
 Spanish I suggested that he could not travel in the 
 snow with only sandals on his feet, but he laughed, and 
 explained that it was no hardship. He had never 
 worn anything else. 
 
 We finally accepted the Indian’s offer, and he led 
 us off over one of the roughest trails it has ever been 
 my fortune to travel. Out of the gently rolling coun- 
 try we passed, — out of the great pines, — skirted 
 
226 BEYOND THE MEXICAN SIERRAS 
 
 the upper wall of a magnificent canyon, and then 
 wound up and up around a jagged peak until we had 
 reached an altitude of eleven thousand feet. From 
 this point we dropped a thousand feet or so, came 
 again to a more level stretch, and at nightfall halted 
 in front of a typical mountain hut, a little larger than 
 the one in which we had spent the previous night, 
 and with two rooms, but otherwise its counterpart. 
 
 The hut was vacant, and we took possession. The 
 earthen floor was partially covered with snow, which 
 had drifted in between the logs, but a rousing fire of 
 pine knots, a pan of bacon and a pot of coffee, a com- 
 forting pipe, and then a bed of fragrant fir boughs 
 upon which to recline and watch the glowing coals, 
 transformed it into a palace of bliss, to be remembered 
 as the best of all our mountain camps. 
 
 In the morning the mules stampeded. Wilkinson 
 succeeded in capturing Bucephalus, and at daybreak 
 mounted her and rode off to trail the others in the 
 snow. Happily he found them, and an hour and a 
 half later led them into camp. 
 
 The temperature had dropped below freezing, and 
 a crust had formed on the snow. Our smooth-shod 
 mules slipped dangerously on the rocks, where the 
 snow had blown away and left a glaze of ice, but we 
 met with no mishap. 
 
 All day we were surrounded by scenery of sublime 
 grandeur. Pinnacles and towers, castles and mighty 
 fortresses of granite, canyons deep and dark, lay 
 about us. At one point a creek fell from the rocks 
 above to be lost in a cloud-mist below, whence it sent 
 back a thundering roar from the lower depths. Our 
 trail passed between wall and torrent, midway of its 
 
LOST IN THE SNOW 
 
 227 
 
 fall, and we were drenched with spray as we made 
 the passage under it. 
 
 Presently we began to descend. At seventy-eight 
 hundred feet the last of the snow was seen. Travelling 
 improved perceptibly, and the temperature became 
 much milder. Wilkinson, clad in two suits of under- 
 wear, three flannel shirts, two pairs of trousers, and 
 two pairs of thick socks, had been shivering and com- 
 plaining constantly of “mucho frio.” Now he melted 
 into geniality. The Indian, trotting ahead, though 
 half naked had appeared quite impervious to the cold. 
 With him it was a matter of course, for he was a moun- 
 tain man. 
 
 In a gentle hollow we came upon some mules brows- 
 ing, and a little farther on found the muleteers gath- 
 ered around a camp-fire. We halted for a moment to 
 pass the time of day, and they gave us some native 
 apples. The fruit was of excellent flavor, though 
 only seedlings. 
 
 Beyond the muleteers’ bivouac we met a horseman 
 armed with rifle and revolver, and on foot, at his 
 heels, two similarly armed men, who carried their 
 rifles loose on their arms, as though ready for instant 
 use. They were swarthy, ill-looking fellows, and Wil- 
 kinson became instantly nervous. I glanced behind 
 me and saw that the footmen had stopped to watch 
 us. At the first bend in the trail Wilkinson halted and 
 discharged our Indian guide. Almost before I could 
 hand the fellow some silver, and thank him for his 
 service, the anxious Wilkinson was urging me to 
 “Vamanos! vamanos!” and for a little while we travelled 
 faster than at any time since leaving Chacala, but still 
 not fast enough for the reckless Wilkinson, who was 
 
228 BEYOND THE MEXICAN SIERRAS 
 
 manifestly afraid of the armed men in the rear. We 
 were a pretty rough-looking outfit, however, and if 
 they were bent upon mischief they probably did not 
 deem us worthy their attention. Not until we had 
 met and passed a pack train did Wilkinson settle 
 again into his usual manner. 
 
 We were now on the Canelas trail, a regular line of 
 travel as the well-beaten path indicated. In a little 
 while we began to drop from the heights, and as we 
 swung around a point beheld the red-tiled roofs and 
 white buildings of the town nestling deep in a hollow 
 below, at the junction of two canyons. The descent 
 was like going down stairs, and with every step the 
 atmosphere grew mellower. Finally we passed green 
 corn-fields, guavas, oranges, and lemons hanging yellow 
 on the trees, banana fields, and gardens. Wilkinson 
 plucked two delicious cherimoyas from a tree and 
 handed one to me. 
 
 An hour before sunset we rode into the narrow 
 streets of the picturesque old town. We were not 
 yet over the divide, and a native whom we met, who 
 could speak some English, told me that as the trails 
 beyond, normally bad, were now buried and hidden 
 by the snow, it would be foolhardy to proceed until 
 a day or two of sunshine had cleared them. No 
 native, he said, would attempt the journey with the 
 prevailing conditions. I decided, therefore, to remain 
 at least one day in Canelas, glad of the opportunity 
 to give the mules a rest, for they were quite spent. 
 
CHAPTER XXVI 
 
 AN OLD TOWN AND THE MINES 
 
 C ANELAS lies in a bowl-shaped depression at 
 the head of two canyons. The name means 
 “corral,” and is indicative of its shut-in posi- 
 tion. At no point is the base of the bowl more than 
 half a mile wide. On all sides the mountains rise 
 almost sheer, their jagged peaks piercing the blue 
 heavens a mile overhead, to form the serrated rim of 
 the mighty bowl. Canelas lies on the Pacific side of 
 the Sierra Madres, and at an elevation of forty-five 
 hundred feet above sea level. 
 
 Since the days of the Spaniard this has been a 
 mining town. The better buildings, clustered around 
 the plaza, were designed by the conquerors, not only 
 as dwellings but as fortifications in which the inhabi- 
 tants might find a safe retreat from the then hostile 
 Indians who infested the mountain fastnesses. Many 
 of the old walls of solid masonry are fully four feet 
 thick, and besides the dooiways have no other open- 
 ing than occasional narrow slits beneath the high 
 ceiling, which served in other days as loopholes. 
 The floors are of stone or brick, and the doors of 
 ponderous oak or mahogany, which only cannon balls 
 could have battered down. The dungeon-like rooms 
 are filled with the damp and must of centuries. 
 
 I saw no glass windows in the town, save those in 
 its two crumbling churches. One of these churches 
 
 229 
 
230 BEYOND THE MEXICAN SIERRAS 
 
 was built in the sixteenth century, the other is doubt- 
 less of seventeenth-century origin. Now, though 
 both are open at all times to individual worshippers, 
 only occasionally does a padre come to say mass. 
 Wild flowers and rank weeds alike run riot in the 
 churchyards, and within the churches are sombre and 
 smoky walls hung with grotesque caricatures of saints. 
 
 Wilkinson and I shared a little cell-like room open- 
 ing upon the patio of one of the old Spanish houses. 
 It had no window or even loophole to admit light 
 and air, and we were forced to sleep with an open 
 door or we should have smothered. The place was as 
 damp and dank and cheerless as a cellar. 
 
 There was one canvas cot, which I appropriated, 
 while the mozo curled in his blankets on the stone 
 floor. Two old Spanish women presided over the 
 establishment with a grace and courtesy worthy a 
 mansion. They were very old women indeed, and 
 so shrivelled and shrunken that I almost fancied them 
 the original occupants of their time-worn home, living 
 on and on through the centuries. 
 
 Some friends of Wilkinson’s occupied the adjoining 
 house, and there we were served our meals. They, 
 too, were of Spanish origin, and most hospitable. 
 The family consisted of a widowed mother, a grown 
 daughter, and an alert, handsome boy of fifteen. 
 They were very poor, but far superior to the average 
 peons with whom I had come in contact. They were 
 proud, too, and so strenuously declined my money 
 in payment for our entertainment, which I urged 
 upon them in advance in view of their very evident 
 need, that I had finally to rely upon Wilkinson’s 
 tact and rhetoric to induce them to accept it. Their 
 
Guava trees in a garden, Canelas 
 
A street in Canelas 
 
AN OLD TOWN AND THE MINES 231 
 
 persons and their home were scrupulously clean, and 
 their cooking, though typical of the country, was 
 superior. The memory of their cordial reception, 
 their hospitality, and their constant courtesy during 
 our two days’ halt in Canelas I shall long cherish as 
 one of the pleasantest of my Mexican experiences. 
 
 Silver mining is still carried on in Canelas, though 
 at the time of my visit the mines were, unfortunately, 
 all temporarily closed. On the outskirts of the village, 
 I visited a native ore mill, where, with its ancient 
 rastra and old-time methods, silver is extracted from 
 quartz to-day just as it was extracted in the same mill 
 in the early Spanish days. There was the same 
 ponderous wheel of stone, hauled around in its pit 
 by weary mules as it crushed into powder the metal- 
 laden quartz, and there was the same charcoal fur- 
 nace where the silver was melted and run into bars. 
 
 Down within the canyon below the town is a small 
 modern plant. Two thousand feet above it, on the 
 side of the steep mountain, is the mouth of the tunnel 
 from which the ore for this mill is dug. From the 
 tunnel to the mill there is a slide down which the ore 
 shoots by its own momentum. The whole country 
 hereabouts is mineralized, but is so difficult of access 
 that as yet comparatively little advantage has been 
 taken of it. 
 
 The extent of the mineral resources of the western 
 Sierras is almost beyond belief, being practically 
 inexhaustible. Everywhere is hidden treasure. Sina- 
 loa alone has, for instance, an area of nearly thirty- 
 five thousand square miles, and three-fourths of the 
 State is mineralized. Silver is the chief metal, though 
 large amounts of gold, usually found in pockets, have 
 
232 BEYOND THE MEXICAN SIERRAS 
 
 made more than one miner a millionaire. I was told 
 of a case where pocket gold paid all expenses of opera- 
 ting a silver mine, and left the silver clear profit. In 
 the northern part of the State there are also well pay- 
 ing copper mines, and some lead has been found. 
 
 When I was in Culiacan an American prospector 
 who was stopping at the Hotel Cosmopolita, while 
 riding across a corn-field not far from town one day, 
 noticed the outcropping of a vein of quartz. He 
 uncovered it for several rods, took specimens from 
 various points, and had them assayed. They were 
 all rich in silver. He had made, in this unexpected 
 manner, a lucky “strike.” 
 
 The mines of Sinaloa are at present producing 
 annually 14,000,000 pesos, and employ 8,000 foreigners 
 and natives. The most important of these are the 
 Tajo, Panuco, Candelaria, Contra Estace, Guadaloupe 
 de los Reyes, Zapopan, San Antonis, Butters Mg. Syn., 
 Nima Duendo, San Vicente, Jesus Maria, and La 
 Piramida, all of which are owned by Americans or 
 Mexicans. There are also some four hundred and 
 sixty odd workings partially developed but now lying 
 idle, through lack of sufficient capital to install the 
 necessary machinery to operate them profitably. In 
 spite of this the State has hardly begun to be scratched 
 over, and prospectors are only commencing their work. 
 
 Inaccessibility, with lack of transportation facili- 
 ties, has been the chief drawback to successful mining. 
 Only the richest deposits can be worked with profit, 
 owing to the excessive cost of freighting the ore to 
 smelters. All this must be done on pack mules, and 
 during the dry season the cost per cargo — 300 pounds 
 — to deliver the ore at Mazatlan is from six to twelve 
 
AN OLD TOWN AND THE MINES 233 
 
 pesos, and in the wet season double as much. Add 
 to this the freight charges by steamer to the smelter, 
 the expense of transporting provisions and supplies 
 to the mines, together with the cost of working, and 
 it will be seen that none but exceedingly rich ore can 
 be handled at a profit. For this reason hundreds of 
 mines containing medium and low grade ore, which in 
 a more accessible position would be highly profitable, 
 now lie idle. 
 
 There is no custom smelter within several hundred 
 miles, and ore must be sent to San Francisco or Tacoma 
 to be smelted. However, relief is looked for soon. 
 A concession has been granted Mr. Epps Randolph, of 
 Tucson, Arizona, to construct a first-class custom 
 smelter of large capacity at Mazatlan, and with the 
 railroad opened to that point work upon the smelter 
 will be begun and pushed rapidly to completion. 
 
 It is expected that with the coming of the railroad 
 life will be injected into mining enterprises. Already 
 some of those in operation are planning to install 
 complete systems of cyanide plants, talk is heard of 
 small mines, long dormant, being cleaned out and 
 opened up, and prospects for the future are most 
 encouraging. 
 
 The chief causes of failure, not taking into considera- 
 tion fraudulent promoters, are either inexperience or 
 lack of sufficient capital to put mines upon a profit- 
 paying basis. Many men with little or no practical 
 knowledge of mining come here and attempt to con- 
 duct a business of which they are ignorant. 
 
 A couple of years ago an Englishman travelling in 
 Mexico obtained control of a property in the high 
 Sierras. He went home to London and induced some 
 
234 BEYOND THE MEXICAN SIERRAS 
 
 of his wealthy countrymen to join him in the enter- 
 prise. They advanced the necessary cash, while he 
 agreed to furnish the brains and experience, though 
 in the latter he was wholly lacking, and not so over- 
 stocked with the former that you would notice it. In 
 due time he arrived at Mazatlan, accompanied by 
 an English groom in livery. The English groom in 
 livery was destined to groom the sportive mule. He 
 was quite an innovation. The Englishman wore a 
 monocle, which was also an innovation in those parts. 
 
 They retired — the Englishman, the liveried groom, 
 and the monocle — to the mountains, taking with 
 them a large corps of native laborers. A lot of digging 
 was done, and the time came to take out the produce 
 to be shipped to the smelters. Then it was found 
 that the cost of transportation was more than the ore 
 was worth. They had not thought before of this 
 little item. 
 
 The Englishman decided at this critical point that 
 they needed a tramway. A tramway would do it! 
 With a tramway to bring the ore down from the heights 
 they would just coin sovereigns. So he sent to Eng- 
 land and asked the confiding investors to send an 
 engineer to build the tramway. The engineer came, 
 and the would-be miner ordered him to build the tram- 
 way — just as he might have ordered his tailor to 
 make him a new suit of clothes. 
 
 While I was in Mazatlan I met the engineer. He 
 was waiting for cable instructions to return home, 
 and he poured his troubles into my ears. He was not 
 in good humor, and he had not built the tramway. 
 
 “Now, don’t you know, it’s not a tramway they 
 need, but a blooming flying machine,” he explained. 
 
AN OLD TOWN AND THE MINES 235 
 
 “No engineer can build a tramway on those grades, 
 don’t you know? It’s like going up the side of a 
 house, and the mountain is so blooming high you can’t 
 see the top from the bottom.” 
 
 This is a specimen of some of the mining operations 
 undertaken in Mexico. 
 
 Worked with intelligence by experienced men, and 
 upon sound economic business principles, most of the 
 failures would have proved dividend-paying invest- 
 ments. Few of them can be truthfully ascribed to 
 non-paying ore veins. 
 
 Many Mexican mine failures are due wholly to dis- 
 honest promoters. These scamps secure a tract of 
 land, dig a hole, and erect a few flimsy structures all 
 at an insignificant cost, and then draw upon our 
 gentle public for millions of dollars. They never 
 work the mines and never intend to do so. They rely 
 upon the fact that the supposed mine is far enough 
 removed to be secure from any general investigation. 
 Reports of the promoter’s own engineers, hired to do 
 their bidding, are given out as reliable and trust- 
 worthy, and in many of these cases, no doubt, the 
 engineer making the report never even sees the prop- 
 erty described. 
 
