Another harassing consideration, which, however, does not apply to this part of the country, is the possibility of arousing a suspicion that pack-trains which travel at night carry treasures.

After a continuous journey of ten hours and a half we arrived without further mishaps at Lajas at 9.30 P.M., the middle of the night in that part of the world. One of my men, who had a habit of singing whenever we entered a village, had been ordered to keep silent, that the people in this lonely place, susceptible as they are, might not become alarmed at the sudden arrival of such a party.

A few houses lay scattered about in the dim moonlight, and I with my chief man rode ahead. "Ave Maria!" called out Catalino, knocking at the door of a hut. "God give you a good night," he continued, but there was no response. After having in this way tried several huts, we at last succeeded in getting an answer, and learned where Crescencio Ruiz lived, to whom the priest in Pueblo Nuevo had given me a letter of introduction, and who was a kind of secretary to the Indians. We now directed our steps toward his house, aroused him from his slumbers, and after some parleying brought him to the door. He was a small-statured, kindly-looking man, a half-caste, who displayed a friendly manner and showed me where I could camp near his house. As he was very talkative, it was late in the night before I could retire.

The name of the village is San Francisco de Lajas, the word laja (flat stone) referring to stones which abound in the neighbourhood. The Indian name, "Eityam," has the same meaning. The next day many Indians came fearlessly and curiously up to see me. They wore the ordinary dress of the working-class of Mexico, except that their flat straw hats were trimmed with black and red woollen ribbons and some flowers. The women had flowers and leaves in their hair, which they wore in Mexican fashion, in two braids. Some of the men had their hair put up in one braid and fastened at the end with a narrow hair-ribbon, but most of them had it cut short. I was surprised to see many baldheaded men, some not over thirty years old. Surely it must be more healthy for the hair to be worn long.

Fortunately for me the Indians had just come into the pueblo for a week to repair the old adobe church, in which work Don Crescencio greatly assisted them. This man, nine years ago, was sent to the place as a teacher by the Mexican authorities in Durango. On his arrival he was met at the old curato by 140 children, none of whom had ever seen a Mexican before, and, of course, they did not understand a word of Spanish. They soon went back to their homes, and five days afterward the preceptor was left without a pupil. He induced the parents to make the children return, and 48 came back. Out of these, five remained with him for six months. At the close of that period they were able to read and to write their names. Of late years, however, teaching has been given up altogether. The fact is that the Indians do not want schools, "because," as an intelligent Huichol afterward told me, "our sons lose their native tongue and their ancient beliefs. When they go to school, they do not want to worship the Sun and the Water any more." The white teacher's aim should be to incite the desire for instruction rather than to force his pupils to listen to his teachings; not to destroy the Indian's mental world, but to clear it and raise it into the sphere of civilisation.

But Don Crescencio remained with the Indians as their "secretary" (escribano), attending to whatever correspondence they had with the authorities, and gradually becoming their factotum and adviser. As he was an honourable and straightforward man, his influence was all for their good. To swell his meagre income, he carries on a small trade, going twice a year to Durango to replenish his stores; and so invaluable has he become to the Indians that they send, some men along with him to watch that he does not remain with the "neighbours." He has learned the language tolerably well, and has risen to such importance that the gobernador, as I saw myself, visited him every morning, asking his advice in every movement.

These Indians visited me all day long, accompanied by their wives and children, undauntedly seating themselves in front or outside of my tent. In response to my expressed desire to see and buy articles made by them, they brought me, during my short stay here, girdles and ribbons of wool or cotton, as well as a great variety of bags of all sizes, knotted from twine of maguey fibre.

The people here do business on a basis entirely different from that of the "neighbours," inasmuch as they have a fixed price for everything. There is no bargaining with them; when they have once told the price of a thing (and it is always a high one), they adhere to it firmly, and as money is no object to them, they make trading rather difficult. On my tours among the people, I found them hospitable. They always asked me to come in and sit down, and they have good manners.

The one thing they strenuously objected to, and which they were deadly afraid of, was the camera, and it took Don Crescencio's and my own combined efforts for five days to induce them to pose. When at length they consented, they looked like criminals about to be executed. They believed that by photographing a person I should be enabled to carry his soul off to eat it later, at my ease, if I chose. They would die as soon as their pictures arrived in my country, or some other evil would result, anyhow. The women disappeared like frightened quails, when I was about to perform the dreadful operation on the men. However, most of them returned to see how their spouses stood the painful ordeal. When I then asked for some women to pose, they ran away, in spite of the demonstrations of the men; only three sturdy ones with "great souls" remained and were "taken" after having been duly "shaken" with fears.

The Tepehuanes feel at home only in their ranches. They clear land in the numerous little valleys of which their rugged country consists, and plant corn in places where no plough could ever be used.

They always have sufficient corn for their wants. Their store-houses are square upright cribs of bamboo sticks held in place with withes on a framework of pine poles. Sometimes they stand at considerable distances from the dwellings. The floor is raised about a foot above the ground, and the entrance is made from the top. The ears of corn can plainly be seen behind the bamboo sticks. In March they are taken out and shelled, and the corn is put in home-made sacks and replaced in the store-houses.

The Tepehuanes make pulque, but not tesvino, and cotton is cultivated on a very small scale. They gather the fibre of the maguey and other plants, and make sacks and ropes of excellent quality, for their own use as well as for sale in Durango, to which market they also take any fruit not required for home consumption.

Their only amusement is to drink mescal and pulque. No games are in use, and to stake money or valuables in any of the "neighbours'" games is forbidden.

The commonest disease here, strange to say, is malaria, which sometimes proves fatal. The first thing a Tepehuane does in the morning is to wash his head, face, and hands with cold water, letting it dry without wiping it off. He starts to do his work with the water dripping from him.

The Southern Tepehuanes perform a religious dance called by the Mexicans mitote; it is also found among the Aztecs, the Coras, and the Huichols. In the vicinity of Lajas is a circular plain set pleasantly among the oak-trees. This is the dancing-place. At its eastern side is a jacal, a gable-shaped straw-roof resting on four poles, the narrow sides standing east and west. Inside of it is found an altar, consisting simply of a matting of large, split bamboo sticks (tapexte) resting on a framework of four horizontal poles, which in turn are supported by two pairs of upright forked sticks. On this altar the people put the food used at the dances, and many ceremonial objects are placed here or hung under the roof of the jacal.

In regard to their native religion, they are as reticent as their northern brethren, if not more so. "I would rather be hanged than tell anything," said one shaman to me. Still, all things come to him who waits. This very man, who was so tragic, became my friend, and when we parted he asked me to write my name on a piece of paper, that he might salute me every morning. A name is a sacred thing, and they never tell their real native names.

Nowhere else in Mexico have the institutions founded by the missionaries of early times remained intact as in Lajas. Not only so, but the regulations are carried even further than was originally intended, and this in spite of the fact that the Indians have not given up their own ancient religion. No priest is now living among them; and only at rare intervals does the Cura come from Pueblo Nuevo to baptise and malry.

The native chosen civil authorities are composed of fourteen, the ecclesiastical of seven members. The gobernador has supreme authority with both bodies, and when important matters are at issue the people are brought together and consulted. The decisions or orders are given to the so-called captain, who sees that they are carried into effect. The officers are elected every year, and meet in sessions almost every day, to settle the affairs of the people, and to inflict punishment even on the shamans when necessary. They have recently renovated the prison, and put in a new set of stocks; and the whipping-post is still in constant use, to supplement the laws of the Mexican Government, which are considered altogether too mild.