 Mining schemes of this character are frauds from 
 their inception. Frequently dividends are paid for 
 a year or so from moneys received for stock, for the 
 purpose, of course, of making new dupes. The notori- 
 ous Dr. Flower belongs to this class of operators. 
 Recently a combine marketed $25,000,000 worth of 
 stock, at par, on the New York curb, and when a 
 receiver was appointed to take control of the company 
 he found but $1.48 in bank. 
 
236 BEYOND THE MEXICAN SIERRAS 
 
 There are many of these unstable or fraudulent 
 mining enterprises being floated continually in New 
 York, Boston, and Chicago, and small investors, who 
 are not able personally to visit and inspect the prop- 
 erties, or engage a thoroughly reliable and experienced 
 engineer to do so for them, should communicate w T ith 
 the American Consul on the ground. In Sinaloa, the 
 Consul at Mazatlan is the proper authority to consult. 
 
 Scattered throughout Mexico are many old aban- 
 doned Spanish mines, some of them worked out and 
 many of them abandoned in the early days because 
 of the inability to separate metal from rock, under 
 certain conditions, with the crude methods then in 
 vogue. Some of the old workings contain surprising 
 rewards to the industrious and patient who take 
 them up. 
 
 A peon once staked out one of the old Spanish 
 mines as a claim, and began digging in the old tunnel, 
 which had lain idle for more than a century. Month 
 after month he dug, living in the meantime upon 
 tortillas supplied him by his neighbors, who believed 
 him crazy and good-naturedly tolerated him in his 
 ever present belief that "to-morrow” he would strike 
 great riches. He was harmless and they were sorry 
 for him. Finally, however, they grew tired of bestow- 
 ing charity, and all but one declined to contribute 
 food. They advised the digger to stop his foolish- 
 ness and instead of wasting his strength in the old 
 tunnel to go to work in the corn-field. 
 
 The one man who shared his tortillas with the miner 
 was very poor, and his bounty was hardly sufficient 
 to sustain life. The half-starved man worked on, 
 however, until one day he opened a vein. It was a 
 
AN OLD TOWN AND THE MINES 237 
 
 bonanza. He took the man who had stood by him 
 into partnership, and out of that old hole the two dug 
 millions upon millions of pesos, and to-day they stand 
 amongst the wealthiest men in Mexico. 
 
 Another peon under similar circumstances opened 
 another mine, and became so wealthy, report says, he 
 has offered to pay the entire national debt of Mexico. 
 
 The circular space surrounding Canelas was all 
 under cultivation, and even on the steep mountain 
 sides — so steep that one wonders how man can find 
 footing there, and keep from sliding off — corn and 
 beans are grown. Ploughing in these steep places is 
 of course impossible, but men crawl along and plant 
 the seed in unbroken ground, and leave the crops to 
 take care of themselves until the harvest time. 
 
 Wilkinson got me into an awkward situation the 
 morning of our second day in Canelas. On the pre- 
 vious evening he had complained of a severe headache, 
 and to relieve it I administered a five-grain tablet of 
 acetanilid. He noted my leathern medicine case with 
 much interest, and when his head cleared within an 
 hour decided that I was a physician, and immediately 
 sang my praises about town. 
 
 With his suave and agreeable manner, Wilkinson 
 soon made friends of half the population. A young 
 peon whom he met was suffering with a toothache, 
 and he sent the fellow to me for treatment. In the 
 few words of Spanish at my command I endeavored 
 to explain that I was neither physician nor dentist, 
 and had no instruments with which to draw the tooth, 
 nor means of curing it. But the man was obdurate. 
 My mozo had said I was a medico, and he ought to 
 know. The tooth was very painful. The blessing 
 
238 BEYOND THE MEXICAN SIERRAS 
 
 of the saints would rest upon me if I would exert my 
 skill. If I had no instruments with me I had medi- 
 cines, and I could surely give him something. Wil- 
 kinson had said I was a great medico, for I had cured 
 him in a very short time. 
 
 Finally in self-defence I painted the gums around 
 the offending tooth with iodine, to act as a counter- 
 irritant, and on general principles administered a 
 harmless dose from my limited stock. 
 
 The iodine relieved the pain, and my patient went 
 his way rejoicing and to spread my fame broadcast. 
 In a little while I was besieged. Applicants for treat- 
 ment crowded in upon me thick and fast. I felt the 
 pulse and looked at the tongue of each, assumed a 
 wise expression, and as I had nothing else to give 
 them anyway, dealt out in ample doses a specific 
 against biliousness, until I had made ten sufferers 
 happy. 
 
 When I returned to our quarters at dusk from a long 
 tramp — to which I had resorted to escape my patients 
 — I gave Wilkinson orders to have the mules saddled 
 and ready to leave town at daylight. I was filled with 
 misgivings as to the consequences of my more extended 
 practice of medicine. 
 
CHAPTER XXVII 
 
 THE INDIANS OF THE MOUNTAINS 
 
 W E were in the saddle at daybreak and five 
 minutes later had begun the tedious ascent 
 of the mountain barrier. For several hours 
 we climbed steadily. Canelas shrank into the depths, 
 and finally, as we entered the forest on the upper levels, 
 was lost to view. Here we came into snow again, but 
 two days of sunshine had settled it, and a pack train 
 had broken the trail. 
 
 All day, and for several days, we rode through a 
 magnificent forest of virgin pine. Many of the trees 
 had been tapped by the Indians for rosin. At one 
 point a great number of fine saw-logs had been cut 
 and piled, but lay rotting because of no means of 
 taking them out at a profit. At a rough estimate I 
 should say two million feet of lumber had been cut 
 and abandoned at this place. 
 
 On the afternoon of the day we left Canelas we passed 
 a small Indian settlement, and toward evening en- 
 tered another, where we halted for the night. There 
 were eighteen Indians in the hut where we took up 
 our quarters — or rather outside of which we slept 
 upon the ground. This was the filthiest aggregation 
 of humanity I had yet come in contact with, and evi- 
 dently as degraded as filthy. I never saw anything 
 to surpass them in this respect, even amongst Eskimos 
 or northern Indians. There is excuse for Eskimo 
 
 239 
 
240 BEYOND THE MEXICAN SIERRAS 
 
 filth, where the people live in snow igloos, and water 
 can be had only by melting snow or ice over the 
 meagre blaze of a stone lamp. But here in the moun- 
 tains of Mexico, with abundant water flowing past 
 their door in brooks of crystal purity, there is abso- 
 lutely no excuse for it. 
 
 I believe these Indians never bathe at all. In fact 
 there is a belief amongst them that to bathe is to court 
 sickness and death, and their skin never knows the 
 cleansing influence of water from birth until death 
 claims their clod-laden bodies to join the clods of 
 Mother Earth from which they sprang. There was 
 a sick boy in a hut where a friend of mine stopped one 
 day, and my friend suggested to the father that a 
 bath might cure him. The father held up his hands 
 in horror. “A bath! That would kill him!” he ex- 
 claimed. "I never bathed in my life, and my chil- 
 dren never bathed, and never will.” 
 
 Down in the low countries they do bathe — once a 
 year. At midnight, on the twenty-ninth of June — 
 St. Peter’s and St. Paul’s Day. The two good saints 
 calm the ocean, and make the water harmless; and 
 those within reach of the sea, who have sufficient 
 faith in the protecting powers of the saints, gather there 
 on that day and recklessly wash their bodies. At points 
 removed from the coast, the twenty-fourth of June is 
 the annual bathing day. This is St. John’s Day, and 
 that good saint has a concession to mollify the rigors 
 of the rivers, for the benefit of the would-be clean ones. 
 So down in the lower country people are clean. But 
 here in the mountains no saint ever moves the Indians 
 to such a desperate deed as bathing. 
 
 Like nearly all wilderness dwellers, they are exceed- 
 
INDIANS OF THE MOUNTAINS 241 
 
 ingly accommodating, and as hospitable as circum- 
 stances allow. At every Indian hut where we spent 
 a night, the women offered us a bit of their cookery 
 to help out our cold victuals; and after we had eaten, 
 invariably cleansed our cups by wiping out the coffee 
 grounds and drying the cups on a corner of their 
 reeking skirts. They were very kind in the perform- 
 ance of this and other little services. 
 
 In general, the Indians of the interior Mexican moun- 
 tains are far inferior in intelligence and ambition, if 
 not in physique, to our Indians of the United States 
 and Canada. The difference is in race and tempera- 
 mental qualities. It cannot be said that their lack 
 of energy is due to an enervating climate, for in these 
 mountain heights the atmosphere is crisp and inspir- 
 ing, and would move any ordinary human, with red 
 blood in his veins, to exertion. It is a climate quite 
 different from that of the hot and humid tropics, where 
 fever and burning sun combine to sap life and energy 
 from man and beast alike. 
 
 Every night during the winter months the tempera- 
 ture drops several degrees below the freezing-point, 
 and often the wind is sharp and piercing; yet not one 
 of these indolent people possesses an adequate shelter. 
 Their miserable huts usually contain a single room with 
 an overhanging roof in front to form a shed. Between 
 the unchinked logs one can thrust one’s fist, and the 
 wind is hardly checked. 
 
 Their fire consists of a tiny blaze, for they are very 
 sparing of the wood. This is pure laziness. The pine 
 forests in which they live offer an abundance of fuel 
 for the wielding of an axe, but they shiver and suffer 
 with the cold rather than wield the axe. 
 
242 BEYOND THE MEXICAN SIERRAS 
 
 They are clad, generally, in the scantiest and thinnest 
 of cotton garments. Some of them wear sandals, but 
 many go barefooted. The head of the family usually 
 owns a zerape, which he selfishly retains to cover his 
 own precious body at night, while thejwomen and chil- 
 dren are left to huddle together upon the bare earth 
 in a vain endeavor to keep warm. 
 
 Everywhere deer are plentiful, and there are bears 
 and wolves and other animals with warm coats, which 
 could be had for the hunting. But hunting demands 
 an expenditure of vital force, and therefore the Indian 
 rarely hunts. Occasionally he may kill a deer for 
 the flesh, but the skin, which could be transformed 
 into snug bed or clothing, is discarded; and he has 
 never learned the art of making moccasins. 
 
 So far as my observation goes, there is but one 
 thrifty, active body of Indians in all Mexico — the 
 Yaqui Indians of Sonora. This tribe, which belongs 
 to the Apache family, stands out in marked contrast 
 to all other Indians of Mexico. I believe the Mexican 
 military, as well as all who have come in contact with 
 the Yaquis, will vouch for their initiative, energy, and 
 activity. For a long while they played hide and seek 
 with the soldiers, and led them a merry dance. They 
 not only maintained themselves, but carried on a war 
 against the Government with a persistence that is 
 commendable. 
 
 A few of the Yaquis have sought employment on 
 the new railroad construction work, and some of them 
 are engaged as cargadores at various points on the 
 Pacific coast. How they managed to escape detec- 
 tion and capture by the soldiers I do not know, but 
 probably by travelling singly or in pairs. Numbers 
 
A characteristic hut 
 
A typical Yaqui Indian 
 
INDIANS OF THE MOUNTAINS 243 
 
 of them left their country from time to time, earned 
 and saved as much money as possible, with which to 
 purchase fresh supplies, and then returned to bear 
 arms in the fight their nation waged for so long 
 against the Government, for freedom and the right 
 of property. One of these men was employed upon 
 the railroad bridge abutment at Culiacan. He was 
 a full-blood, typical Yaqui Indian and a fine speci- 
 men of his race. His foreman told me he was worth 
 any three of the other native workmen, and received 
 double as much wages as any other man on the job, 
 because he did not shirk, and was a hard-working, 
 industrious, and conscientious fellow. 
 
 Originally the Yaquis were an agricultural and a 
 home-loving people. They once possessed a rich tract 
 of land along the Yaqui River in Sonora, and, from time 
 immemorial, planted their corn and lived in peace 
 with all men that left them alone. The Spaniards 
 tried to dispossess them, but did not succeed. The 
 Mexicans persecuted and hunted them until they were 
 driven to desperation and were forced to fight for 
 very existence. All they ever asked was justice — 
 plain justice — and to be dealt with fairly. They 
 claimed title to the land they had always held, and the 
 right to cultivate the soil and live peaceably upon it, 
 undisturbed. They were willing to give allegiance to 
 the Government of Mexico, to pay taxes, and to be 
 good citizens. Mexico, on the other hand, denied 
 them any rights, granted their holding to rich hidalgos 
 or corporations, and sent troops to enforce the recog- 
 nition of these grants. The troops have striven to 
 drive the Yaquis from their ancient home, they have 
 murdered them and their women and children, or, 
 
244 BEYOND THE MEXICAN SIERRAS 
 
 when captured, they have taken them as slaves to 
 die in the fever swamps of Yucatan. 
 
 Many reliable witnesses told me they had seen bands 
 of Yaqui captives on the Tepic road driven, like cattle, 
 under the lash, by mounted soldiers. They saw old 
 men and women fall by the wayside and die, and 
 mothers bearing dead babes in their arms totter 
 hopelessly to their doom. 
 
 During the winter I was in Mexico, sixteen Yaqui 
 prisoners on a southward bound vessel, when off 
 Mazatlan, jumped overboard into the sea, preferring 
 death in the waves to an ignoble slavery in Yucatan. 
 Six of them were drowned, and the others when 
 retaken deplored the fate that had denied them the 
 death of their comrades. Nothing but keenest misery 
 could prompt such feeling. 
 
 The Yaquis fought bravely in their beautiful valley, 
 and in the fastnesses of the mountains behind, to pre- 
 serve their homes and their liberty — that was all. 
 But if that is not the true spirit of patriotism, what 
 is? That is what Washington and our forefathers 
 fought for, and who can say that any ever bore arms 
 in a more righteous cause? They fought a hopeless 
 fight, and they knew it. They knew that they would 
 lose in the end. There are not many of them left, and 
 these few are subdued in the face of overpowering 
 odds. 
 
 We hear much of the cruelty of these Yaquis, but 
 who can blame them for killing and torturing, in 
 retaliation for murder and torture, all Mexicans who 
 fell within their reach? Americans used to come out 
 of their country with blood-curdling tales of Yaqui 
 depredation and Yaqui cruelty. But let me say that 
 
INDIANS OF THE MOUNTAINS 245 
 
 no American ever went there with clean hands, undis- 
 guised as a Mexican, or unaccompanied by Mexicans, 
 and attended to his own business, that had a hair 
 of his head injured. I know Americans who so 
 visited the Yaqui country, and who saw the burned 
 haciendas of the hidalgos, and the dead bodies of 
 Mexicans, and who met bands of Yaquis, but they 
 received no injury from them. In one case I recall, 
 a man lost and starving was given food and a guide 
 to put him on his trail. This man himself related the 
 incident to me. 
 
 It is charged that these Indians came down near the 
 towns and resorted to highway robbery and the mur- 
 der of innocent travellers. This charge was without 
 foundation, and was a pretext by the Government 
 to excuse its course toward them. The highwaymen 
 were ordinary brigands, and many of them were 
 American renegades, driven out of the United States. 
 Every day, for many years, a stage has passed through 
 the Yaqui country, which lies south of the place where 
 these hold-ups occur. The stage is loaded with mail 
 and valuable matter, and is open to attack by the 
 Yaquis at many points, but it has never yet been 
 interfered with. 
 
 But it is the same old story. It is only a repetition 
 of our treatment, in the United States, of our Indians. 
 It began with the landing of the Pilgrims, and it has 
 continued ever since. We never kept faith with the 
 Indians. We robbed them, and goaded them into fight- 
 ing, and then murdered them, took their lands and 
 freedom from them, and, finally, herded them upon 
 inadequate reservations like cattle in a corral. 
 
 For two days we travelled at an altitude of eight 
 
246 BEYOND THE MEXICAN SIERRAS 
 
 thousand feet. Here the snow had disappeared, but 
 each morning the ground was frozen hard, a half-inch 
 of ice covered water pools, and a heavy coat of hoar 
 frost lay upon everything. In sheltered places like 
 ravines and gulches, and on the shaded sides of hills, 
 the ice remained the whole day long. 
 
 These were glorious mornings. The frost sparkled 
 and scintillated as the sun broke brilliantly over moun- 
 tain peaks; the air, with its tang of winter, was like 
 wine; and the scenery magnificent and inspiring. 
 
 More than once as we rode over a ridge, and emerged 
 suddenly from the timber into an open, grass-grown 
 hollow, deer scampered away, their white tails show- 
 ing for an instant before they disappeared into the 
 timber. We had excellent opportunities to shoot 
 them, but we could not have used the venison, had 
 we killed them, and therefore let them go without 
 interference. 
 
 On the third day out of Canelas we reached the 
 junction of the Canelas and Topia trails, and now 
 began to meet mule trains carrying supplies from 
 Tepehuanes to the mines. Once we passed a long 
 train on its way to the railroad, laden with bars of 
 silver. In the distance we could hear, echoing through 
 the forest, the “Ho-o-ah-ho-o” of the muleteers, as 
 they shouted to the animals. In the evening we saw 
 their camps, and sometimes passed them in the early 
 morning before they were astir. 
 
 Finally we again entered a rough country, where we 
 ascended steep trails to an altitude of nearly ten thou- 
 sand feet, skirted and crossed canyons, and were treated 
 to some scenery of exceptional grandeur. Here were 
 towering cliffs of lime, glistening white in the sun. 
 
Pack train laden with bars of silver 
 
Adobe huts took the place of log cabins 
 
INDIANS OF THE MOUNTAINS 247 
 
 The mountain cabins assumed a better character. 
 Some of them were calked and snug, and the people 
 were more civilized. One instance of this was the 
 abandonment of the ancient stone, and the adoption 
 of iron mills, similar to sausage mills, for grinding corn 
 for tortillas. But even here the kerosene lamp has 
 not yet supplanted the pine knot as a means of illu- 
 mination. 
 
 We had crossed the divide, and the waters now 
 flowed toward the Atlantic. For a day we maintained 
 a high altitude, and were surrounded again by snow, 
 but at last, one morning, began our eastern descent. 
 
 At twelve o’clock on December nine we came out 
 upon a high bluff, and below us lay a fertile valley. 
 The forest was behind us. As we dropped into the 
 plain, fields of maguey and corn appeared everywhere 
 about us. Adobe huts took the place of log cabins, 
 and gardens of tuna cactus, cultivated for its fruit, 
 lined the trail. One village of adobe that we rode 
 through resembled from a distance the ruins of some 
 ancient town. Within three hours the whole aspect 
 of the country had changed. The trail was crowded 
 with pack trains of merchandise, the people had as- 
 sumed a more conventional air, and at last, when we 
 forded a river and came upon a stage road, I knew 
 that the railroad was near at hand, — and was not 
 disappointed. Two more fordings of the river, then 
 up a hill, and below us lay Tepehuanes, with its tall 
 church spire, its adobe houses, and beyond the cosey 
 American railroad station and lines of rails leading 
 away to link it with the great world without. 
 
CHAPTER XXVIII 
 
 A GLIMPSE OF THE EAST 
 
 N ARROW, crooked streets, lined with adobe 
 huts; Indians lounging in doorways; stray 
 pigs and numberless dogs, foraging for refuse ; 
 a gray church spire; brown, barren hills rising beyond, 
 a river winding at their base; the whole bathed in daz- 
 zling white sunlight with patches of ink-black shadows 
 spread upon the ground — this was Tepehuanes as we 
 rode into it that brilliant December afternoon. 
 
 In the central and more substantial part of the town 
 we found the Hotel Internacional, and entered its wide 
 doorway to dismount in the patio. Here an effusively 
 polite landlord greeted us, and assigned to me a room — 
 the best, he declared — in his most excellent estab- 
 lishment. The room had no windows, the stone walls 
 were damp, and water oozed out of the earthen floor 
 in one corner. A bed, however, with mattress and 
 clean sheets upon it, promising a night of comfort, 
 counterbalanced all defects. 
 
 In the little dining-room we were served with a very 
 good dinner, and while we ate our host stood over us, 
 smiling and rubbing his hands and talking. “Where 
 did senor come from? Culiacan! Es possible! A 
 long journey! Was there not much snow in the 
 mountains? Yes? And it was very cold? Where 
 is senor going? Mexico? A beautiful city! I have 
 been there often. But senor will remain with us for 
 
 248 
 
A GLIMPSE OF THE EAST 
 
 249 
 
 two days. The train is already leaving. Manana? 
 No, there is no train manana. The senor will rest here 
 until the day after, when there will be a train.” This 
 was all my slight smattering of Spanish permitted me 
 to gather from our loquacious landlord’s conversation, 
 but it was enough to cut my dinner short, and hurry 
 me down to the railroad ; for I had no desire to remain 
 two days in Tepehuanes. 
 
 Below the village is a stretch of sand, then the river, 
 and on the opposite high bank the passenger station. 
 No bridge spanned the stream, and no means of cross- 
 ing the swiftly flowing water without a mount presented 
 itself. But it made no matter. I reached there just 
 in time to see the engine, with a string of freight cars 
 and two passenger coaches, puffing up the grade; and, 
 resigned to an enforced residence in Tepehuanes, 
 returned at a more sober gait to the hotel. 
 
 Wilkinson and the mules were established at a 
 masson in a by-street. Our saddle mules were quite 
 worn out with their hard mountain climbing, but 
 Maud, the irrepressible pack mule, in spite of her lame 
 shoulder and one eye, was as bright and chipper to all 
 outward appearances as the day we rode out of Culia- 
 can. She had justified herself. Maud had shown 
 that she was an old campaigner. Unlike the other 
 animals, she was a good forager, and never lost a 
 moment, when we halted for any purpose, to gather 
 in whatever there was in sight to be eaten; and to her, 
 everything green was included within that category. 
 I often saw her, in dangerous descents, where the 
 other mules could hardly find a footing, slide gayly 
 down the rocks with the utmost unconcern, and grab 
 at tempting boughs by the way. . • . 
 
250 BEYOND THE MEXICAN SIERRAS 
 
 The morning sun had not yet driven away the hoar 
 frost when I emerged, after a good night’s rest, for a 
 walk before breakfast, and to enjoy the snappy morn- 
 ing air. Tepehuanes lies in a river valley, at an alti- 
 tude of sixty-five hundred feet above the sea. It has 
 a delightful and picturesque situation. The valley 
 through which the river courses is verdant and fruit- 
 ful, the first rise of hills seared and red-brown, in 
 marked contrast to the lower green, and above all, 
 to the westward tower in grandeur the mighty moun- 
 tains, their higher peaks at this time white with snow. 
 
 After breakfast I saddled Bucephalus and rode over 
 to the railway station to verify the landlord’s state- 
 ment as to trains. It is a typical American station, 
 and in contrast to the native buildings of Spanish 
 design — those cold, cheerless, unsympathetic blocks 
 of masonry — appealed to me as exceedingly cosey 
 and homelike. This sense of coseyness was increased 
 when I entered the little waiting-room and heard 
 telegraph instruments in the adjoining office ticking 
 off messages in English. I paused for a moment to 
 listen to them before presenting myself at the ticket 
 window. 
 
 Sitting at his desk was the station agent, a pleasant- 
 faced, middle-aged American. 
 
 “Good-morning, sir,” I greeted. “When can I get 
 a train to Durango? I wish to connect there for 
 Monterey and Mexico City.” 
 
 “Good-morning,” said he, rising and coming to the 
 window. “The next train will leave at five-thirty 
 to-morrow evening, and will make a close connection 
 for you at Durango the following day. Come into the 
 office and I’ll show you the time card. We’ve a fire.” 
 
, bathed in brilliant December sunshine 
 
A view of T epeliuanes 
 
A GLIMPSE OF THE EAST 
 
 251 
 
 "Thank you,” I accepted, explaining as I entered, 
 "I’m an old telegraph operator and railroader, and I 
 enjoy getting alongside the instruments.” 
 
 "My name is Boon Barker,” remarked he, extending 
 his hand, "and it’s a pleasure to meet a railroader 
 from home.” 
 
 I returned his hearty handshake and introducing 
 myself explained: "My last railroading and telegraph- 
 ing was on the Fitchburg, down in Massachusetts, and 
 I quit there in 1889, so you see I ’ve degenerated into 
 an old-time plug.” 
 
 "You’re not Dillon Wallace of Labrador?” asked 
 Barker. 
 
 "I’ve been to Labrador,” I confessed. 
 
 "Well! well!” he exclaimed, again shaking my 
 hand vigorously, "then we’re old friends, for I’ve 
 followed you in your travels.” 
 
 This, and Barker’s intense interest in Northern 
 exploration, put us upon terms of good-fellowship at 
 once. I learned that he had been a soldier of the 
 regular army, and was a first sergeant under Lieutenant 
 Lockwood at the time Lockwood volunteered for 
 service on the Lady Franklin Bay Expedition. They 
 were in Colorado at the time, running telegraph lines, 
 and Barker was Lockwood’s operator, sharing a tent 
 with him. 
 
 I had the pleasure of an introduction to Mrs. Barker 
 and their three charming children, and my afternoon 
 with the family is one of the very pleasant recollec- 
 tions of my journey. The oldest child, a boy of seven, 
 rides with his father into the high mountains, and is 
 already an accomplished horseman, always eager for 
 the sport of a hunting or camping trip. When the 
 
252 BEYOND THE MEXICAN SIERRAS 
 
 little girl learned that I was going to a place where 
 there was a great deal of candy of all kinds, she climbed 
 upon my knee and told me, in the strictest confidence, 
 what varieties and flavors she liked best. 
 
 It was half-past five, and already twilight, the 
 following evening when the train pulled out of Tepe- 
 huanes, and I found myself at last comfortably settled 
 with a cigar in a corner of the first-class coach, on my 
 way to Mexico City. 
 
 Two Americans and a young English engineer, who 
 had ridden over from a mine near Topia, and had 
 barely caught the train, occupied the seats opposite. 
 One of the Americans, a New Yorker, and evidently 
 a promoter, was chief of the trio. He seemed bent 
 upon impressing his own opinion of his importance 
 upon his companions and me, the only other white 
 passengers on the train, — an opinion, I am free to 
 say, I at least did not accept at its owner’s appraisal. 
 He talked in a loud voice about his journey, “New 
 Yawk,” and the possible status of the stock “maket.” 
 Some Mexican “lawr” (meaning law) did not suit 
 him, and he was quite dissatisfied with the “earl” 
 (meaning oil) lamps in the car. In the hope that I 
 might learn something of the effect of the financial 
 panic in the United States, then at its height, upon 
 mining operations in Mexico, I attempted conversa- 
 tion, but my friend was so patronizing that I soon 
 slunk humbly back into my corner. I had an intui- 
 tion, however, that such information as might have 
 been gleaned from him would not have been of sig- 
 nificant value. 
 
 It is unfortunate, but true, that one meets a great 
 many of this class of our countrymen in Mexico, and 
 
The author and the youngest child of Mr. Boon Barker, at Tepehuanes 
 
 station 
 
The lad who coidd ride and the lass who liked candy 
 
A GLIMPSE OF THE EAST 
 
 253 
 
 more than often has occasion to blush for them. 
 They brag inconsiderately and consistently, and always 
 endeavor to show what very important individuals 
 they themselves are, never forgetting to find fault 
 with everything not American — unless it will militate 
 against their personal interests. Of course one knows 
 that they are by no means representative, and are 
 in fact usually very small ducks in the little puddle 
 in which they swim at home; but at the same time 
 they are Americans, and one is compelled to own them 
 as fellow-citizens, which is sometimes exceedingly 
 embarrassing. 
 
 There is another class of Americans who have lived 
 in Mexico for a great many years, some of them be- 
 cause they do not find it healthful at home and are 
 not in cordial accord with prosecuting attorneys and 
 police authorities north of the Rio Grande; and others 
 who have investments, or whose business relations 
 keep them there. These are constantly comparing 
 Mexico and Mexicans with the United States and 
 Americans, to the disadvantage of the latter, and en- 
 deavor to impress all visitors with their own expressed 
 belief that everything and everybody south of the 
 international boundary is vastly superior to every- 
 thing north of it. They will never admit that Mexico 
 or her people are not the ideal of perfection in every 
 respect; and to suggest to them that there is much 
 room for improvement there is to insult them. Of 
 course these people are expatriates, and not to be taken 
 seriously. 
 
 There are no Pullman cars on the Tepehuanes 
 branch, and therefore no sleeping accommodations 
 upon the train, which, after a two and a half hours’ 
 
254 BEYOND THE MEXICAN SIERRAS 
 
 run, lies up for the night at Santiago Papasquiaro. 
 Here passengers seek such lodgings as they can find 
 in the town, a mile distant from the station. I was 
 calculating upon the probability of being able to bribe 
 the baggageman to permit’ me to bunk in his car, 
 rather than risk the uncertainty of such accommoda- 
 tions as might be secured in a primitive and over- 
 crowded hotel, when the train conductor entered and 
 took a seat beside me. 
 
 “You might not find very pleasant quarters in 
 Santiago Papasquiaro,” said he, “and I’d be very glad 
 if you ’d be my guest for the night. We railroad men 
 have a shack for a dining-place, and a pretty good 
 cook, and I have an extra room in a native house near 
 the station that’s at your service.” 
 
 Of course I accepted, and thanked him most heartily 
 for his thoughtfulness and hospitality to a stranger. 
 Our acquaintance had begun scarcely an hour before, 
 in an introduction by Barker. This conductor was 
 W. B. Goodspeed, an American who has been in the 
 employ of the International and National Lines of 
 Mexico for upwards of twenty years. His treatment 
 of me was characteristic of what a traveller in the 
 Republic may expect at the hands of railway em- 
 ployees. All of the American officials of the Mexican 
 railroads, with whom I came in contact, were most 
 courteous and accommodating. Through Mr. Good- 
 speed’s kindly hospitality, I enjoyed not only a com- 
 fortable bed in Santiago Papasquiaro, but the best 
 meals I had eaten since leaving Culiacan. 
 
 For a considerable distance beyond Santiago Papas- 
 quiaro the country is rough and mountainous, the 
 hills and rocks sometimes assuming peculiar and fan- 
 
Photograph by Charles N. Remington 
 
The valley in which Monterey lies 
 
A GLIMPSE OF THE EAST 
 
 255 
 
 tastic shapes. At one point a tall shaft, carved by- 
 nature out of the living rock, surmounts a dome- 
 shaped crest, like an obelisk erected to some forgotten 
 monarch. 
 