The punishments which these people inflict are severe and barbarous. I have heard that Mexican criminals, who have been caught and punished by them, on complaining of their harsh treatment to the government authorities, did not receive any sympathy, the latter no doubt considering it meritorious rather than otherwise, on the part of the Indians, to maintain order so effectually without the aid of soldiers. The captain in Lajas is on duty day and night, watching that nothing untoward may happen to man, beast, or property. But few strangers come to this remote pueblo, and no one can pass it unnoticed. The only trail that runs through the place is swept every afternoon with branches of trees, and the next morning it is examined by the captain to ascertain if anyone has gone by. White men are wisely prohibited from settling here; and when a "neighbour" comes, his business is at once inquired into, and sufficient time, perhaps a night and a day, is given him to attend to it, after which he is escorted out of the village.

Safety to life and property is thus insured among these Indians. "I guarantee you that none of your animals will be stolen here," Crescencio said to me the first night, and a very short experience convinced me that he was right. Theft is practically unknown here, unless some "neighbour" tempts an Indian with a promise of a part of the booty.

Murder is committed only by intoxicated individuals, and then the culprit is chained in the stocks for three or four weeks, and gets a whipping at regular intervals. Afterward he is sent to the Mexican authorities in the city of Durango to be dealt with according to the law.

There is no capital punishment for murder in Mexico, and when criminals have served their terms and return to their native village the Indians may even send them back to Durango, saying that they are better off without them. Suicide is unknown. When murder or theft has been perpetrated, they do not at once try to apprehend the suspected person, but first call the shaman to ascertain by divination who the culprit may be, by placing ceremonial arrows, smoking tobacco, and waving plumes.

I was told that three years ago two travelling Mexican peddlers arrived here, and after having done a little trading went away without informing the authorities of their departure. This aroused the suspicion of the Indians, who began to look around to see what was missing. Two cows, it seemed, had disappeared, and in two days the peddlers were overtaken, brought back, put in the stocks, and held in prison for eight days, and three times a day they received a thrashing. They had very little food. They were finally taken to Durango.

Once two cows and an ox were stolen from Crescencio, and the Indians followed the tracks of the thieves, their leader frequently touching the earth with his hands to assure himself by the smell that they were going in the right direction. After a while two Tepehuanes and their accomplice, the "neighbour" who had put them up to the crime, were caught. The "neighbour," as soon as he arrived in the village, was given twenty-five lashes, and for two hours was subjected to the agonizing torture of having his head and his feet in the stocks at the same time. Next day he was given ten lashes, and the following day five, and eight days later they took him to Durango. His two Indian associates, father and son, were also put in the stocks, and for two weeks each of them got daily four lashes and very little food; besides which their blankets were taken away from them.

Although the Tepehuanes keep up their ancient rites and beliefs along with the new religion, they strictly comply with the external form of Christianity, paying due attention to all the Christian feasts and observances. Every day the bells of the old church are rung, and the saints "are put to bed," as the Indians express it. When Crescencio first came here he found the people on Sundays in the church, the men sitting on benches and the women on the floor. They had gathered there from habit, though nobody knew how to pray, and they sat around talking and laughing all the time. It was their Christian worship. Crescencio has now taught them to say prayers.

The teachings of Christianity, however, are for the most part forgotten. No trace of the religion of charity remains among them, but the severity of the early missionaries survives, and their mediaeval system of punishment. Evidently the tribe always entertained extreme views regarding the relation of the two sexes toward each other, or else the spirit of the new law would never have been imbibed so eagerly. "The slightest want of modesty or exhibition of frivolity is sufficient reason for a husband to leave his wife, and for young women never to marry," says Padre Juan Fonte, of the Tepehuane Indians. There is no sign of relaxation in their strictness, or of any inclination to adopt more modern views on marital misdemeanour.

In the greater number of cases husband and wife live happily together "till death doth them part." If either should prove unfaithful, they immediately separate, the wife leaving the children with the husband and going to her parents. Then the guilty one and the correspondent are punished by being put in the stocks and given a public whipping daily for one or two weeks. Neither of the parties thus separated is permitted to marry again.

If a girl or widow has loved "not wisely, but too well," she is not interfered with until her child is born. A day or two after that she and the baby are put into prison for eight or ten days, and she is compelled to divulge the name of her partner. The man is then arrested and not only put into prison, but in the stocks besides. There are no stocks for women, only two horizontal bars to which their hands are tied, if they refuse to betray their lovers. The two culprits are kept separate, and their families bring them food. Twice a day messengers are sent through the village to announce that the punishment is about to be executed, and many people come to witness it. The judges and the parents of the delinquents reprimand the unfortunate couple, then from two to four lashes are on each occasion inflicted, first upon the man and then upon the woman. These are applied to an unmentionable part of the back, which is bared, the poor wretches standing with their hands tied to the pole. The executioner is given mescal that he may be in proper spirit to strike hard. The woman has to look on while the man is being punished, just as he afterward has to witness his sweetheart's chastisement. She opens her eyes "like a cow," as my informant expressed it, while the man generally looks down.

Many times the judges are ashamed to go through this performance, the character of which is below the standard of propriety of most primitive tribes; but, strange to say, the parents themselves compel them to let the law have its course. Afterward the girl is handed over to her lover in order that they may become officially married by the Church the next time the priest arrives. This may not happen for two or three years, but the two are meanwhile allowed to live together, the girl going to her lover's home. To avert all the misery in store for her, an unfortunate woman may try to doctor herself by secretly taking a decoction of the leaves of the chalate, a kind of fig-tree.

Sometimes punishment is dealt out to young people for being found talking together. Outside of her home a woman is absolutely forbidden to speak to any man who does not belong to her own immediate family. When fetching water, or out on any other errand, she must under no circumstances dally for a chat with a "gentleman friend." Even at the dancing-place it is against the law for her to step aside to exchange a few words with any young man. If discovered in such a compromising position, both offenders are immediately arrested, and their least punishment is two days' imprisonment. If their examination by the judges proves that their conversation was on the forbidden topic of love, they get a whipping and may be compelled to marry.

Some of the boys and girls who have been punished for talking together in this manner, are so frightened that they never want to marry in Lajas, but the more defiant ones deliberately allow themselves to be caught, in order to hasten their union and steal a march on their parents. For these Indians are by no means beyond the darts of Cupid, and both men and women are known to have arranged with a shaman to influence the objects of their tender thoughts, and have paid him for such service. A woman may give a shaman a wad of cotton, which he manages to put into the hand of the young man for whom it is intended. Afterward the shaman keeps the cotton in his house, the affection having been transmitted by it.

On the other hand, men and women, to subdue their natural instincts, go into the fields and grasp the branches of certain sensitive plants. As the plant closes its leaves, the girls pray that they may be able to shut themselves up in themselves. There are two kinds of sensitive plants growing in the neighbourhood of Lajas (Mimosa florribunda, var. albida, and Mimosa invisa), and recourse may be had to either of them. Many men emigrate to other pueblos, though they may in time return. Others remain bachelors all their lives, and the judges in vain offer them wives. "Why should we take them?" they say. "You have thrashed us once, and it is not possible to endure it again." The legitimate way of contracting marriage is to let the parents make the match. When the old folks have settled the matter between themselves, they ask the judges to arrest the boy and girl in question, whereupon the young people are put into prison for three days. The final arrangements are made before the authorities, and then the girl goes to the home of the boy to await the arrival of the priest.