 Finally the landscape changes, and the train passes 
 into a flat, uninteresting district, devoted chiefly to 
 cattle-raising, though great stretches of it are so 
 barren that cattle would find it difficult indeed to 
 pick a living. The soil of these barren stretches is 
 sand or adobe, there is insufficient water for irrigation, 
 and therefore it is of small agricultural value. Much 
 of it, however, is mineralized, and numerous cones of 
 masonry, scattered over the plain, mark abandoned 
 shafts of worked-out mines. 
 
 Now and again our train stopped at villages, and 
 the greater part of the population of each was gathered 
 at the station to witness our arrival. Whenever a 
 passenger boarded or left the train, there was always 
 an army of friends to bid farewell or extend a welcome 
 to the traveller. 
 
 The city of Durango, with a population of forty- 
 five thousand, lies at an altitude of sixty-two hundred 
 feet above the sea. At this season the nights are 
 frosty, and when I arrived a high wind was blowing, 
 and the air was filled with sand and dust. This is the 
 centre of a rich mining district, and the traveller is 
 certain to have pointed out to him the wonderful 
 mountain of iron, and to hear marvellous tales of 
 fabulous wealth of gold and silver yielded up to the 
 miner by the surrounding hills. On my outward 
 journey I did not stop, but tarried for a day upon my 
 return. Now the train for Monterey was waiting, 
 and I immediately transferred to the Pullman sleeper, 
 
256 BEYOND THE MEXICAN SIERRAS 
 
 to revel in its luxury, and enjoy a good juicy Ameri- 
 can steak served by a polite American negro porter. 
 
 Monterey is a popular tourist resort, and is pretty 
 thoroughly conventionalized. The city has, however, 
 some interesting side streets and corners, typically 
 Mexican, and a few relics of earlier days, which have 
 not been crowded out by the new civilization. Notable 
 among the latter is the old church of San Francisco, 
 originally built in 1560 and rebuilt in 1730. Adjoin- 
 ing it is a convent, which, authorities say, is the origi- 
 nal convent built in connection with the church in 1560. 
 
 By far the most interesting point to Americans 
 round about Monterey is the Bishop’s Palace, on the 
 Chepe Vera Hill. It was built by Bishop Verger in 
 1782. Its special interest lies in the fact that it was 
 the centre of the battle of Monterey, and on Septem- 
 ber 22, 1846, was captured by General Taylor after 
 a stout defence. 
 
 I engaged a carriage and drove out to the battle- 
 ground in the afternoon. The Chepe Vera Hill is a 
 barren eminence. Near its top I was able to trace 
 some of the breastworks used by the Mexicans during 
 the battle. The Bishop’s Palace on the crest is now 
 occupied only by two soldiers, detailed to protect it 
 from the ravages of souvenir-hunting tourists. This 
 is an actual necessity. Tourist vandals were making 
 such havoc upon the building that for a time the 
 authorities were forced to close it and exclude all 
 visitors. Now, upon certain conditions, one may be 
 permitted to enter. 
 
 To the eastward of the Chepe Vera Hill Monterey 
 nestles in a valley amid picturesque surroundings. 
 A haze of smoke hovered over the valley, and par- 
 
The old church of San Francisco, Monterey 
 
The Bishop's Palace, Monterey 
 
A GLIMPSE OF THE EAST 
 
 257 
 
 tially veiled from view the city and the two most 
 notable mountains, Cerro de la Sila, or Saddle Moun- 
 tain, and Cerro de las Mitras, or Mountain of Mitres. 
 Topo Chico Hill lies to the westward, and at its base 
 are the famous Topo Chico mineral springs, to which 
 Montezuma’s daughter is said to have come to be 
 cured of a malady by the wonderful medicinal prop- 
 erties of the waters. 
 
 Monterey has a population of seventy-five thousand, 
 and is the second city in importance in the Republic. 
 Considerable American capital is invested here in 
 manufacturing industries. The American colony num- 
 bers upwards of five thousand. The chief need of the 
 city at present is a good hotel, and business men, I 
 was informed, stand ready to pay half the expense of 
 erecting one. The main obstacle is the difficulty of 
 securing a suitable site, through high and inflated 
 values placed upon land. Since my visit Monterey 
 has experienced a terrible disaster. In August, 1909, 
 the city was flooded by unusually heavy rains, more 
 than two thousand people were drowned, and a quar- 
 ter of the city destroyed. 
 
 It was Sunday morning when I reached Mexico City, 
 where I engaged quarters in a hotel on the famous 
 Calle de San Francisco, not far from the centre of the 
 business section. 
 
 I spent the day in the Plaza Mayor, or Zocalo, as 
 it is sometimes called, recounting to myself the 
 remarkable history of this bit of ground, and trying 
 to picture it as it appeared in the days of Montezuma. 
 The Zocalo was the centre of the Aztec capitol. On 
 its east, where the National Palace now stands, was 
 Montezuma’s palace, and later the palace of the 
 
258 BEYOND THE MEXICAN SIERRAS 
 
 Viceroys; on the north, the cathedral rises upon the 
 very foundations of the great teacali, the Aztec temple, 
 where untold thousands were annually offered in 
 sacrifice to the terrible Huitzilopotchli. This, too, 
 was the scene of those battles between the conquerors 
 and the vanquished that finally decided the fate of 
 Anahuac. 
 
 The cathedral is said to be the finest in the Western 
 Hemisphere. Certainly it is an imposing and beauti- 
 ful structure, with its two majestic towers and splendid 
 facade. The building is three hundred and eighty- 
 seven feet in length by one hundred and seventy-seven 
 in width. Within are two rows of Doric pillars, and 
 a high and imposing dome. Both sides of the interior 
 are lined with chapels dedicated to saints. The altar 
 rails and trimmings, it is claimed, are of solid silver 
 and gold, but the incredulous say that the precious 
 metals were long since removed and plated counter- 
 parts substituted. The walls of the sacristy are 
 covered with paintings, which to me were not particu- 
 larly interesting; and at one end of the choir is what 
 is said to be a genuine Murillo Madonna. 
 
 I returned early to the hotel, and sat the evening 
 out at a lobby window watching an endless parade of 
 handsome equipages in which the flower of the city 
 were on exhibition. This parade is a regular Sunday 
 evening institution, peculiar to Mexico City. The 
 carriages pass through the Calle de San Francisco to 
 the Zocalo, around to the Alameda, and thence back 
 to the Calle de San Francisco, making the circle again 
 and again. There were many beautiful women on 
 exhibition, but most of them were too profuse in the 
 application of face powder. This is the fashion, how- 
 
The Cathedral, Mexico City 
 
American Country Club, Mexico City 
 
A GLIMPSE OF THE EAST 
 
 259 
 
 ever, all over Mexico. If a woman is handsome, or 
 thinks she is, she almost invariably spoils her good 
 looks in an attempt to improve upon nature by making 
 her face ghastly with powder. 
 
 I had a letter of introduction to Dr. A. R. Goodman, 
 Surgeon General of the National Railway Lines, and 
 when I presented myself on Monday morning the 
 Doctor received me with the greatest cordiality, and 
 devoted several hours to showing me the city. In 
 his automobile we traversed the historic causeway 
 over which Cortez made his desperate retreat; we 
 passed the place where Alvarado made his famous 
 leap; the Tree of La Noche Triste, under which, so the 
 legend say, Cortez wept on that dismal night. This 
 tree, sprouted a thousand years ago, spread its shade 
 as it does to-day far back in that prehistoric period 
 when Tenochtitlan was young. The top of the tree 
 is broken and decayed, and an iron fence has been 
 built around it to keep it safe from souvenir-hunting 
 tourists. 
 
 We visited Chapultepec (the Hill of the Grass- 
 hopper), where the Aztec rulers had their summer 
 home, tradition says. The present palace, built by 
 Spanish Viceroys, is the suburban residence of Presi- 
 dent Diaz. What tales the giant ahuehuelts, which 
 stand below, might tell, if they could only speak! 
 They thrived in this very soil before the world knew 
 there was a Western Hemisphere. They witnessed 
 the progress and destruction of a semi-civilization of 
 which we to-day know all but nothing. Generations 
 of men have been born, have acted their part upon 
 the stage of life, and are gone and forgotten; kingdoms, 
 republics, and empires have risen and fallen; wars upon 
 
260 BEYOND THE MEXICAN SIERRAS 
 
 wars have swept the land; one race of man has sup- 
 planted another; and these trees have stood through 
 it all, and still live on, indefinitely on, defiant of Time, 
 silent witnesses of human frailty. 
 
 Not far away is the Molino del Rey, where the battle 
 of September 28, 1847, was fought. This is, of course, 
 of special interest to the American visitor. One may 
 see the old mill from Chapultepec. 
 
 But every nook and corner of Mexico and the sur- 
 rounding country has its bit of history and romance, 
 and a single chapter would not suffice for even the 
 barest mention of the most important. We must 
 forego so much as a reference to them, for Mexico 
 City is not beyond the Sierras, and should have no 
 part in a narrative of a journey through the western 
 country. Unconsciously my pen has led me into 
 this digression. 
 
 One pleasant incident, however, I cannot pass. 
 In the old days when I was reasonably content to sit 
 at a desk in a New York office and scan the horizon 
 for clients, and spend an evening at the club, I had a 
 friend. This friend was Warren H. Fiske, a rising 
 young electrical engineer. I had lost touch with him 
 for several years until one evening, a year or so before 
 my visit to Mexico, I met him unexpectedly in Toronto, 
 Canada, and learned that he was living and practising 
 his profession there. What was my surprise, then, 
 when he honked up to my hotel in his auto car two or 
 three days after my arrival, and pulled me into it and 
 whisked me away to his home, and I learned that he 
 was the Superintendent of Motive Power of the Mexico 
 City street railway system, busily engaged in installing 
 new power houses and equipment. It was a jolly 
 
A GLIMPSE OF THE EAST 
 
 261 
 
 meeting, as such unexpected meetings are sure to be. 
 He took possession of me during the remaining days 
 of my stay, and whirled me in his car all over the city 
 and through the chief suburbs. 
 
 One of these suburbs I cannot leave without a word 
 — Coyoacan. I could have spent hours in wandering 
 about this old town, breathing its atmosphere of 
 romance. Here stands the house in which Cortez 
 lived with La Marina while Mexico City was being 
 rebuilt. An iron railing on the opposite side of the 
 street blocks a secret underground entrance to the 
 house. Near by is another house which he occupied 
 for a time, and in its enclosed yard is the well in which 
 he is said to have drowned his wife. Not far away 
 is the church, and between the house and the church 
 is a cairn of stone surmounted by a cross erected by 
 the conqueror over the grave of the wife he murdered. 
 
 Finally, and much too soon, the day of my departure 
 for Tepehuanes and the Pacific arrived, Fiske saw me 
 to the train, and with regret I said adios to him and 
 to the historic and fascinating Capital. 
 
CHAPTER XXIX 
 
 THE CANYON TRAIL 
 
 O N the evening of December twenty-third my 
 train drew into Tepehuanes. Wilkinson met 
 me at the railway station, and I instructed 
 him to have the mules saddled and ready for a prompt 
 start upon our return journey the following morning, 
 for already I was overdue in Mazatlan. 
 
 Mr. and Mrs. Barker urged that I remain with them 
 until after the holiday. The little ones and all were 
 filled with the spirit of Christmas. Florence and How- 
 ard, the two older children, told me of the many 
 things they expected Santa Claus to bring them. A 
 big bronze turkey from the mountains, a barrel of 
 luscious red-cheeked American apples, and innumerable 
 other good things held forth the promise of a day of 
 feasting and pleasure, and in the face of all this it 
 was indeed a hardship to decline. I accepted, how- 
 ever, a cordial invitation to spend the night with my 
 friends, rather than in the cheerless hotel. 
 
 The next morning everything was white with frost, 
 the ground frozen, pools of water covered with a scum 
 of ice, the sky clear, the air snappy, and the day per- 
 fect for travelling. In spite of my injunction to be 
 ready at an early hour, it was past ten o’clock when 
 Wilkinson appeared with the mules. He was never 
 ambitious to leave the larger towns in which we 
 stopped. I have reason to believe him a gay Lothario, 
 
 262 
 
THE CANYON TRAIL 
 
 263 
 
 with a sweetheart in every place he visited: or at 
 any rate a very susceptible fellow, and at the same 
 time a very fickle one. He was always loath to part 
 from the charmer of the moment, but under the glances 
 of a new pair of flashing black eyes he quickly forgot 
 the old, and melted as readily as a piece of butter in 
 the summer sun, — and sparkling black eyes were 
 plenty in every village by the way. 
 
 When we finally rode out of Tepehuanes my saddle 
 bags were well filled with red-cheeked apples and a 
 loaf of Mrs. Barker’s good bread, the latter a real 
 luxury in this land of tortillas. An hour’s brisk travel- 
 ling carried us out of the valley and found us winding 
 up the trail into the peaks, and before night fell we 
 were surrounded by patches of snow, and passing 
 sheltered banks crystalled with ice that even the mid- 
 day warmth did not effect. 
 
 What glorious nights these were! Nature was in a 
 better mood than when we made our outward trip. 
 Not a cloud flecked the sky; the stars, from a bed of 
 azure, just above our heads, gazed down upon us with 
 wide-open eyes. We were very close to heaven indeed, 
 here in these mountain heights. 
 
 Christmas Day was one of superb loveliness. The 
 deep blue sky was still studded with stars as we ate 
 a meagre breakfast in the open, and before the sun 
 had tipped the sea of surrounding snow-capped peaks 
 with silver, and while the canyons and ravines were still 
 dark, we swung into the saddle to enjoy as we rode the 
 radiant morning, the pine-scented forest, and the great, 
 marvellous, gorgeous world that lay about us. 
 
 No halt was made during the day, save to recinch 
 the saddles. A few apples sufficed for luncheon while 
 
264 BEYOND THE MEXICAN SIERRAS 
 
 we rode, and it was finally long past dark, after eleven 
 continuous hours on the trail, when we dismounted at 
 a cabin, ready to enjoy to the utmost a Christmas 
 dinner of tortillas, very hot chille con carne, and strong 
 black coffee; and I was weary enough to roll into my 
 blanket upon the ground, after a solacing pipe, and 
 sink at once into slumber. 
 
 It had been my intention to return by way of Topia, 
 a small mining village lying to the north of Canelas, 
 strike the river trail a few miles below Canelas, follow 
 the canyons westward, and thus proceed to Culiacan. 
 But it was imperative that I be in Mazatlan as early 
 in January as possible, and therefore, when we reached 
 the branching of the Canelas and Topia trails, and I 
 learned that Wilkinson was by no means certain that 
 he was sufficiently familiar with the trail to Topia to 
 guide me there directly and without delay, I decided 
 to retrace our old route to Canelas, drop into the river 
 trail at that point, and take no chances upon being 
 lost. 
 
 At noon on December twenty-seventh we again rode 
 into Canelas. Wilkinson urged that we remain here 
 for the night, assuring me that it would require the 
 whole afternoon to replace a shoe that one of the mules 
 had cast. I felt confident, however, that the mule 
 was not the object of Wilkinson’s consideration, and 
 gave him until two o’clock to shoe the animal and get 
 his dinner, a feat that he accomplished, but reluctantly. 
 The truth was, I had some misgivings as to the recep- 
 tion my late patients might give me should I meet 
 any of them. The fellow with the toothache, however, 
 did discover me as we were mounting to ride away, 
 and to my great astonishment showered blessings upon 
 
Molino del Rey, captured by American troops during Mexican War 
 
The Tree of the Dismal Night, under which it 
 is said Cortez ivept 
 
THE CANYON TRAIL 
 
 265 
 
 my head. By some freak of nature the tooth had 
 ceased paining him shortly after my “treatment,” the 
 swelling had left his face, and with him, at least, I 
 had won a deathless reputation as a great medico. 
 
 At Canelas the trail drops down, rather suddenly, 
 several hundred feet into a deep box canyon, and thence 
 follows the bed of a river which flows to the westward 
 between the canyon walls. Only at infrequent inter- 
 vals was it possible to travel at a pace faster than a 
 walk. Great bowlders, washed bare by the turbulent 
 stream during the freshet season, were strewn thickly 
 from wall to wall of the narrow canyon; and the river, 
 in its crooked course, now swung to one wall, now to 
 the other, necessitating frequent fordings. They say 
 that there are three hundred and sixty of these ford- 
 ings to be made, and I can readily believe it. Because 
 of the recent storms and melting snow above, the water 
 was unusually high for the season, and so deep in 
 places that the mules could scarcely keep their foot- 
 ing, and we were constantly wet to the knees. 
 
 Here and there nature has scooped out nooks, and 
 left small level plots of alluvial deposit above high- 
 water mark. Wherever these nooks occur one is 
 pretty sure to find primitive little thatched Indian 
 huts of bamboo, surrounded by gardens of banana 
 and orange trees. Razorback hogs root about the 
 huts, and scrawny long-horn cattle, belonging to the 
 dwellers, pick a living wherever they can find it. 
 
 These canyon Indians are extremely polite, never 
 failing to touch their sombreros with a cheery “Buenos 
 dias, senor, r or “Buenos tardes, senor,” when one meets 
 them. To the traveller from Durango and the east 
 this courteous bearing toward the stranger is par- 
 
266 BEYOND THE MEXICAN SIERRAS 
 
 ticularly noticeable, in pleasing contrast to the more 
 sullen folk of the higher mountains. 
 
 It was our custom, while in the canyon, to halt at 
 night at one of these Indian huts, where we were 
 always sure of a cordial welcome, and of being per- 
 mitted to spread our bed under a thatched shed, 
 a protection which was appreciated; for though the 
 days during this period of our journey were clear and 
 perfect, showers fell during the night. 
 
 These are charming spots. The air is charged with 
 the perfume of wild flowers, the river below sings a 
 soothing song, the massive canyon walls meet the deep 
 blue heavens a mile above one’s head, and the atmos- 
 phere is soft and balmy. The scenery compares with 
 that of the Royal Gorge, in Colorado, and reminds one 
 of it strongly, though the climatic conditions and flora 
 are sub-tropical and offer an increasing charm. 
 
 Well down the canyon a ruined flume of masonry 
 was passed. It must have been nearly two miles in 
 length, and was intended to carry water to an extensive 
 mining mill below, also abandoned and going to decay. 
 
 We had been in the canyon two days when our trail 
 left the main river to ascend a smaller stream, and 
 presently, at an altitude of seventeen hundred feet, 
 burst out into a gently rolling country. Here flowers 
 and fruits lined the well-beaten road, and the balmy 
 air was laden with summer fragrance. This sudden 
 transition from rugged, snow-capped mountains and 
 high-walled canyon into a wide and verdant sub-tropi- 
 cal land is by no means one of the least pleasing 
 features of Mexican travel. It is an example of the 
 contrast of physical and climatic conditions so char- 
 acteristic of the country. 
 
THE CANYON TRAIL 
 
 267 
 
 The following day we rode through a half-ruined 
 village of the Spanish period — the first settlement 
 of importance since leaving Canelas, — and at half- 
 past four in the afternoon dismounted at the Hotel 
 Cosmopolita in Culiacan. 
 
 The little city was all agog with preparations for a 
 great New Year’s Eve ball, to be given in celebration 
 of the coming of the Southern Pacific Railroad exten- 
 sion, which was to open Culiacan to the north during 
 the New Year. This ball was an invitation affair, 
 upon which, proud citizens informed me, more than 
 six thousand dollars had been spent, and was under 
 the patronage of the Governor. I was honored with 
 an invitation, but had no proper clothing with me, and, 
 besides, was to be up bright and early on New Year’s 
 Day to catch the tri-weekly train for Altata, and there- 
 fore declined. 
 
 The faithful Wilkinson came gratuitously to assist 
 me in getting my baggage packed, and to act as a self- 
 elected body servant until the very hour of my depart- 
 ure from Culiacan. I believe he was genuinely sorry 
 to see me go, as I certainly was to part from him, for 
 our companionship on the trail had been pleasant. 
 
 It was mid-afternoon on January first when our 
 slow-moving train, which had consumed six hours in 
 making the run of forty-seven miles, coughing and heav- 
 ing like a decrepit old horse, came to a stop at the 
 Altata station. 
 
 At Culiacan I had been informed that I should 
 doubtless connect, on the evening of my arrival in 
 Altata, with the Luella, one of a line of little Mexican 
 steamers plying between Gulf of California ports, 
 southward bound to Mazatlan. Here, however, I 
 
268 BEYOND THE MEXICAN SIERRAS 
 
 learned that the Luella was not due until the follow- 
 ing day, and reluctantly I took up my quarters at 
 the principal “ hotel,” a thatched-roof shack overrun 
 with big fat fleas, though serving fairly good meals 
 — much better than one might expect in such an 
 establishment. 
 
 During the evening I sauntered up the main street 
 to buy some cigars. The town was filled with natives 
 from the surrounding country, celebrating the holiday. 
 In front of the dimly-lighted mescal shops were groups 
 of quarrelsome men who had already partaken too 
 freely of liquor, and I was quite satisfied to return to 
 the hotel for a quiet smoke. It was dark when I 
 crossed the deserted plaza, a barren, unlighted stretch 
 of sand. I had not gone a dozen yards when some 
 one at my elbow startled me with the remark: 
 
 “Good-evening, sir. It is not safe for you to walk 
 here alone after dark, and I will go to the hotel with 
 you.” 
 
 Until I heard the voice I was not aware that any 
 one was near me. The man spoke in broken English. 
 In the dim light I could not make out his features, but 
 could see that he was somewhat under average height, 
 dressed like an American, and wearing a cap instead 
 of the usual sombrero of the peon. The cap alone 
 was sufficient proof that he was not a Mexican, though 
 his accent was Spanish. 
 
 “Good-evening,” I answered. “Why do you say I 
 am not safe alone?” 
 
 “I’ve been listening to those half-drunken Mexi- 
 cans. They have been talking about you, and saying, 
 ‘That is an American, and he has much money, like 
 all Americans.’ Some of these men are bad men, and 
 
Cairn surmounted by cross erected by Cortez in memory of wife he drowned 
 
A view of Mazatlan harbor - 
 
THE CANYON TRAIL 
 
 269 
 
 they are full of mescal, and they’d stick you with a 
 knif e for a peso. You must not walk here after dark, 
 sir.” 
 
 “But I have a gun,” I assured him. 
 
 “No matter. The knife would be in your back 
 before you could use your gun. They could hide in 
 this sand and steal on you like a cat before you saw 
 them. There may be men lying along this path now 
 waiting for you, but they won’t attack two of us.” 
 
 We walked to the hotel together. There I offered 
 him a cigar, and we sat and chatted for an hour while 
 we smoked, and I drew from him his history. 
 
 His name was Francisco, a Spaniard from Barcelona. 
 He was drafted into the Spanish navy two or three 
 years before the Spanish-American War, and served 
 as a machinist until one day his vessel entered an 
 American port, and he took advantage of an oppor- 
 tunity to desert. This he felt he had a moral right to 
 do, as he had been forced into the service against his 
 will, and had received harsh treatment there. 
 
 He worked as a machinist in Boston until the out- 
 break of the war, when he secured a berth on one of 
 our transports, which he held until peace was declared. 
 His life wanderings had carried him to the West 
 Indies, South America, the Far East, and Alaska. 
 He had visited nearly all of our principal cities, remem- 
 bering and describing accurately the chief streets and 
 attractions of many of them, from Boston to San 
 Francisco. 
 
 He had been employed as engineer in mines in 
 Pennsylvania, Ohio, Colorado, Utah, Nevada, and 
 California. The last mine in which he worked had 
 suspended operations some weeks before our meeting, 
 
270 BEYOND THE MEXICAN SIERRAS 
 
 and he had walked the hundreds of miles from Los 
 Angeles to Altata, by way of Guaymas, in search of 
 employment, and was now en route to the new rail- 
 road construction camps at Mazatlan, hoping to fin d 
 work there. 
 
 “How are you off for money?” I asked. 
 
 “I’ve used all I had, sir, and am broke,” he answered. 
 
 I offered him a peso. 
 
 “ No, ” he said positively but politely. ‘ ' I thank you, 
 but I never take money as a gift. I always earn my 
 own way. I earned enough to keep me going until 
 I reached Culiacan. There a merchant gave me a 
 job, and fitted me out in this suit of clothes and some 
 good underwear, and cash enough to pay my way 
 down here. When I reach Mazatlan I ’ll get something 
 to do, and I’ll get on all right until then.” 
 
 The following day the Luella steamed past Altata 
 without even speaking the port. We could see her 
 in the distance. She had a full cargo and complement 
 of passengers and ignored us wholly. Francisco was 
 with me at the time and was keenly disappointed, as 
 he had hoped for an opportunity to work his passage 
 on her to Mazatlan. When this hope was gone, he 
 disappeared. 
 
 Altata is not a good place to tarry in. At the steam- 
 ship office they assured me that manana the Alamos, 
 another of their vessels, would come, and for several 
 days thereafter “manana” was the star of hope that 
 kept my courage up. 
 
 There was nothing to do but to pace up and down 
 the beach and enjoy the balmy sea breeze, or lounge 
 on the shady side of the hotel and read and reread 
 the pages of an old newspaper which I was fortunate 
 
The hotel at Alt at a 
 
The “chambermaid ” cook , and waiter , Altata hotel 
 
THE CANYON TRAIL 
 
 271 
 
 enough to possess. A single incident occurred to dis- 
 turb the monotony. I was sitting one afternoon in 
 front of the hotel, chair tipped back, eyes half closed, 
 dreamily contemplating the glimmering white beach, 
 the lazy lapping waves below, a picturesque boatman 
 hoisting anchor and getting under sail, and the dis- 
 tant haze that hovered over the Gulf, when I was 
 startled into activity by the sudden appearance of 
 Ricardo, our waiter boy, shouting excitedly in Spanish 
 to two passing boatmen: 
 
 ‘‘Come! Come quick! Jose is killing Enriqueta!” 
 
 Jos6, a big, burly fellow who acted as “chamber- 
 maid” and general chore man, was usually very in- 
 offensive, and heretofore, I had observed, seemed on 
 very good terms with Enriqueta, the cook. The two 
 men, Ricardo, and myself rushed to the rear bent upon 
 foiling a foul murderer, if we were not already too 
 late. There we found Enriqueta in a corner, and Jose, 
 fighting drunk, threatening her with instant and hor- 
 rible death and offering to annihilate Altata and all 
 the surrounding country. We put him down, tied 
 his arms and legs, and laid him in a quiet corner to 
 sleep himself into a milder mood. 
 
 But everything has an ending, and one day the 
 Alamos actually did arrive, when I had begun to think 
 her a mythical ship of manana. No time was lost 
 in getting aboard, for I half feared that, after all, the 
 Alamos might prove to be a phantom vessel and dis- 
 solve into thin air. Her decks were very substantial, 
 however, when I found myself upon them. In an 
 hour we were steaming southward, and early the next 
 morning rounded Cerro del Creston and came to anchor 
 in the picturesque harbor of Mazatlan. 
 
CHAPTER XXX 
 
 MAZATLAN AND HOMEWARD BOUND 
 
 M AZATLAN, with a population of twenty thou- 
 sand, is not only the largest city in Sina- 
 loa, but the metropolis of Pacific Mexico. 
 There are several hotels here, and one of them, the 
 Hotel Central, whose proprietor learned the art of 
 hotel management in California, is a very comfortable 
 hostelry, perhaps the best west of the Sierra Madres. 
 This I made my domicile during my stay, taking 
 advantage also of the hospitality of the American 
 Club. 
 
 The Hotel Central has a bathroom. A bathroom is 
 a luxury in Western Mexico, where ordinary zinc bath 
 tubs cost four hundred dollars, and cast-iron plumbing 
 pipe forty-four cents a foot. This bathroom in the 
 Hotel Central was supplied with both hot and cold 
 water. All of life’s pleasures are measured by con- 
 trast, and after my enforced residence in Altata, the 
 Hotel Central, with its bath tub, stood out in marked 
 and pleasing contrast to my recent experiences. I 
 revelled in warm suds, followed by a cold spray, and 
 clean, fresh undergarments, then I went to bed for an 
 hour while my only suit of conventional clothes was 
 being pressed. 
 
 Normally cleansed and clothed, I paid my respects 
 to Mr. Louis Kaiser, the United States Consul. Mr. 
 Kaiser remembered my former visit and welcomed me 
 
 272 
 
HOMEWARD BOUND 
 
 273 
 
 most cordially and heartily. He extended many cour- 
 tesies to me, placed much valuable data at my disposal, 
 and exerted himself in many ways to make my stay in 
 Mazatlan both pleasant and profitable. 
 
 A boom was in progress in Mazatlan at this time, 
 induced by the prospect of early railroad communica- 
 tion with the north. The Cananea, Rio Yaqui, and 
 Pacific Railroad, the extension of the Southern Pacific 
 System before mentioned, had established extensive 
 construction camps some three or four miles back 
 of the town, and these camps drew a large number 
 of Americans, — not only men actually engaged in the 
 work, but also hangers-on and tramps. These latter 
 would not accept employment, and spent their time 
 loafing around saloons, constantly becoming embroiled 
 in fights and other disturbances, to the disgrace of 
 their peaceably inclined fellow-citizens. It was very 
 annoying to be told every day that an “ Americano” 
 had been arrested for stealing, or committing some 
 even worse breach of the law. In justice let it be said, 
 however, that every foreigner of this character, no 
 matter what the land of his nativity, was accredited 
 as an American. 
 
 The day following my arrival I visited the camps 
 and introduced myself to Mr. D. E. H. Manigault, the 
 engineer in charge. He received me cordially, enter- 
 tained me at dinner in the tent where he had estab- 
 lished a temporary home, and was good enough to 
 show me over the grounds. The organization was per- 
 fect, and the work was being pushed with the utmost 
 energy. Much of the grading had been completed 
 both north and south, and large gangs of native work- 
 men, superintended by Americans, were laying ties 
 
274 BEYOND THE MEXICAN SIERRAS 
 
 and rails with a rapidity that was marvellous. Many 
 buildings and tents had been erected for the accom- 
 modation and comfort of the workmen, one of the tents 
 a well-equipped hospital. The railroad is now, I am 
 informed, in full operation to this point, and to-day 
 one may board a Pullman car in Los Angeles, Cali- 
 fornia, and be set down at Mazatlan without change. 
 
 In spite of the city’s importance, this is the first 
 railway communication it has ever had. In this 
 connection, perhaps it is worth while to mention an 
 erroneous statement appearing in a voluminous and 
 presumably authoritative work on Mexico, published 
 in 1907, in which the author states: “ Mazatlan, in 
 the State of Sinaloa, is more fortunately placed, since 
 there are two lines of railway running from the port 
 into the interior, but neither as yet communicating 
 with the Capital.” 
 
 There are no such lines of railway here. A survey 
 was once made for a proposed railroad to connect 
 Mazatlan and Durango, but the engineers found the 
 grades too steep to negotiate, and no actual construc- 
 tion work was ever done upon the line. 
 