When the Senor Cura is expected in Lajas, all the couples thus united, as well as all persons suspected of harbouring unsafe tendencies, are arrested. On the priest's arrival, he finds most of the young people of the place in prison, waiting for him to marry them. For each ceremony the Indians have to pay $5, and from now on every married couple has to pay $1.50 per year as subsidy for the priest. No marriage in Lajas is contracted outside of the prison. Crescencio himself, when about to marry a Tepehuane woman, barely escaped arrest. Only by threatening to leave them did he avoid punishment; but his bride had to submit to the custom of her tribe.

Contrary to what one might expect, unhappy unions are rare. Probably the young people are glad to rest in the safe harbour of matrimony, after experiencing how much the way in and out of it is beset with indignities and leads through the prison gates. However, imprisonment for love-making does not appear so absurd to the aboriginal mind as it does to us, and the tribe has accommodated itself to it. I learned that some of the boys and girls after a whipping go to their homes laughing.

The obligation to denounce young people whom one has found talking together, under penalty of being punished one's self for the omission, does not create the animosity that might be expected. Besides, the law on this point is none too strictly obeyed or enforced.

According to Crescencio, the census taken in 1894 enumerated 900 souls belonging to Lajas, and there may probably be altogether 3,000 Tepehuanes here in the South. As far as I was able to ascertain, the following Tepehuane pueblos are still in existence:

1. San Francisco de Lajas.

2. Tasquaringa, about fifteen leagues from the city of Durango. The people here are little affected by civilisation, though a few Mexicans live among them.

3. Santiago Teneraca, situated in a deep gorge. The inhabitants are as non-communicative as at Lajas, and no Mexicans are allowed to settle within their precinct. This, as well as the preceding village, belongs to Mezquital, and the padre from there visits them.

4. Milpillas Chico, where the Indians are much mixed with Mexicans.

5. Milpillas Grande. Here the population is composed of Tepehuanes, Aztecs, and Mexicans.

6. Santa Maria Ocotan, and

7. San Francisco, both little affected by civilisation.

8. Quiviquinta, about fifteen leagues southwest of Lajas.

The latter three villages belong to the State of Jalisco.

On the road from Durango to Mazatlan, passing Ventanas, there are no Tepehuane pueblos.



Chapter XXVI

Pueblo Viejo—Three Languages Spoken Here—The Aztecs—The Musical Bow—Theories of Its Origin—Dancing Mitote—Fasting and Abstinence—Helping President Diaz—The Importance of Tribal Restrictions—Principles of Monogamy—Disposition of the Dead.

There are two days journey over rough country to Pueblo Viejo, my next objective point. Again I had great difficulty in finding a guide, as the two villages were at loggerheads about some lands. The guide furnished me by the authorities hid himself when we were about to start. All the other Indians had gone back to their ranches, except one, whom I finally persuaded to show me the way at least as far as the ranch of the shaman with whom I had made friends, where I hoped that through him I might get another guide. On our way, we passed Los Retablos ("Pictures drawn on a Board"), the rather fantastic name of a magnificent declivity of reddish rock, across which the track led. At this place, tradition says, the Tepehuanes of Lajas, in the war of independence, vanquished 300 Spanish soldiers, who were trying to reach the city of Durango from Acaponeta. The Indians had hidden themselves all around and above the steep slope, and from their ambuscades rolled stones down on the Spaniards, every one of whom was killed.

Having gotten my mules safely over this dangerous track, where they could never have been rescued if they had lost their footing, I arrived after a while at the home of the shaman, near which I camped. When I went up to the house, I found it empty, and was barely in time to see a woman making her escape with a child as best she could. I realised that if the shaman did not return that evening or early next day, I should have to return to Lajas. The plaintive trumpet sound of a giant woodpecker about sunset—as far as we could make out, the only living being in the vicinity—did not detract from the gloominess of the prospect.

Luckily, however, my shaman friend came to my tent at daybreak next morning, and thus relieved my anxiety. Though exceedingly busy cutting down trees and shrubs to clear his field, he spared one of his helpers to show me the way to Hormigas (ants), charging only three reales for the accommodation, and one real extra (twelve cents in Mexican money) to be paid to the man in case I should want him to go farther and show me the way to Aguacates. I also improved the opportunity to get from him some ethnological information and a short Tepehuane vocabulary.

Thus with lightened heart I started off through a country that, while it did not present any remarkably steep ascents and descents, was very rough and hard to travel. The main sierra is here very narrow, and the large mountainous mass broken up into irregular ridges and steep valleys. The next day, much of the time we followed a high, rocky ridge, the highest point of which is called Mojoneras. Here, ten miles north of Pueblo Viejo, the boundary line of the territory of Tepic is said to run. For several miles on the road, and particularly from the last-mentioned ridge, magnificent views of the wild country northward present themselves, over the steep descent into the canons and gorges of the western part of the Sierra Madre. Only three Tepehuane ranches were observed.

I arrived without any mishap at Pueblo Viejo, which is inhabited mainly by Aztecs. Of late years they have become much mixed with the Tepehuanes, who have here taken refuge from drought and the advancing "neighbours." Indian settlers who thus come from other pueblos are called poblanos. They receive land from the community in return for the services they render, and the two tribes freely intermarry, although "neighbours" are never allowed to settle within the confines of the village. Still the people, who have considerable intercourse with Acaponeta, and who also go some distance to work in the mines of Sinaloa, speak Spanish quite well. Indeed, of the three languages spoken here, Spanish is the one most generally heard. Several Nahuatlan words have been forgotten, and in making out my list of collections I had great difficulty in getting designations for some of the objects, for instance the word for "quiver," and for the curious rattling anklets used by dancers. Only elderly people speak Nahuatl correctly, and the Tepehuane influence is strong here, even in the ancient religion of the people. It was curious to note that many people here, as in Lajas, eat neither hens nor sheep, while they freely partake of beef.

People here are more intelligent and much less reticent than in Lajas. Women when addressed will answer you, while in Lajas the inhabitants are guarded, and suspicious even of other Indians, not to speak of "neighbours." Another difference is that very few drink mescal.

At a meeting I had with the Indians, I remarked, in my desire to please them, that the Mexican Government was interested to know whether they were getting on well or whether they were coming to an end. To this the principal speaker at once laughingly rejoined. "Of course, they want to know how soon they can 'finish' us!"

The Indians here have the usual trouble from "neighbours" trying to encroach upon their territory. Once a delegation from this and the neighbouring pueblos undertook a journey to the City of Mexico in order to settle the troubles about their land. They stopped eleven days in the capital and were well received by the Ministerio del Fomento; but their money gave out before they finished their business, and they had to walk all the way back without having accomplished anything.

I found these Indians law-abiding and obliging, and I had no great difficulty in securing permission to be present at a mitote, which was to be given at a ranch in the neighbourhood. On March 24th, a little before sunset, we started out on a ride of an hour and a half, ascending some 3,000 feet on a winding Indian trail up to a high mesa. It was a starlit, beautiful night, but the magnificent view which this mesa commanded could only be surmised. There are a few ranches here owned by people from the pueblo below, a man sometimes living in his ranch here during the wet season, while for the remainder of the year he occupies one in the pueblo. As we entered on the plain we could distinctly hear the beating of the tawitol, the musical instrument of the Tepehuanes. At this distance it sounded like a big drum.

We passed the ranch which was giving the mitote, and a hundred yards farther on we came upon a picturesque scene. Here on a meadow the Indians were grouped around the many fires whose lights flickered among the trees. There was just a pause in the dancing, which had begun soon after sunset. I could at once discern a little plain set apart for the dancing. On its eastern side was an altar of the usual description, fenced on two sides with felled trees, on which were hung the paraphernalia of the dancers, their bows, quivers, etc. In the centre of the dancing-place was a large fire, and to the west of it the shaman was seated on a stool. Behind him, similar though smaller stools were set for the owner of the ranch and the principal men.

Strange to say, the shaman was a Tepehuane. I learned later that the Aztecs consider the shamans of that tribe better than their own. In front of the shaman was the musical instrument on which he had been playing. This was a large, round gourd, on top of which a bow of unusual size was placed with its back down. The shaman's right foot rested on a board which holds the bow in place on the gourd. The bow being made taut, the shaman beats the string with two sticks, in a short, rhythmical measure of one long and two short beats. When heard near by, the sonorousness of the sound reminds one of the cello.

This is the musical bow of America, which is here met with for the first time. It is intimately connected with the religious rites of this tribe, as well as with those of the Coras and the Huichols, the latter playing it with two arrows. The assertion has been made that the musical bow is not indigenous to the Western Hemisphere, but was introduced by African slaves. Without placing undue importance on the fact that negroes are very rarely, if at all, found in the north-western part of Mexico, it seems entirely beyond the range of possibility that a foreign implement could have become of such paramount importance in the religious system of several tribes. Moreover, this opinion is confirmed by Mr. R. B. Dixon's discovery, in 1900, of a musical bow among the Maidu Indians on the western slope of the Sierra Nevada, northeast of San Francisco, California. In the religion of that tribe also this bow plays an important part, and much secrecy is connected with it.

The shaman's song sounded very different from the songs I had heard among the Tarahumares. As his seat was high, he had to maintain a stooping position all the time he played. The dancers, men and women, made much noise by stamping their fiat soles vigorously on the ground, as they moved in double column around the fire and the shaman, in a kind of two-step-walk forward. They danced in a direction against the apparent movement of the sun, the men leading, the women following. I noticed that the step of the women was slightly different from that of the men, inasmuch as they lifted themselves on their toes at each step. At times the columns would suddenly stop and make the same kind of movements backward for a little while, with the same small jumps or skips as when walking forward. After a few seconds they would again go forward. These movements are directed by the leader, the man who dances first.

Both men and women wore flowers, the former fastening them to their straw hats, the latter in their hair with the stem behind the ear. The flowers were apparently selected according to individual taste, but the kind I saw most frequently was a white blossom called corpus, the delicious fragrance of which I noticed every time the women danced by. Two boys had a peculiar kind of white flower fastened with a handkerchief tied around their heads. It is called clavillinos, and looks like thick, white hair. The shaman wore a narrow hair-ribbon, but no flower. Around their ankles the men had wound strings of dried empty pods of a certain palm, which made a rattling noise during the dancing. Five times during the night, ears of corn and plumes were brought from the altar, and then the men always removed their hats. The women wore veils (rebosos), but it is considered improper for them to use sandals on such occasions; these are worn only by the men.

There were five pauses made in the course of the night, and, to prepare the people for them, the shaman each time began to strike more slowly. The dancers continued until they arrived in front of the altar, where they commenced to jump up and down on the same spot, but with increasing rapidity, until the music stopped, when they separated and lay down.

Those who did not take any part in the dancing were lying around the various fires, the number of the dancers changing with the different songs, according to the degree of enthusiasm among the people. Many went to sleep for a while, but this is not deemed very polite to the owner of the ranch, as the effect of the dancing is much greater upon the gods when everybody takes part. I was told that to keep the people awake a man sometimes goes around spurting cold water over the drowsy and nodding heads.

The function had been opened by the owner of the ranch making alone five circuits around the fire, carrying the musical instrument and the two playing-sticks and doing reverence to the sun every time he passed the altar. Just before sunrise the mitote concluded with the dramatisation of the killing of the deer. Deer-skins were brought from the bower of the altar, and the men put on their bows and quivers, each of which contained twenty-five arrows and had two slings attached to it. The men held the deer-skins in their hands and danced five circuits. Two light-footed boys next appeared on the scene to play the part of the deer. They had deer-skins on their backs, and in their hands held deer-heads with antlers. These they showed five times, alternately to the shaman who furnished the music, and to the altar. Then they began to run, followed by the dancers, who shouted and shot arrows, also trying to catch the deer by throwing lassos that had been kept in the bower. Often they had to flee from the deer, who chased them off the dancing-place. But they returned, and at sunrise the deer were captured on a matting spread before the altar, where the dancers now took positions. Starting from here they next made five circuits around the dancing-place in the direction of the apparent movement of the sun, then five circuits in the opposite way. The shaman's beating slowed down, once more all the dancers jumped up quickly, the music stopped, and the dancing was finished.

Now the feasting began. The food, that had been placed on the altar, pinole and toasted corn, was brought forward, and the host and his wife ate first. After they had thus broken fast, all sat down, and to each one the following dishes were served on little earthenware platters or bowls: A small slice of deer-meat that had been cooked between hot stones in an earth mound, and a handful of toasted corn; a ball made of pinole mixed with unbroken beans; four tamales, and one ball of deer-meat and ground corn boiled together. The last-named course is simply called chueena (deer). The boys who served it had on their backs three bun-dies, each containing three tamales, which the boys afterward ate.

The host always asks his guests to submit for four days longer to the restrictions that are necessary to insure the efficiency of the dancing. These refer mainly to abstinence from mescal and women, and are conscientiously observed for five days before and five days after the occasion, by the family who arranges the dance. The shaman, on whom the obligation to observe these formalities is greater than on anyone else, may have to officiate at another mitote before the time limit for the first has expired, therefore much of his time is spent in privations.

After the feast, the tapexte, that is to say, the matting, which constituted the top of the altar, is hung up in a tree to be used again the next year. The trees that have formed the bower near the altar are left undisturbed. The ceremonial objects are placed in the trees for four or five days, and then put into a basket which is hung in some cave. At Pueblo Viejo no more tribal mitotes are given, and it seems that no family anywhere makes more than one a year.

When a newly married couple wish to give their first mitote, they go away from the house for a month. Both of them bathe and wash their clothes, and impose restrictions upon themselves, sleeping most of the time. When awake they talk little to each other, and think constantly of the gods. Only the most necessary work is done; he brings wood and she prepares the food, consisting of tortillas, which must not be toasted so long that they lose their white colour. A thin white gruel, called atole, made from ground corn, is also eaten, but no deer-meat, nor fish with the exception of a small kind called mitshe. Neither salt nor beans are allowed. The blankets they wear must also be white. During all this time they must not cut flowers or bathe or smoke; they must not get angry at each other, and at night they must sleep on different sides of the fire.

Fasting and abstinence form an integral part of the religion of these people. A man who desires to become a shaman must keep strictly to a diet of white tortillas and atole for five years. His drink is water, and that only once a day, in the afternoon. The people here once fasted for two months, in order to aid General Porfirio Diaz to become President of Mexico; and they told me that they were soon going to subject themselves to similar privations in order to help another official whom they wanted to remain in his position.

Fasting also plays an important part in the curing of diseases. The patient, with his doctor, may go out and live in the woods and fast for many days, the shaman smoking tobacco all the time. An omen as to whether the patient will live or die is taken from the colour of the tobacco smoke. If it is yellow the omen is bad. Or if the smoke remains dense the patient will live; but if it disperses he will die.