 Unfortunately for Mazatlan, its harbor offers no 
 shelter to shipping, and therefore, during heavy 
 weather, it had sometimes been shut off for consider- 
 able periods from sea communication. A plan for 
 building a safe harbor, to cost between six and seven 
 million pesos, has been approved by President Diaz, 
 and it is hoped that the work will be begun shortly. 
 The annual exports from this port to San Francisco 
 alone amount to $3,000,000 United States gold, and 
 its imports to upwards of $1,500,000. This does not 
 take into account the large additional coastwise trade. 
 
The field hospital, Mazatlan 
 
A view of Mazatlan 
 
HOMEWARD BOUND 
 
 275 
 
 There is an excellent opportunity here for Ameri- 
 cans with limited capital to enter into business with 
 profits large and certain. For instance, there is not 
 a retail shoe store in the city, though there is a strong 
 demand for one. Germans at present enjoy a large 
 share of the retail trade. 
 
 There is a cigarette factory and a shoe factory in 
 Mazatlan, but practically no other manufacturing of 
 any kind, though the surrounding country presents 
 unusual opportunities for a variety of enterprises. 
 One of many lines that might be entered upon profit- 
 ably is the canning of food products. Fruits and vege- 
 tables might be had at very low cost, labor is cheap, 
 and Europe, if not the United States, offers a ready 
 market. In Tepic Territory, to the south, on the 
 Hacienda San Nicolas, thousands of pineapples go to 
 waste every year because of no present means of 
 utilizing them. The new railroad is to pass through 
 the heart of this rich agricultural region. Those 
 desiring information on the subject should communi- 
 cate with the American Consul at Mazatlan. 
 
 A new sewer system had been established in Mazat- 
 lan, and this, together with other sanitary improve- 
 ments introduced by the authorities, should make the 
 city as healthful as nearly any of our own Southern 
 cities. In 1902 and 1903 the population, then 18,000, 
 was reduced to 4,000 by an epidemic of bubonic plague, 
 and upward of one thousand houses were burned to 
 stay the plague’s progress. This, however, was due 
 to unusual circumstances, and it is highly improb- 
 able that it will ever be repeated. The new sanitary 
 reforms and a strict, though sometimes illogical, 
 quarantine are sufficient insurance against it. 
 
276 BEYOND THE MEXICAN SIERRAS 
 
 While I was in Mazatlan an unfortunate shooting 
 incident occurred at the railroad camps. An Ameri- 
 can foreman of a construction gang discharged two 
 Mexican workmen. The following day the two, more 
 or less under the influence of mescal, returned and 
 attempted to resume work. The foreman ordered 
 them away, and one of them drew his revolver on the 
 foreman, who grappled with the fellow and endeavored 
 to disarm him. The other Mexican at this point took 
 part in the affair, attempting to hold the foreman that 
 the other might use his revolver. An American time- 
 keeper witnessing the struggle ran to his tent, secured 
 a rifle, and shot both Mexicans dead. The timekeeper 
 was languishing in jail when I left, and the Mazatlan 
 papers were endeavoring to create a sentiment against 
 him, and a sympathy for the dead Mexicans, both 
 of them admittedly worthless vagabonds. 
 
 The day I visited the construction camps I met, most 
 unexpectedly, my friend Francisco. He had walked 
 a part of the way from Altata, when he overtook 
 the stage-coach stuck fast in a muddy stream. As 
 recompense for assisting the driver to free the vehicle, 
 he was given passage to Mazatlan. I had the satis- 
 faction of learning before I sailed that he had found 
 work at the railroad machine shops. 
 
 On the morning of January eighteenth, the Pacific 
 Mail steamship City of Sydney, northward bound to San 
 Francisco, came to anchor in the harbor. My work 
 was finished. I bade good-bye to my friends and went 
 aboard, glad to be homeward bound at last, but carry- 
 ing with me many pleasant memories of the wonder- 
 ful land of fruits and flowers beyond the Mexican 
 Sierras. 
 
APPENDIX 
 
APPENDIX 
 
 Mexico’s unhunted wilderness 
 
 I N the course of my mule-back journey of upwards 
 of a thousand miles through the lowland and 
 mountain wilderness of Western Mexico, I was 
 constantly impressed by the manifold attractions that 
 the country holds for sportsmen. With every new 
 trail I traversed these attractions seemingly increased. 
 The lagunas and marshes near the coast were alive 
 with snipe, curlew, and many varieties of wild duck. 
 Ascending the valley of the Rio Santiago huge alliga- 
 tors were seen, basking in the sun on every sandy 
 reach along the river-bank. Coveys of quail rose 
 before us. Deer scampered away as we approached 
 their feeding trysts by the brooksides. Pheasants 
 and wild turkeys fed in the foothills, and in mountain 
 and jungle lurked big game animals, as was evidenced 
 by numerous signs. 
 
 I was also impressed by the fact that our sportsmen 
 are rarely if ever seen in this part of Mexico. Why 
 this is so, I cannot say. One reason, possibly, is lack 
 of information as to existing conditions; and many 
 doubtless hesitate upon the erroneous assumption 
 that all Mexico is an unhealthful country sweltering 
 under a tropical sun, and infested by venomous insects 
 and reptiles. The fact is, the average citizen of the 
 United States knows less about Mexico than he does 
 about Africa. I must admit that I had some exceed- 
 
 279 
 
280 BEYOND THE MEXICAN SIERRAS 
 
 ingly distorted notions of the country and its govern- 
 ment before I visited it, and many preconceived 
 opinions to revise. 
 
 To the sportsman who can spare but a few weeks 
 each year in which to seek relief in the wilderness, 
 the ideal hunting-ground possesses six prime charac- 
 teristics. First, it must be well stocked with a variety 
 of game; second, a secluded section shut out so far 
 as possible from civilization and the haunts of other 
 hunters; third, a place easily accessible and quickly 
 reached; fourth, it should be set in impressive and 
 varied scenery; fifth, a climate suited to individual 
 taste; sixth, not too expensive in point of guides, 
 transportation, and incidentals. This refers to the 
 general sportsman, and not to him who wishes to 
 secure some particular species to add to his trophies. 
 The latter must be willing to make sacrifice. 
 
 It is necessary here to emphasize the fact that 
 Mexico is a L.g country. We Americans have a way 
 of looking upon it as just a little patch tagged onto 
 Texas. It is very much larger than Alaska, and a 
 quarter as large as the whole United States. 
 
 It may be said that every species of game animal 
 found on the North American Continent south of the 
 fiftieth parallel of north latitude, except moose, 
 caribou, and elk, is found here. The silver-tip bear 
 ranges all through the high Sierra Madres, wherever 
 there is a good feeding-ground; and wherever there 
 are grizzlies, one may expect also the huge cinnamon 
 bear, the grizzly’s close neighbor. The common 
 brown bear is not so numerous, but the black bear 
 is quite plentiful. The white-faced bear is more rare, 
 though it is sometimes found in the coastal mountains. 
 
MEXICO’S UNHUNTED WILDERNESS 281 
 
 I could not learn that this species had ever been seen 
 in the Sierras Madres. 
 
 The higher mountains at all elevations, and even 
 the lower foothills, abound with white-tail deer. On 
 the Pacific side they are numerous almost to the coast. 
 I saw them just outside the city of Culiacan. They 
 are very plentiful in Tepic Territory, and I can vouch 
 from personal experience for the quality of their 
 venison. At many mountain cabins where I stopped 
 they were household pets, having been taken as fawns 
 and raised by the children. The mule, burro, or black- 
 tail inhabits portions of the States of Chihuahua, 
 Coahuila, and Sonora; and in this section are found 
 also mountain sheep. 
 
 The mountain lion lurks in all the high country, 
 and along with him is sometimes found, but more 
 seldom killed, the American panther. All the Ameri- 
 can great cats, in fact, inhabit both the Pacific and 
 Gulf coasts and foothills. The small American leopard 
 is very numerous all along the hot country coasts; 
 and the Mexican jaguar, known locally by foreigners 
 as the tiger, preys upon cattle and ranch animals 
 to such a degree as to be very much of a nuisance. 
 Riding one day on the Hacienda San Nicolas, in 
 Tepic Territory, with Serapio, the head mozo, an 
 Americanized Mexican, I remarked a mule without 
 ears. 
 
 “How did the mule lose his ears, Serapio?” I asked. 
 
 “Th’ tiger he get-a th’ ear,” answered Serapio. 
 “Sometime he get-a th’ mule, he get-a th’ calf, he 
 get-a th’ pig. He damn bad! He too damn many!” 
 
 There are some timber wolves, but they are not 
 dangerous. The one animal that really is dangerous 
 
282 BEYOND THE MEXICAN SIERRAS 
 
 is the javalin, or Mexican wild boar. They run in large 
 bands, and will kill both man and horse. If one of 
 them is wounded, the whole band will turn upon the 
 hunter, and woe to him if he has not provided for 
 escape or safety ! The javalin is very numerous in some 
 sections, but if not molested is not likely to attack. 
 
 The noblest game bird of the world, the wild turkey, 
 is plentiful throughout the Sierra Madres wherever 
 its food is to be found, which is nearly everywhere, 
 and grows to immense size. Grouse and pheasants 
 inhabit the foothills in considerable abundance. The 
 small valley quail, the fool quail, and the large moun- 
 tain quail are common. I saw a few wild pigeons, 
 and was told that at times there were a good many 
 of them. 
 
 It was my good fortune, while at Mazatlan, to accom- 
 pany Mr. J. Cadman, an American sportsman who was 
 temporarily residing there, upon a half-day’s hunting 
 trip for duck and snipe. This was on January fourteen 
 — mid-winter — with the delightful weather charac- 
 teristic of the climate at this season, — clear and fine 
 and not so warm as to make walking uncomfortable. 
 
 On the outskirts of the town we engaged three 
 native boys to act as retrievers, and a half-hour’s 
 moderate walking brought us to the game ground. 
 This was a wide, flat country, interspersed with marshes 
 and small ponds, and an ideal feeding-place, where 
 wild rice, celery, and fine grass grew in abundance. 
 Mr. Cadman had promised to show me the greatest 
 variety and quantity of birds I had ever seen in an 
 equal area. My expectations ran high, and I was 
 not disappointed. Everywhere were ducks and ducks 
 and ducks, curlew, snipe, and rails. 
 
MEXICO’S UNHUNTED WILDERNESS 283 
 
 I was armed with a camera, while Cadman carried 
 a double-barrelled shotgun. No bird was fired upon 
 until it took to the wing. When game was brought 
 down, our human retrievers, stripped naked, recovered 
 it, plunging into the ponds like well-trained dogs, 
 save in three or four instances where alligators, they 
 alleged, lay in waiting for such delicate morsels as 
 Mexican youngsters, and in these cases we lost our 
 birds. Ours was rather a seeing than a shooting 
 tour, and no attempt was made to kill beyond speci- 
 mens of different varieties. We were absent from 
 the American Consulate about three hours, and our 
 bag totalled the following ducks: two blue-bells, two 
 spoon-bills, two mallards, one green-winged teal, and 
 one blue-winged teal. In addition to these we secured 
 some jacksnipe, curlew, and Virginia rail. I mention 
 this incident merely to show the sporting possibilities 
 of the neighborhood. 
 
 Mr. Cadman informed me that in the course of his 
 hunting expeditions over this ground he had found 
 the following varieties of water fowl and other game 
 birds: green- wing teal, blue-wing teal, sprig, widgeon, 
 red-head, mallard, blue-bell, gray curlew, black cur- 
 lew, plover, sand snipe, three varieties of quail, pigeons 
 in large numbers, and not far from Mazatlan wild 
 turkeys and grouse. “I was much surprised,” said 
 he, “to find upon investigation several ideal spots 
 for Wilson or jacksnipe, and to find the birds in large 
 numbers.” 
 
 It may be said that Mr. Cadman was at that time, 
 and probably is to-day, the only sportsman hunting 
 in this locality. Natives rarely hunt anywhere in 
 Mexico, save in the vicinity of Mexico City where I 
 
284 BEYOND THE MEXICAN SIERRAS 
 
 found them with batteries of guns set up, slaughtering 
 ducks by the thousand for market; and near some of 
 the other larger eastern cities which offered good 
 markets for game. 
 
 What I have said about game birds round about 
 Mazatlan applies to all the Pacific lowland coast. 
 In the lagunas near Mexcaltatan, between San Bias 
 and Mazatlan, I saw myriads and myriads of ducks 
 and other water fowl. Shots from our revolvers 
 started numberless flocks of them. I was told that 
 later in the season wild geese were very plentiful, but 
 personally I saw none. 
 
 All of the rivers and creeks of Southern Sinaloa and 
 Tepic are well stocked with alligators. I was assured 
 that there were crocodiles also in the Rio Santiago, 
 but saw none of these myself, and cannot vouch for 
 the statement. 
 
 From Mr. Boon Barker, representing the National 
 Lines Railroad at Tepehuanes, I obtained much val- 
 uable information. Mr. Barker is an enthusiastic 
 hunter and thorough sportsman. He has lived in 
 Mexico for many years, and his experience extends 
 over a wide range of country, from the northwestern 
 United States to middle-southern Mexico. He has 
 killed nearly every species of animal known in this 
 vast territory. As adept in woodcraft and animal 
 lore as an Indian, he never uses dogs or guides, but 
 pits his own skill against that of the animal he hunts. 
 Naturally our conversation turned to the subject, and 
 the best localities in which to find the various species 
 of game in Mexico. 
 
 “It is a mystery to me,” said he, “why our people 
 of the East do not occasionally vary their hunting 
 
MEXICO’S UNHUNTED WILDERNESS 285 
 
 trips by coming to the Sierra Madres, instead of going 
 repeatedly, year after year, to Canada or the north- 
 western United States. But they rarely do. The 
 fact is that this whole range of mountains, hundreds 
 of miles in length, is practically never visited by 
 hunters, in spite of the fact that it abounds in a great 
 variety of game. Why, almost anywhere one can 
 reach, within a few hours of the railroad, mountain 
 fastnesses that have never been trod by man, where 
 deer abound, and where the hunter is pretty sure to 
 get bear, and has a good chance at other big game, 
 besides as many turkeys as he wants. He may pitch 
 his tent at altitudes ranging from five to ten thousand 
 feet in solitudes where none will disturb him, free dur- 
 ing the winter months from mosquitoes, flies, and all 
 kinds of pests, with plenty of the purest, coldest water, 
 an abundance of wood, and a perfect climate. There 
 is temperature to suit any fancy. At eight or ten 
 thousand feet the air is delightfully cool in August and 
 September, while in October and November frost 
 comes, and sometimes snow. October and November 
 are the best hunting months, for then the game is 
 in prime condition, turkeys well matured, and bear still 
 abroad. 
 
 "Hardly a week passes,” he continued, “that I do 
 not go out with my rifle. My hunting in Mexico has 
 been confined to the States of Nuevo Leon, Tamauli- 
 pas, Durango, Chihuahua, Coahuila, and Sonora. 
 During the last fifteen years I have hunted over them 
 almost constantly, and can speak of my own certain 
 knowledge in reference to them. They are all of them 
 filled with game, but I would suggest for prospective 
 hunters the country west of Durango City. Animals 
 
286 BEYOND THE MEXICAN SIERRAS 
 
 and men can be hired there, and outfits purchased, 
 and ten to fifteen hours on mule-back from Durango 
 will take the hunters into a splendid country for a 
 great variety of big game. I would like to see some 
 of our sportsmen come down. They would come again. 
 It would be not only a hunting trip, but afford an 
 opportunity to see some of the wildest and most pic- 
 turesque country on the continent. 
 
 “It is inexpensive hunting in Mexico. There is 
 no license to pay, and men and animals can be hired 
 at almost any place at fifty cents gold for each per day. 
 You may say that I shall be very glad to answer 
 sportmen’s letters respecting the country, and advise 
 them as to outfitting and hunting localities. I’m 
 keen on the sport myself, and you know we ’re a sort 
 of fraternity.” * 
 
 The one trophy that Mr. Barker has failed to secure 
 is the mountain lion. “I’ve sat for many hours at a 
 stretch on different occasions,” said he, “to watch for 
 a mountain lion to return for the carcass of a deer it 
 had pulled down, but always failed.” 
 
 Mr. Barker learned to hunt with our Western Indians, 
 spending his youth and early manhood among them. 
 His long and continued experience, coupled with the 
 fact that throughout his life he has been a close student 
 of the habits of animals and ways of the wilderness, 
 make him an unusually expert hunter. If he cannot, 
 therefore, get the mountain lion without dogs, no ordi- 
 nary sportsman could hope to do so. I would, there- 
 fore, suggest that those desiring to secure mountain lion 
 or the jaguar, or even to make a certainty of getting 
 the larger bears, take dogs. In most cases these can 
 
 * Address Mr. Boon Barker, Tepehuanes, Durango, Mexico. 
 
MEXICO'S UNHUNTED WILDERNESS 287 
 
 be had, through the men employed, at a nominal cost, 
 if any charge at all is made. 
 
 Mr. Caryl Davis Haskins, a well-known business 
 man and sportsman of New York State, has made 
 several very satisfactory hunting trips into the Sierra 
 Madres west of the town of Casas Grandes, Chihuahua, 
 extending his expeditions across the State line into 
 Sonora. His statements, like those of Mr. Barker, 
 may be absolutely relied upon, and I quote from a 
 letter which he wrote me descriptive of this section: 
 
 “The mountains here range from seven to nine thousand 
 feet, and are extremely broken and difficult; fairly well 
 timbered, considering the region, with water sufficiently 
 plentiful, which is not the case on the tableland at the foot 
 of the immediate mountains. 
 
 “The game is very plentiful, from the food standpoint, 
 especially deer. You can shoot all the deer that you want 
 or need at any time. They are not our deer, but the 
 Arizona dwarf deer, the rarest of the American Cervidce. 
 A good buck will not weigh more than about seventy-five 
 or eighty pounds. 
 
 “The peccary, or javalin, is numerous, but you do not 
 see specimens often. They run in large bands, and I think 
 are the most dangerous of American game. If you see one 
 you will see a great many, but I have never yet seen one, 
 although I have found their tracks plentifully. 
 
 “Bear, both silver-tip and cinnamon, are reasonably 
 plentiful, but except by accident are impossible to get at 
 unless you have dogs. You see their tracks, however, in 
 great numbers. 
 
 “The puma is also very common, and the jaguar occurs, 
 but not plentifully. I have, however, seen their tracks. 
 There are three other cats, the Mexican spotted lynx, a 
 little long-tailed tree cat, and a very small grass cat, neither 
 of which latter are you likely to see. However, I do not 
 think they are rare. The Mexican fox is quite common, 
 
288 BEYOND THE MEXICAN SIERRAS 
 
 the raccoon is common, and turkeys are plentiful. Two 
 varieties of quail are plentiful, and a little south of where I 
 was there are considerable numbers of wild cattle which 
 have probably existed in the wild state in these mountains 
 for not less than one hundred years. 
 
 “This is about all, except for an occasional timber wolf, 
 and an occasional prairie wolf strayed up into the t im ber. 
 There are also otter in the streams, and a few duck. All 
 the larger mountain streams have trout, but not plentifully.” 
 
 Generally speaking, Mexico does not offer many 
 good trout brooks. In the State of Durango there 
 are one or two, and on the trail between Mazatlan 
 and Durango City there is one said to contain a new 
 species of trout. The sportsman cannot, however, 
 hope for much in this direction. Of the many moun- 
 tain streams that I crossed and visited I found trout 
 in but one, and not many of them there. But along 
 the coast there is excellent sport to be had with the 
 rod. The sea waters swarm with fish. 
 
 What I have said, I trust will be sufficient to give 
 an insight into the character of Mexican hunting- 
 grounds, and in a general way prove a guide to some 
 of the best and most available localities. 
 
 It would be difficult to imagine a country offering 
 so many varieties of climate within a few miles’ space 
 as Mexico. Rising gently from the sea, a compara- 
 tively level strip of land averaging about eighty miles 
 in breadth lies between the Pacific Ocean and the 
 western wall of the Sierra Madres, where the moun- 
 tains tower in abrupt and awe-inspiring grandeur. 
 Along the sea are the marshes and the lagunas, above 
 is the jungle, quickly giving way to a less verdant 
 growth. Everywhere here are flowers, song birds, 
 and brilliant-hued parrots and parrakeets — a wonder- 
 
MEXICO’S UNHUNTED WILDERNESS 289 
 
 ful world of color, sweet perfumes, and unfamiliar 
 things. 
 
 In this narrow strip it is naturally exceedingly warm 
 during the summer period, which is also the rainy 
 season; but as one approaches the Tropic of Cancer 
 the temperature becomes more bearable. At Mazatlan 
 and northward from November to April the nights 
 are not oppressive. Throughout mid-winter the days 
 are delightful and balmy, and a blanket is needed on 
 the bed at night. At Culiacan, during eight months 
 of the year one finds an almost ideal climate. 
 
 With the rise into the mountains a rapid and marked 
 change takes place both in the flora and the tempera- 
 ture. Tropical plants and trees give way to those of 
 the temperate zone, until finally the great primordial 
 forest of pine is reached, stretching away in limitless 
 boundaries over the peaks. Here, at varying altitudes 
 of from six thousand to eleven thousand feet, the air, 
 laden with the scent of pine needles, is cool and invig- 
 orating. Crisp hoar frost crackles under one’s feet 
 on winter mornings, and now and again snow falls 
 to a depth of several inches. Mighty canyons, rush- 
 ing streams, spray-enveloped cataracts whose floods 
 fall into unknown depths, towering peaks, fantastic 
 rock formations — scenery beyond compare — are 
 characteristic, but never grow commonplace. 
 
 Continuing over the mountains to the eastward, 
 one reaches the elevated plateau with its wide stretches 
 of arid and semi-arid land, but with a temperate and 
 all but perfect climate. 
 
 All this variety may be experienced within a week 
 on mule-back. Indeed, a few hours will carry one from 
 one extreme to the other. My journey from Culiacan 
 
290 BEYOND THE MEXICAN SIERRAS 
 
 carried me through all the changes, and over some of 
 the wildest and most picturesque country in the world. 
 Normally this is a five days’ trip, but in November I 
 encountered snow in the higher altitudes, my guide lost 
 the trail in the forest, and I was somewhat delayed. 
 
 The best season for Northern sportsmen to visit 
 the country is early autumn and winter — any time 
 after September fifteenth for the high altitudes, and 
 after the first of November in the low country. Such 
 a visit would be a revelation to wilderness lovers, and 
 would be worth considerable sacrifice. 
 
 Sonora is the only State in the Republic that re- 
 stricts the importation of firearms. These restrictions 
 were established during the Yaqui insurrection, to 
 prevent the Indians securing weapons. Other States 
 permit sportsmen to bring in one rifle and one hundred 
 rounds of ammunition free of dutjq and no question 
 is raised as to revolvers. In fact, it is the fashion, 
 outside of the towns, in all remote districts, for the 
 traveller to wear a belt of cartridges and a gun, or so 
 it was wherever I travelled. 
 
 There are no game laws, and no restrictions of any 
 sort are laid upon either season or kind of game killed. 
 I say this in the confidence that no sportsman will 
 overstep the unwritten law of the woods, which pro- 
 hibits the killing of does, mother birds in the brooding 
 season, or a greater number of any animal than can 
 be utilized without waste. The true gentleman of the 
 wilderness will need no warning; but should there 
 still be living one of the “game hog” class, I would 
 say a word for his benefit. The old saying, “Murder 
 will out,” applies to-day to the remotest wilderness, 
 and excessive slaughter of game will surely be found 
 
MEXICO’S UNHUNTED WILDERNESS 291 
 
 out, and the trespasser as surely punished by the con- 
 tempt of sportsmen and by exclusion from association 
 with them. Sometime ago an American resident of 
 Durango City went into the mountains camping with 
 a party consisting of his family and a lady visitor, and 
 in one day slaughtered sixteen deer. He was so proud 
 of his achievement that he wrote of it to the editor 
 of one of our New York sporting monthlies. The edi- 
 tor published the letter, and appended some caustic 
 remarks. When the American read these remarks 
 he saw himself in a new light, and wrote another 
 letter to the mazagine in which he stated there were 
 eight in his party, and that the sixteen deer repre- 
 sented the hunt of the whole party. I talked with 
 the lady guest, and she assured me the eight members 
 of the party consisted of the American, his wife and 
 three small children, herself, and two mozos. The 
 American did actually kill the sixteen deer himself, 
 and only parts of two of the animals were utilized, 
 the remainder going to feed the vultures. 
 
 There is no longer danger from brigands, which 
 have been stamped out very effectually by the Govern- 
 ment. Foreigners are welcomed, and visitors are 
 treated with courtesy and consideration. 
 
INDEX 
 
INDEX 
 
 Acatan, village of, 77; Indians of, 
 80. 
 
 Agriculture, development of, 38; 
 how conducted, 69, 72, 73; in 
 Sinaloa, 186, 198. 
 
 Altata, railroad connection, xvii; 
 town described, 166, 168, 169; 
 hotel accommodations, 170, 268. 
 
 Americans, railroads managed by, 
 xviii; land surveys and devel- 
 opment by, xx, xxi, 177, 185; 
 capital of, invested in mines, 
 xix; welcomed to Mexico, xxviii; 
 in Western Mexico, 47; influ- 
 ence of climate upon, 72; ex- 
 travagance of , 101; inTepic, 121; 
 taken advantage of by venders, 
 123; consul at Mazatlan, 161, 
 164, 272, 273; fugitives from 
 justice, 167, 168; miners and 
 prospectors, 173, 189, 209; a 
 reason why they lose sales of 
 mining machinery and general 
 merchandise, 210; some types 
 met in Mexico, 252, 253; in 
 Monterey, 257. 
 
 Animals (wild), various species, 
 279, 280, 282. 
 
 Arms, fashion of wearing revol- 
 vers, 11; advisable to carry, in 
 outlying districts, 193, 208; 
 natives go armed, 216, 227; re- 
 strictions as to, 290. 
 
 Aztecs, Prescott’s estimate of, 
 xix; virtue and industry of, 57; 
 Spanish influence upon and 
 degradation of, 58; their love 
 of flowers, 88; legends of, 137; 
 
 relics of, 148; in Sinaloa, 175, 
 176; in Mexico City, 258. 
 
 Banks, competition of, for Mexi- 
 can loan, xxvii. 
 
 Bears, various species found, 280, 
 286, 287. 
 
 Beggars, 103. 
 
 Birds (game), 282, 283, 284. 
 
 Boers, settlement of, xx. 
 
 Brigands, formerly numerous, xv, 
 3; Lozado, 111; officers’ battle 
 with, 134, 193, 245, 
 
 Bull-fights, 180; description of, 
 181, 182, 183. 
 
 Burial customs, 174. 
 
 Business methods, 159, 210. 
 
 Cacti, hedges of, 198; variety cul- 
 tivated for fruit, 247. 
 
 Canedo, Governor Francisco, 178, 
 184. 
 
 Canelas, 225, 228, 229; churches, 
 330; mines and ancient ore mill, 
 231. 
 
 Canoes, taxed, 62, 139; dugouts on 
 Santiago Rio, 25, 48, 51; size 
 and capacity of dugouts, 62. 
 
 Cargadores, 10, 12. 
 
 Cattle, breed, 31; ranges, 38, 40; 
 value per head ahoof on range, 
 75. 
 
 Cerro del Creston lighthouse, 9. 
 
 Chacala, mining village, 204, 205, 
 
 212 . 
 
 Children, in hot country, 29, 41; 
 status of, 56, 63; of the moun- 
 tain Indians, 218, 219. 
 
296 
 
 INDEX 
 
 Chinese, immigrants, 7; stores, 15; 
 fisheries, 152; success as mer- 
 chants and traders, 153. 
 
 Church, teachings of, as to mar- 
 riage, 56. 
 
 Cigarettes, 82, 83. 
 
 Cigars, 272, 273; quality of, 83, 
 108. 
 
 Civilization, ancient, ix; among 
 Indians, 29. 
 
 Climate, ix; of plateau, x; gen- 
 eral misconception of, xx; influ- 
 ence upon foreigners in hot 
 districts, 72; at different alti- 
 tudes, 288, 289. 
 
 Coal, deposits of, xxiv. 
 
 Coast line, extent of, ix. 
 
 Coffee, xxi, 108; land adapted to, 
 37, 44. 
 
 Coins, xxvi. 
 
 Colonies, of Mormons and Boers, 
 xx. 
 
 Colonization, failure of Spanish 
 methods, x; contrasted with 
 British and American, xi; re- 
 cent efforts to attract colonists, 
 xx ; plans for, in western states 
 of Mexico, 2, 185. 
 
 Consuls, German, 107; Ameri- 
 can, 161, 164, 272, 273. 
 
 Conquest, ix; pre-conquest caste, 
 61. 
 
 Copper, fraudulent mining con- 
 cerns, xxii; deposits, 232. 
 
 Cotton, growing of, and local 
 demand for mills, xxiv; in Tepic 
 Territory, 38, 42, 75; mills in 
 Tepic City, 120; mills in Culia- 
 can, 179; grown in Sinaloa, 
 186. 
 
 Courts, slow movement of, in civil 
 actions, 40. 
 
 Courtship, 129. 
 
 Crops, method of cultivating and 
 harvesting, 74; those usually 
 grown, 75, 76, 186, 187. 
 
 Crosses, by roadside, 131; indica- 
 tive of tragedies, 223. 
 
 Culiacan, railroad connection, 
 xvii; capital of Sinaloa, 4; stage 
 connections, 84; general refer- 
 ence to and description of, 172, 
 173, 175, 176, 177; advanced 
 social conditions, 178, 179; cele- 
 bration upon coming of rail- 
 road, 267. 
 
 Currency, standard of, xxvi; TJ. S. 
 gold refused in exchange for, 
 107. 
 
 Customs, duties how reckoned, 
 xxv ; methods of officials, 12, 13, 
 167, 168. 
 
 Deer, 59, 60, 80, 157, 246, 279; 
 where found and species, 281, 
 287. 
 
 Development of natural resources, 
 xvii. 
 
 Diaz, Porfirio, xiii; first election 
 to Presidency, xiv; romantic 
 fife of, xv ; Dictator in fact, xvi; 
 policy towards railroads, xvii; 
 condition of national finances at 
 beginning of Presidency, xxvi; 
 national advancement under 
 administration, xxvii; edict as 
 to land titles, 39; efforts to 
 educate and elevate the people, 
 58, 178; his age and what may 
 result upon his death, 79. 
 
 Durango, 2; city of, 255. 
 
 Education, xxviii, 58, 178. 
 
 Exports, extent of, xxv. 
 