A very interesting ceremony is performed over a child when it is one year old. The parents go with the shaman into the field and fast for five days before the anniversary and for five days afterward. An hour or two after sunset a big fire is made and four arrows and the ceremonial object called god's eye are placed east of it. The parents and those present look east all the time. The shaman first makes four ceremonial circuits, then puffs tobacco-smoke on the god's eye and on the child. He sings incantations and again makes four ceremonial circuits, and smokes as before. Next he places his mouth to the child's forehead, and draws out something that is called the cochiste, the sleep or dreams, spitting it out in his hand. He makes a motion with his plumes as if he lifted something up with them from his hand, and holds the plumes over the god's eye for a while. The people now see that two small, white balls are attached to the plumes, and he shows them to all present, to prove that he does not deceive them. Then he crushes the balls in his left hand with a sound as if an egg was cracked, and throws them away. In the morning salt is offered to the rasters.

The cochiste is taken away from boys twice and four times from girls. A boy cannot get married until the cochiste is taken away. A girl at the age of puberty is pledged to a year of chastity, and the same ceremony is performed on her as in babyhood, to be repeated in the following year. Should she transgress during that time the belief is that she or her parents or her lover will die. The principle of monogamy is strictly enforced, and if a woman deviates from it she has to be cured by the shaman, or an accident will befall her—a jaguar or a snake will bite her, or lightning strike her, or a scorpion sting her, etc.

She gives the shaman a wad of white cotton, which he places on the god's eye. When he smokes tobacco and talks to the god's eye, information is given to him through the cotton, which reveals to him whether she has more than one husband, and even the name of the unlawful one. He admonishes her to confess, explaining to her how much better the result will be, as he then can cure her with much greater strength. Even if she confesses, she is only half through with her trouble, because the shaman exacts heavy payment for the cure, from $10 to $20. If she cannot pay now, she has to come back in a month, and continue coming until she can settle her account. By rights, the man should pay for her, but often he runs away and leaves her in the lurch. Since the Indians have come in contact with the Mexicans this happens quite often. When at length the money is paid and she has confessed everything, there is nothing more for the shaman to do but to give an account of it to the god's eye, and she goes to her home absolved. One year afterward she has to come back and report, and, should she in the meantime have made another slip, she has to pay more. From all the cotton wads the shaman gets he may have girdles and hair-ribbons made, which he eventually sells.

The custom related above is of interest as showing the forces employed by ancient society to maintain the family intact. Fear of accidents, illness or death, more even than the fine or anything else, keeps the people from yielding too freely to the impulses of their senses.

The treatment accorded to the dead by these people, and their notions regarding them, are, in the main, the same as those obtaining with the tribes which I visited before them, but there are some new features that are of interest. Here, for instance, near the head of the dead, who lies stretched out on the ground in the house, the shaman places a god's eye and three arrows; and at his feet another arrow. He sings an incantation and smokes tobacco, though not on the dead, while the widow makes yarn from some cotton, which she has first handed to the shaman. When she has finished the yarn, she gives it to the shaman, who tears it into two pieces of equal length, which he ties to the arrow standing at the right-hand side of the man. One piece he rubs over with charcoal; this is for the dead, and is tied lower down on the arrow. He winds it in a ball, except the length which reaches from the arrow to the middle of the body, where the ball is placed under the dead man's clothes. The other thread the shaman holds in his left hand, together with his pipe and plumes. After due incantations he divides the white thread into pieces of equal length, as many as there are members of the family, and gives one piece to each. They tie them around their necks and wear them for one year. Afterward they are mixed with Some other material and from them a ribbon or girdle is made.

On the fifth day the dead is despatched from this world. In the small hours of the morning the shaman, with his plumes and pipe, and a jar of water into which some medicinal herbs have been thrown, leads the procession toward the west, while the people, including women and children, carry branches of the zapote-tree. They stop, while it is still dark, and the shaman steps forward and despatches the deceased. He returns very soon, and sprinkles water on the people and toward the west, where the dead has gone.



Chapter XXVII

Inexperienced Help—How to Acquire Riches from the Mountains—Sierra del Nayarit—The Coras—Their Aversion to "Papers"—Their Part in Mexican Politics—A Dejeuner a la Fourchette—La Danza.

It is practically impossible to travel from tribe to tribe in Mexico without changing muleteers, not only because the men generally object to going so far from their homes, but also because it is not advantageous to employ men who do not know the country through which they are passing. Whenever the Indians understood something about packing mules, I preferred them to the Mexicans, because I could learn much from them on the way. The latter part of my travels I employed none but Indians.

The unwillingness of desirable men to leave their homes makes a frequent change very embarrassing. My next destination from Pueblo Viejo was Santa Teresa, the most northern of the Cora pueblos, and everybody thought it was too far away. I had finally to take whatever I could get in the way of carriers. For instance, I had only one man on whom I could depend, a civilised Tepehuane, who was bright and knew his business well, but he was hampered by an injured arm. Then I obtained another man, somewhat elderly. He, too, became suddenly aware that his right arm was crooked and not strong enough to lift heavy burdens, while the two remaining carriers had never loaded a mule in their lives. The first two directed the other pair how to proceed, and thus I was treated to the ludicrous spectacle of four men engaged in packing one mule. Naturally it took all day to load my ten animals, and when this was accomplished, it was too late to start, so that the day's work turned out to be nothing but a dress-rehearsal in the noble art of packing mules. The result was that I had to take a hand myself in putting the aparejos on the animals, shoeing them and curing the sore backs, which, as a matter of course, developed from the inexperience of some of the men.

On the second day, by a stupendous effort, we started, but could go only eight miles to a beautiful llano surrounded by oaks and pines. A few ranches are all that remains of the village that once existed here. On one of them lived a rich Cora who had married a Tepehuane woman. All Coras get rich, the Indians here assert, because they know better how to appease the gods. They submit to fasting and restrictions for a month, or even a year, and then go "to the richest mountain the ancient people knew." The master of the mountain comes out and the two make a bargain, the Cora agreeing to pay for the cattle, deer, corn, and other possessions, with men that he kills. The belief that the mountains are the masters of all riches—of money, cattle, mules, sheep, and shepherds—is common among the tribes of the Sierra Madre.

When it devolves upon a Cora to make good his agreement and kill a man, he makes from burnt clay, strips of cloth, etc., a small figure of the victim and then with incantations puts thorns through the head or stomach, to make the original suffer. He may even represent the victim on horseback, and place the figure upside down to give him pain. Sometimes a Cora makes a figure of the animal he wants, forming it of wax or burned clay, or carving it from tuff, and deposits it in a cave in the mountain. For every cow, deer, dog, or hen wanted, he has to sacrifice a corresponding figure.

The next day we followed for some time the camino real, which leads from Acaponeta to the towns of Mezquital and Durango. We then descended without difficulty some 3,000 feet into the canon of Civacora, through which flows a river of the same name, said to originate in the State of Zacatecas. It passes near the cities of Durango and Sombrerete, this side of Cerro Gordo. In this valley, which runs in a northerly and southerly direction, we found some Tepehuanes from the pueblo of San Francisco.

The Indians here were defiant and disagreeable, and would not even give us any information about the track we were to follow. They had the reputation of stealing mules and killing travellers for the sake of the corn the latter are likely to carry. I therefore put two men on guard and allowed them to fire off a rifle shot as a warning, something they always like to do. The sound reverberated through the still night with enough force to frighten a whole army of robbers. The next morning I sent for the most important Tepehuane, told him the object of my visit, and asked him about the track. He gave me what information he could, but he was unable to procure a guide for a longer time than that day. We were then left to ourselves, with the odds against us. Twice we lost our way, the first time passing a mitote dancing-place, and coming to a halt before a steep mountain wall, passable only for agile Indians. The second time we landed at the edge of a deep barranca, and there was nothing to do but to turn back to a ranch we had passed some time before. Luckily we met there a Tepehuane and his wife, who assured us that we were at last on the right track. However, we did not advance farther than the confluence of two arroyos, which the man had pointed out to us deep down in the shrubbery. Before leaving us he promised to be at our camp in the morning to show us the road to Las Botijas, a small aggregation of ranches at the summit. In a straight line we had not gone that day more than three miles.