 Farming, 38, 69; antiquated 
 
 methods in vogue, 72, 73; in 
 Sinaloa, 186. 
 
 Fever (calentura), plateau not 
 subject to, xx ; in lower alti- 
 tudes, 42, 56, 121. 
 
 Fiesta days, xxiv, 103; All Souls, 
 107, 109, 110; when animals 
 are blessed, 111; rehearsals for, 
 136. 
 
 Finance, xxvi, xxvii. 
 
INDEX 
 
 297 
 
 Forests, x, xxix; in higher alti- 
 tudes, 33; varieties of trees, 61; 
 pine, 216, 224, 239. 
 
 French, invasion of Mexico, 
 xiii, xiv, xv ; trade with, xxiv, 
 xxv. 
 
 Fruit, opportunities for canning 
 industries, xxiv, 275. 
 
 Fuerte River, 51. 
 
 Game, varieties and where found, 
 157, 279, 280, 287; birds, 282, 
 283, 284; license for hunting 
 not required, 286; no laws pro- 
 tecting, 290. 
 
 Gardens, 88. 
 
 German, consul, 44, 107; mer- 
 chants, 107; jealous of Amer- 
 icans, 122; mining machinery, 
 210. 
 
 Germany, trade with, xxiv. 
 
 Gold, fraudulent mining compa- 
 nies, xxii; medium of exchange, 
 xxvi; legends of hidden mines 
 and treasure, 64, 68, 113; mined 
 in Sinaloa and Durango, 208, 
 231. 
 
 Government, various forms since 
 independence gained from Spain, 
 xiii ; policy of, toward foreigners 
 and industrial development, 
 xviii, xxii, xxiv; promotion of 
 education, xxviii; local criti- 
 cisms of, 8; methods of secur- 
 ing income, 26; problem of the 
 peons, 78, 79; methods of im- 
 proving highways, 86. 
 
 Gringo, Americans so called in dis- 
 respect, 47 ; origin of word, 48. 
 
 Guadalajara, 2, 74. 
 
 Guaymas, 2, 84, 177. 
 
 Guides, 191, 192, 194, 195, 201; 
 cost of, per day, 286. 
 
 Haciendas, undeveloped, xx; 
 status of companies advertising 
 co-operative stock in, xxii; size 
 of, 37; value of, 38; native man- 
 
 agement of, 39, 60; San Nico- 
 lds, 71; their stores and trading 
 with peons, 78. 
 
 Hebrews, 55, 56, 133. 
 
 Heron (white), destruction of, 146. 
 
 Historic towns, xxix. 
 
 Honey bees, 72. 
 
 Hot springs, 41. 
 
 Hotels, at San Bias, 13; described, 
 14, 92; meals served, character- 
 istic menus, 15, 92; registration 
 of guests, 19; primitive type, 
 32, 33; Hotel del Bolo de Oro 
 in Tepic City, 91; American, 
 93; Mexican and American 
 compared, 94; tipping waiters, 
 95. 
 
 Houses, interior, 97, 108; out- 
 ward appearance, 104. 
 
 Immigration, efforts to attract, 
 xviii; laws governing, xix. 
 
 Imports, xxv. 
 
 Indians, proportion of, in popula- 
 tion, xii; problem of regenera- 
 tion, xxviii; village described, 
 28; method of making tortillas, 
 the native bread, 29; moving, 
 43; runners, 52; life and dress, 
 54; types, 55; legends of mines, 
 66, 68; methods of farming, 69; 
 their plough, 72; conservatism, 
 73; tendency to steal, 50; handi- 
 work, 103; mines, 113, 117, 119; 
 natives of Sinaloa and Tepic 
 contrasted, 171; hospitality of, 
 200; mountain dwellers and 
 homes, 217, 218, 219, 225; un- 
 cleanliness of mountain dwellers, 
 239, 240; compared with those 
 of other regions, 241; the Yaquis, 
 242; government treatment of, 
 243, 244; politeness and hospi- 
 tality of canyon dwellers, 265, 
 266. 
 
 Inhabitants, ancient, ix; reduced 
 by Spaniards to serfdom, xii; 
 modern, xvi. 
 
298 
 
 INDEX 
 
 Iron, deposits of, xxiv. 
 
 Irrigation, xxi; crops grown with- 
 out, 38; unnecessary in some 
 localities, 76; ancient plants in 
 hill country, 89; plants building 
 in Sinaloa, 185. 
 
 Jaguar, 70, 281, 286, 287. 
 
 Jails, 153; described, 154. 
 
 Jalisco, 1, 51. 
 
 Javalin, 282, 287. 
 
 Juarez, President Bonito, xiii, xiv. 
 
 Labor, cost of, xxiv, 75. 
 
 Laborosa, 64, 65, 67, 71. 
 
 Lake Chapala, 51. 
 
 Lands, in general, x; Spanish neg- 
 lect of and failure to cultivate, 
 xi; public domain unsurveyed, 
 xix; survey and colonization in 
 Sinaloa, xxi; values of, and 
 proportion cultivated, 38; titles, 
 39, 40, 41; method of clearing, 
 74; cost of clearing, 75; investors 
 and landlookers, 189. 
 
 La Presa, 45. 
 
 Laws, Spanish, x; liberal provi- 
 sions for the encouragement of 
 industrial development, xviii, 
 xxiii, 178; to induce immigra- 
 tion, xix. 
 
 Legends of the Padre Mercado, 
 23; of Treasure Hill, 63, 64; of 
 the cathedral bells of Tepic, 99; 
 of the Padre and the Cross, 
 104; The Magic Scale and the 
 Padre’s Corn, 114; of Mexcal- 
 tatan, 137. 
 
 Leopard, 281. 
 
 Leprosy, 150. 
 
 Limantour, Jos6 Yves, xxvii. 
 
 Lozado, Manuel, brigand, 111; 
 his methods of operation and 
 final execution, 112; his sense 
 of justice, 113. 
 
 Magdalena Bay, 5; attitude of 
 newspapers in reference to 
 
 lease to U. S. Navy as practice 
 ground, 8. 
 
 Manufacturing, opportunities for, 
 xxiii; in Tepic City, 42, 120; 
 of sugar in Sinaloa, 172; cotton 
 in Sinaloa, 179; in Mazatlan, 
 275. 
 
 Marismas (swamps), 139; un- 
 healthful character of, 140, 147, 
 148. 
 
 Markets, limitation of, for pro- 
 duce, xix. 
 
 Marriage, 56, 57, 179, 180. 
 
 Maximilian, xiv. 
 
 Mazatlan, 3, 6, 8, 9, 10, 12, 20, 
 152, 163; smelters to be erected, 
 233; description of city, 272; 
 boom in progress, 273; harbor 
 and trade, 274; improved sani- 
 tation of, 275. 
 
 Mescal, xxiv, 15; effect of, on for- 
 eigners, 110; plant from which 
 made, 187. 
 
 Metric system, xxv. 
 
 Mexcaltatan, 137; last of pile- 
 built towns, 138. 
 
 Mexico City, historical interest 
 of, 257; cathedral described, 
 258; relics of the conquest, 
 259; interesting suburbs, 281, 
 286. 
 
 Minerals, x, xxiii. 
 
 Mines, paying operations, xxiii; 
 legends of, 64, 65, 66, 68, 113, 
 117, 119, 203; in Sinaloa, 209, 
 231; extent of and production, 
 232; cost of ore transporta- 
 tion to smelters, 233; non- 
 paying ore, 235; abandoned 
 Spanish workings, 236; bonan- 
 zas, 237. 
 
 Mining, fraudulent schemes, xxii, 
 236; American investment in 
 and laws governing, xxiii; op- 
 erations affected by financial 
 depression in U. S., 174, 207, 
 208, 209, 231; cause of failures, 
 233, 234; failure seldom due 
 
INDEX 
 
 299 
 
 Mining ( continued ) 
 to non-paying ore, 235; in 
 Durango, 255. 
 
 Money, comparative value of, 
 xx vi. 
 
 Monopolies, not permitted, xxvi. 
 
 Monterey, 256; American colony 
 and need of hotel, 257. 
 
 Morality, degeneration under 
 Spanish rule, xii; of peons at 
 present, 56, 57. 
 
 Mormon colonies, xx. 
 
 Mountain lion, 281, 286. 
 
 Music, 48; mournful character of 
 in Tepic, 129; in Culiacan, 179. 
 
 Natives. (See Indians.) 
 
 Navarret e, Indian village of, 32; 
 Hacienda, 37, 38, 41, 44, 76, 
 82, 84, 86. 
 
 Officials, policy and attitude of, 
 toward investors, xxiii. 
 
 Opportunities, in western states, 
 44, 275. 
 
 Pacific Mail S. S. Line, 276. 
 
 Panther, American, 281. 
 
 Pawn shops, 104; methods of 
 doing business, 105. 
 
 Peons. (See Indians.) 
 
 Plateau, altitude of and climate, 
 x; opening and development of, 
 xvii. 
 
 Police, 17, 18, 19, 20, 105, 154. 
 
 Politicians, selfish ambitions of, 
 xiii, xvi, 79, 168. 
 
 Population, Indian proportion of, 
 xii; character of, in general, xvi; 
 distribution, 4. 
 
 Products, variety of, x; markets 
 for, xix; of Sinaloa and Tepic, xxi. 
 
 Promoters, dishonest schemes of, 
 xxii. 
 
 Prospectors, 47; turning atten- 
 tion to Tepic, 68; in Sinaloa, 
 173, 189. 
 
 Prosperidad, General, xviii. 
 
 Public Domain, 39. 
 
 Pulque, xxiv; how made, 109; 
 taste and appearance of, 110; 
 description of plant from which 
 made, 182. 
 
 Quarantine, enforcement of, 7, 
 10, 163, 275. 
 
 Railroads, their development, 
 xvii; managed by Americans, 
 xviii; Central and National 
 Lines, xviii; now building in 
 western states, xxi, 2, 43; atti- 
 tude of Germans toward, in 
 Tepic, 122; between Altata 
 and Culiacan, 168, 169, 170, 
 171 ; other connections, 177 ; cour- 
 teousness of employes, 254 ; 
 construction camps at Mazat- 
 lan, 273; proposed line to 
 Durango, 274. 
 
 Rainy season, 27, 84. 
 
 Real estate, liberal laws as to 
 foreign ownership, xviii; values, 
 38; titles, 39, 40, 41. 
 
 Religion, under Spanish rule, xii. 
 
 Resources, ix; agricultural, 44, 
 89; mineral, 231. 
 
 Revenue, national, xxvii; stamps, 
 13; ferries a source of, 26; 
 internal tax general, 62. 
 
 Rivers, 3, 84, 89. 
 
 Rubber, fraudulent plantation 
 schemes, xxii; offers possibil- 
 ities, 37; its profits not yet 
 demonstrated, 61. 
 
 Ruins, ancient, ix, x, xxix, 90; of 
 Spanish period, 22, 23. 
 
 Rurales, xvi; organization of, 134; 
 efficiency of, 135. 
 
 San Bias, 7, 11, 152. 
 
 Sanitation, 42, 56. 
 
 San Marcos, 43, 84, 85. 
 
 Santiago Ixcuintla, 42, 43, 45; 
 description of town, 48, 49, 77; 
 stage connection, 84. 
 
300 
 
 INDEX 
 
 Santiago Papasquiaro, 254. 
 
 Santiago Rio, 21, 23, 45; canoe 
 navigation of, 48; description 
 of, 51. 
 
 Santos Pac, 139. 
 
 Scenery, ix, xxix. 
 
 Schools, xxviii, 153. 
 
 Serials, varieties of, xxi. 
 
 Settlers, efforts to attract, xix; 
 in Sinaloa, xxi. 
 
 Sinaloa, capital, xvii; colonization 
 plans, xx ; natural resources of 
 state, xxi; topography, 3, 171; 
 general descriptions of, 154, 
 185, 188, 189, 198; sugar manu- 
 facturing, 172. 
 
 Sinaloa Land Co., 177, 184, 185. 
 
 Silver, cause of mine failures, xxii; 
 as medium of exchange, xxvi; 
 mines in Tepic, 68; mines in 
 Sinaloa and Durango, 208, 231, 
 232. 
 
 Sisal fibre (henequen), xxi; prof- 
 its in and how grown and mar- 
 keted, 188. 
 
 Smelters, need for, xxiii; to be 
 built, 233. 
 
 Social condition, of peons, 56, 57. 
 
 Soil, products of, x; proportion 
 untilled, xx, 38; character of 
 in Sinaloa, xxi, 171, 204; in 
 Tepic, 27, 43, 51. 
 
 Soldiers, 19, 24, 105. 
 
 Spain, unfortunate colonization 
 methods, x; reasons for her 
 failure to plant progressive, 
 permanent colonies, xi; her 
 selfish government of Mexico, 
 xiii; peons under her rule, 
 xxviii; destruction of ancient 
 records by Spaniards, 137. 
 
 Sportsmen, inducements offered, 
 xxix; attractions in western 
 Mexico, 219; seldom seen in 
 Mexico, 283, 285; best season 
 for visit, 290. 
 
 Stage travel, 3, 43; line and ve- 
 hicle described, 84, 85, 86, 132. 
 
 Stores, 15, 101; varying prices, 
 102; bearing names, 104. 
 
 Sugar growing, xxiv, 42; in Sina- 
 loa, 172, 186. 
 
 Swamps, characteristic of coast, 
 140, 147, 148. 
 
 Tejada, President Lerdo de, 
 xiv. 
 
 Temperature, in the mountains, 
 205, 216, 221, 222, 225, 226, 
 241, 246. 
 
 Tepehuanes, 190, 247, 248, 250. 
 
 Tepic, Territory of, new railroad 
 connection, xxi, 122; rivers of, 
 3; supply of water for irriga- 
 tion, 44, 51; water power, 76; 
 mines, 68. 
 
 Tequila, alcoholic liquor, 15, 
 
 110 . 
 
 Theater, in San Bias, 16; in 
 Tepic, 124; audience and play, 
 126. 
 
 Timber, 89; pine and abandoned 
 lumbering operations, 216, 239. 
 
 Tobacco, xxi, 38, 76, 82, 83, 
 123. 
 
 Trade, growing with U. S., xxiv; 
 reason why much is lost, 210. 
 
 Trails, to the plateau, 190, 191, 
 199, 203, 213, 214, 215, 222, 
 225, 265. 
 
 Transportation, xix; of merchan- 
 dise to outlying points, xxv, 3; 
 lack of facilities, 232, 234. 
 
 Travel, safety of, xvi. 
 
 Treasure, hidden, 113. 
 
 Trout, 288. 
 
 Trusts, xxvi. 
 
 Turkeys, wild, 282. 
 
 United States, enforcement of 
 Monroe Doctrine against 
 France, xiv; opportunities for 
 settlers from, xxi; trade with, 
 xxv; feeling towards, xxviii; 
 navy vessels at Magdalena Bay, 
 6 , 8 . 
 
INDEX 301 
 
 Vanilla Bean, 75. 
 
 Vaqueros, 135. 
 
 Vera Cruz, xvii, 22, 52, 83. 
 
 Water, abundance of, in Sinaloa, 
 xxi, 185; power in Tepic, 76, 
 120; carriers, 49, 59. 
 
 Water fowl, 145, 283, 284. 
 
 Wilderness, unknown areas of, 
 xxix. 
 
 Women, in colonization, xi; peon 
 unattractive, 55; unhappy, 129, 
 130; dress, 180; of the moun- 
 tains, 218, 219. 
 
 Yellow journals, xxviii, 8, 276. 
 
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