When passing one of our guide's ranches—and he had three within sight—I noticed near the track a small jacal about 100 yards off. The man told me that he was a shaman and that here he kept his musical outfit, ceremonial arrows, etc.; though he appeared to be an open-hearted young man, I could not induce him to show me this private chapel of his, and we had to go on. He parted from us on the summit, but described the road so well that we encountered no difficulty during the remaining two days of our journey.

I was glad to be once more up on the highlands, the more so that we succeeded in finding there arroyos with water and grass. On reaching the top of the cordon we had been following, we came upon a camino real running between the villages of San Francisco and Santa Teresa, and now we were in the Sierra del Nayarit. I was rather surprised to find another barranca close by, parallel with the one we had just left. As far as I could make out, this new gorge begins near the pueblo of Santa Maria Ocotan, high up in the Sierra; at least my old Mexican informed me that the river which waters it rises at that place and passes the Cora pueblos of Guasamota and Jesus Maria. We travelled along the western edge of this barranca, within which there are some Aztec, but mainly Cora villages. There is still another barranca to the east of and parallel to this, and in this the Huichols live.

What is called Sierra del Nayarit is in the beginning a rather level and often narrow cordon, and the track south leads near the edge of the Barranca de Jesus Maria for ten or twelve miles. Along this ridge hardly any other kind of tree is to be seen than Pinus Lumholtzii. A variety of pine which resembles this very much, but is much larger, and which I think may also be a new species, was observed after leaving Pueblo Nuevo.

The cordon gradually widens, and open, grass-covered places appear among the pines, which now are of the usual kinds, and throughout the Sierra del Nayarit are high, but never large. A few Coras passed us leading mules loaded with panoche, to be exchanged in Santa Maria Ocotan for mescal.

The most conspicuous things in the Cora's travelling outfit are his rifle and one or two home-made pouches which he slings over his shoulder. There is an air of manliness and independence about these Indians, and this first impression is confirmed by the entire history of the tribe.

We passed a few ranches on the road, and at last reached the little llano on which Santa Teresa is situated. It is always disagreeable to approach a strange Indian pueblo, where you have to make your camp, knowing how little the people like to see you, and here I was among a tribe who had never heard of me, and who looked upon me with much suspicion as I made my entry.

There were many people in town preparing for the Easter festival, practising their parts in certain entertainments in vogue at that season. At last I met a man willing to show me where I could find water. He led me outside of the village to some deep and narrow clefts in the red earth, from which a rivulet was issuing. I selected my camping-place near by, at the foot of some low pine-covered hills, and then returned to the pueblo.

"Amigo!" shouted a man as he came running toward me from his house. It was the alcalde, a tall, slender Indian with a slight beard and a very sympathetic voice. I told him that we were entirely out of corn, to which he replied that we could not get any in the pueblo, only on the ranches in the neighbourhood. I asked him if he wanted us to die from starvation, and then another man offered me half a fanega. I inquired of the judge whether he did not want to see my papers. "We do not understand papers," he replied. Still it was agreed that the Indians should meet me next morning, and that my chief man, the Tepehuane, should read my letters from the Government, because the preceptor of the village was away in the city of Tepic, and no one else was able to read.

Santa Teresa is called in Cora Quemalusi, after the principal one of the five mythical men who in ancient times lived in the Sierra del Nayarit. Reports say an idol now hidden was once found here. A few miles east of Santa Teresa is a deep volcanic lake, the only remnant of the large flood, the Coras say. It is called "Mother," or "Brother," the last name containing a reference to their great god, the Morning Star, Chulavete. There are no fish in it, but turtles and ducks. The water is believed to cure the sick and strengthen the well, and there is no ceremony, in the Cora religion for which this water is not required. It is not necessary to use it pure; it is generally mixed with ordinary spring water, and in this way sprinkled over the people with a red orchid, or a deer-tail stretched over a stick.

Early next morning a good-looking young Indian on horseback rode up to the tent to pay me a visit. He spoke Spanish very well. I treated him with consideration and proffered him some biscuits I happened to have. In the course of the conversation he offered to sell me a fowl, if I would send a man to his ranch for it, which of course I was glad to do.

As he was taking leave, I expressed my admiration for the handsome native-made halter on his horse. "Do you like it?" he asked, and he immediately removed it from the horse and presented it to me. I wanted to pay for it, but he said, "We are friends now," and rode off. The fowl he sent was the biggest he had in his yard, an old rooster, very strong and tough, Could there be food less palatable than a lean old rooster of Indian breeding? The broth is worse than that made from a billy-goat.

I went to the meeting, and all listened silently while my letters from the Government were read. Anything coming from Mexico impresses these people deeply. Yet with the suspicion innate in their nature, the Indians could not hear the documents read over often enough. We had meeting after meeting, as the arrival in the pueblo of every man of any importance was a signal that my papers would have to be read over again.

The alcalde introduced me to the teacher's wife, a Mexican, who apparently took her lot very contentedly among "these people whom no one ever knows," as she expressed it. She liked the climate, and the security of life and property. Her husband had been working here for four years. The children, of course, have first to learn Spanish, and there is no school from June till September. The youngsters seemed bright and well-behaved, but the Coras told me that they had not yet learned to read.

Most of the Cora Indians are slightly bearded, especially on the chin. In this respect, however, there was no uniformity, some being absolutely beardless, while others looked rather Mexican. They all insisted, nevertheless, that there is among them no intermixture with Mexicans, or, for that matter, with the Tepehuanes, and the Cora women have very strong objections to unions with "neighbours." On the other hand, it should be remembered that during the latter half of the last century the tribe was subjected to a great deal of disturbance, incidental to the revolution of Manuel Lozada, a civilised Aztec from the neighbourhood of Tepic, who, about the time of the French intervention, established an independent State comprising the present territory of Tepic and the Cora country. He had great military talent, and it was said that whenever he liked he could gather thousands of soldiers without cost. He was able to maintain his government for a number of years, thanks chiefly to the Coras, who were his principal supporters. At one time they had to leave their country, and to live for five years in an inaccessible part of the Sierra Madre above San Buena.

Among themselves, the Coras use their own language, but all the men and most of the women speak and understand Spanish to some extent. Though the people now dress like the "neighbours," they are still thoroughly Indian, and proud of it. There are about 2,500 pure-bred among them. They call themselves Nayariti or Nayari, and in speech, religion, and customs they are akin to the Huichol Indians, who, however, do not care very much for their relatives, whom they call Hashi (crocodiles). Yet some intercourse is maintained between the two tribes, the Coras bringing to the Huichols red face-paint, wax, and the tail-feathers of the bluejay, while the services of the Huichol curing shamans are highly appreciated by the Coras. An interesting home industry is the weaving of bags or pouches of cotton and wool, in many beautiful designs.

The Coras are not good runners; they have neither speed nor endurance, and they run heavily. It is astonishing how small the bones of their limbs are, especially among the females, though this, by the way, is the case with all the Indians I have visited. A Cora woman made for me a shirt as an ethnological specimen, which I thought she must have made too small at the wrist-bands, as they measured about 4 3/4 inches (barely twelve centimetres); but she showed me how well they fitted her. Still they always have well-developed hips and better figures than the Mexican women. The teeth of the Coras are not always perfect; I have seen several individuals whose front teeth were missing.

Strange to say, in spite of the high elevation, there is fever and ague here; the alcalde told me that he had an attack every second day.

As Easter was at hand, there was quite a concourse of people, nearly 300 Indians assembling. Oxen were killed, and general eating and feasting went on. I attended the communal feast, and dishes of food were brought to me. In accordance with the Indian custom not to eat much on the spot, I had my men carry some of the food to the camp, as a welcome addition to our monotonous diet and scanty stores; and we found that, aside from the usual Indian dishes, they comprised bananas, salted fish, honey, and squashes.

The authorities newly elected for the ensuing year gave a similar entertainment to their predecessors in office. At the home of the "Centurion," the principal official of the Easter festival, a rustic table and benches had been erected outside of the house. I was invited to sit down among the men of quality, and it was phenomenal to be present at an Indian banquet served on a table, the only occasion of the kind in my experience. As the table was small, the diners were served in turns, one set after another. Each guest had a man to wait on him, but there was neither table-cloth nor knife, fork nor spoon. It was, if you like, a dejeuner a la fourchette, except that you were supposed to handle the solid food with pieces of tortilla, that were broken off, folded over, and used as a fork, or rather, spoon, and were eaten with the meat. After the meat had all been fished out, you drank the soup from your bowl or plate. If you could not manage with the tortilla, you were excused for using your fingers. When a bowl or plate was set before an Indian guest, the latter took it up and immediately handed it to his wife, standing behind him, who emptied it into the jars she had brought for that purpose. There was meat with its broth; meat ground on the metate, boiled, and mixed with chile; and atole to drink with it, all fresh and excellent. As I was hungry, I pitched in, although at first I was the only one who ate, which was rather embarrassing. But by and by the others, too, began to eat, perhaps out of politeness. They were pleased, however, that I enjoyed their food, and I did enjoy it, after the poorly assorted diet we had been obliged to maintain. Although the variety of dishes of primitive man is exceedingly limited, such of them as they have are well prepared. The dinner was the best I ever had among Indians. The party was pleasant and animated, and the banquet-hall extended to the pines and mountains around and the azure sky above.

During the night there was dancing on the tarima, a broad plank resting on stumps. Dancing on the plank is said to be customary throughout the Tierra Caliente of the northwest. One man and one woman dance simultaneously, facing though not touching each other. The dancing consists in a rhythmical jumping up and down on the same spot, and is known to all the so-called Christian Indians wherever the violin is played, although nowhere but among the Coras have I seen it executed on the plank. It is called la danza, and is distinct from the aboriginal sacred dances, although it may have been a native dance somewhere in Mexico. La danza is merely a ventilation of merriment, indulged in when the Indians are in high spirits after church feasts, and may sometimes be executed even in church.

Gradually the people submitted to being photographed, even the women. One evening when I changed plates under two wagon-covers in an old empty house, a curious crowd gathered outside and knocked at the door, wanting to know what was going on and to see the secret rites I was performing.

After a few days of deliberation the Indians consented to show me their dancing-place, or, as they expressed it, their tunamoti (the musical bow).



Chapter XXVIII

A Glimpse of the Pacific from the High Sierra—A Visionary Idyl—The Coras Do Not Know Fear—An Un-Indian Indian—Pueblo of Jesus Maria—A Nice Old Cora Shaman—A Padre Denounces Me as a Protestant Missionary—Trouble Ensuing from His Mistake—Scorpions.

After a fortnight's stay I said good-bye to Santa Teresa. The alcalde, who had become quite friendly, accompanied me over the llano on which his pueblo lies, extending, interspersed with pine forests, for about three miles west. He begged me not to forget the Coras when I came to the Governor of the Territory of Tepic, and to ask the Mexican Government to let them keep their old customs, which he had heard they were going to prohibit. This fear, I think, was unfounded. He also wanted me to use my influence toward preventing the whites from settling in the vicinity, since they were eager to get at the big forests.

I had found a friend in a Cora called Nuberto, a kind-hearted and frank fellow, sixty years old, who became our guide. The trail leads along the western side of the Sierra Madre, sometimes only a few yards from where the mountains suddenly give way to the deep and low-lying valleys and foot-hills. As we approached the end of the day's journey, a perfectly open view presented itself of the Tierra Caliente below, as far as the Pacific Ocean, which by mules is a week's journey distant. The wide expanse before us unfolded a panorama of hills that sank lower and lower toward the west, where the salt lagoons of the coast could be clearly discerned as silver streaks in the reddish-grey mist of the evening. Acaponeta was right in line with the setting sun. Here, 8,000 feet above the level of the sea, everything was calm and mild; not a breath of air was stirring. A prunus was in flower, and oak-trees were growing on the brink of the ridge toward the sea. In every other direction were to be seen the immense silent pine forests that shelter the Coras, but no trace of human life. Everything seemed undisturbed, peaceful, quieting, nerve-resting.

Would it not be delightful to settle down here! Life would be so easy! The Indians would help me to make a hut. I would marry one of those beautiful Cora girls, who would be sure to have a cow or two to supply me the civilised drink of milk. None of the strife and turmoil of the outer world could penetrate into my retreat. One day would pass as peacefully as its predecessor; never would she disturb the tranquillity of my life, for she is like the lagoon, without ever a ripple on its surface. Once in a while the spirit of the feasts might inspire her to utter an angry word, but she would not mean much by it, and would soon resume her usual placid role, moving along in the even tenor of her daily life. What a splendid chance for studying the people, for knowing them thoroughly, and for familiarising myself with all their ancient beliefs and thoughts! Perhaps I might solve some of the mysteries that shroud the workings of the human mind. But—I should have to buy my fame at the price of living on tortillas and pinole and beans!



"We may live without poetry, music, and art; We may live without conscience and live without heart; We may live without friends, we may live without books, But civilised man cannot live without cooks."



Concluding that the eminent authority cited was right, I came back to realities and continued my journey.

By and by I arrived at a fertile little slope partly covered with corn stubble. At the farther end of it was a large Cora ranch called La Cienega, and in front of it grew two or three magnificent oak-trees with light-green stems and equally light-coloured leaves. The people here were well disposed and sold me some necessary supplies, so I stopped with them for a day.

While descending to the famous pueblo Mesa del Nayarit, one gets a magnificent view of the high mountains which form the western border of the Huichol country and stretch themselves out on the opposite side of the canon of Jesus Maria like a towering wall of a hazy blue colour. The pueblo lies on a plain less than a mile in extent in either direction, on the slope of the sierra, with an open view only toward the east. There is an idol of the setting sun standing on the mesa above the village, "looking toward Mexico," as the Indians express it. This mesa is the one called Tonati by the chroniclers, while by the Coras it is called Nayariti, and the whole sierra derived its name from it. The same name is given to a cave in that locality, where the Coras, as well as the Huichols, deposit ceremonial objects and other offerings. The setting-sun god is worshipped equally by the two tribes. The Indians jealously guard this cave, which is never shown to outsiders. This is practically the terminus of the Sierra del Nayarit. The sierra from now on is lower and gradually falls down to Rio de Alica, or Rio Grande de Santiago, where Sierra Madre del Norte ends.

The people here, though friendly, were less sympathetic and much more reserved than those of Santa Teresa, and I could find no one who would divulge tribal secrets. They had received a message from their sister pueblo telling them they had nothing to fear from me, but the Coras are not easily scared, anyhow. A stranger may enter a house without any further ceremony than the customary salutation, "Axu!" One day when I approached a dwelling, a nice-looking little girl, scarcely three years of age, came running out with a big knife in her little fist, her mother following after her to catch her. The small children curiously approach you, rather than run away. My two dogs intruded into a house and met in the doorway a little girl, about four years old, who was just coming out. The family dog was inside and began at once to bark at the new-comers, ready to fight, but the little one continued her walk without in the least changing the quiet expression of her face.

Although the Coras here maintain their traditions and customs more completely than in other places, I did not see any of the adults wearing the national dress, buckskin trousers and a very short tunic reaching only below the breast and made of home-woven woollen material dyed with native indigo-blue. Only one of the boys was seen with this costume, and his father was said to have it also. Yet the Coras do not want to be confounded with the "neighbours." When the principal men submitted to be photographed, I wanted a picture to show their physique, and therefore asked them to take off their shirts, which they refused to do. But when I remarked, "You will then look like neighbours," the shirts came off like a flash.

The gobernador here was an original and peculiar character. First he wanted me to camp in La Comunidad, to which I objected; but he was bent upon having me as closely under his supervision as possible, and I had to agree to establish my camp only half the distance that I had intended from the village. As soon as my tent had been put up, he came, accompanied by one of his friends. He had a passion for talking, which he indulged in for two hours, interrupting himself about every twenty seconds to spit. His companion wrapped himself in his blanket and began to nod, and whenever the gobernador stopped for expectoration, the other one would utter an assenting "hay" ("yes"). The Cora language is guttural, but quite musical, and when I heard it at a distance it reminded me in its cadence of one of the dialects of central Norway. However, the gobernador's monologue soon became very tiresome, and finally I made my bed and lay down. After a while they retired, but every evening as long as I stayed in the place, his Honour came to bore me with his talk. I generally took him out to my men, who entertained him as long as they were able to keep awake. He wanted to hear about other countries, about the bears we had met, and the great war, because he thought there must always be war somewhere. When everybody was asleep after midnight, he would retire. He was a widower, and he was the most un-Indian Indian I ever met.

About five miles east of Mesa del Nayarit the descent toward the pueblo of Jesus Maria begins. The valley appears broad and hilly, and the vegetation assumes the aspect of the Hot Country. Specially noticeable were the usual thickets of thorny, dry, and scraggy trees, seen even on the edge of the mesa. They are called guisachi, and in the vernacular of the common man the word has been utilised to designate a sharper. A man who "hooks on," as, for instance, a tricky lawyer, is called a guisachero. It is the counterpart of the "lawyer palm" among the shrubs of tropical Australia.

Jesus Maria looks at a distance quite a town, on a little plain above the river-bank. A fine, grand-looking old church, in Moorish style, a large churchyard surrounding it, and the usual big buildings connected with the churches of Spanish times, make all extraordinary impression among the pithaya-covered hills. The rest of the houses look humble enough. I went a little beyond the pueblo to the junction of arroyo Fraile with the river of Jesus Maria. As a violent wind, caused by the cooling off of the hot air of the barranca, blows every afternoon, I did not put up my tent, but had my men build an open shed. The wind lasts until midnight, and the mornings are delightfully calm and cool. The Coras consider this wind beneficial to the growth of the corn, and sacrifice a tamal of ashes, two feet long, to keep it in the valley.

The Cora of the canon, and probably of the entire Tierra Caliente, is of a milder disposition than his brother of the sierra, but he looks after his own advantage as closely as the rest of them.

The houses of the village are built of stone with thatched roofs, and, having no means of ventilation, become dreadfully overheated. I frequently noticed people lying on the floor in these hovels, suffering from colds. In the summer there is also prevalent in the valley a disease of the eyes which makes them red and swollen. Although the country is malarial, the Indians attain to remarkable longevity, and their women are wonderfully well preserved. All Indian women age very late in life, a trait many of their white sisters might be pardonably envious of.

There are twenty Mexicans living here, counting the children; they are poor, and have no house or lands of their own, but live in the Convento and rent lands from the Indians. The Coras, of course, are all nominally Christians, and the padre from San Juan Peyotan attends to their religious needs. I was told that as recently as forty years ago they had to be driven to church with scourges. Some families still put their dead away in caves difficult of access, closing up the entrance, without interring the bodies, and they still dance mitote, although more or less secretly.

The Indians catch crayfish, and other small fish, with a kind of hand-net of cotton thread, which they hold wide open with their elbows while crawling in the water between the stones. Where the river is deep they will even dive with the net held in this way.

The day after my arrival I was requested to come to. La Comunidad, that the people might hear my letters read. This over, I explained that I wanted them to sell me some corn and beans, a blue tunic of native make, and other objects of interest to me, that I also wanted them to furnish me two reliable men to go to the city of Tepic for mail and money; that I wished to photograph them and to be shown their burial-caves, and to have a real, good old shaman visit me, and some men to interpret. The messengers were duly appointed, but it took them two days to prepare the tortillas they had to take along as provisions. My desire to see the burial-caves was looked upon with ill-favour. The old shaman, however, was promptly sent for. He soon arrived at the council-house, and without having seen me he told the Indian authorities that "it was all right to tell this man about their ancient beliefs, that the Government might know everything." When he came to see me he took my hand to kiss, as if I were a padre, and I had a most interesting interview with the truthful, dear old man, who told me much about the Cora myths, traditions, and history. I gathered from what he said that he could not be far from a hundred years old, and he had not a grey hair in his head. His faculties were intact, except his hearing, and while I was interviewing him he was making a fish-net.

I had him with me one day and a part of the next, but by that time he was a good deal fatigued mentally, and I had to let him go.

There was an Indian here, Canuto, who could read and write, and, as he took a great interest in church affairs, he acted as a kind of padre. I was told that he ascended the pulpit and delivered sermons in Cora, and that he aspired even to bless water, but this the padre had forbidden him. He was very suspicious and intolerant and quite an ardent Catholic, the first Indian I had met who had entirely relinquished his native belief. He actually did not like mitote dancing, and the other Indians did not take kindly to him. All the time I was here he worked against me, because the priest of San Juan Peyotan, as I learned, had denounced me before the people.

Two traders from that town, who had been visiting Santa Teresa while I was there, had reported to the padre the presence of a mysterious gringo (American), who had a fine outfit of boxes and pack-mules, and who gave the Coras "precious jewellery" to buy their souls, and visited their dances. The padre, without having ever seen me, concluded that I was a travelling Protestant missionary, and one day after mass he warned the people against the bad Protestant who was on his way to corrupt their hearts and to disturb this valley in which there had always been peace. "Do not accept anything from him, not even his money; do not allow him to enter the church, and do not give him anything, not even a glass of water," he said. This padre, so I was told by reliable authority, made the judges at San Juan and at San Lucas punish men and women for offences that did not come under their jurisdiction. The men were put into prison, while the women had fastened to their ankles a heavy round board, which they had to drag wherever they went for a week or two. It caused them great difficulty in walking, and they could not kneel down at the metate with it.

His speeches about me made a deep impression upon the illiterate Mexicans in that remote part of the world, who in consequence of it looked upon me with suspicion and shunned me. Not knowing anything better, they invented all kinds of wild charges against me: I was surveying the lands for Porfirio Diaz, who wanted to sell the Cora country to the Americans; I appealed only to the Indians because they were more confiding and could be more easily led astray, my alleged aim being to make Freemasons out of them. A Freemason is the one thing of which these people have a superstitious dread and horror. Even my letters of recommendation were doubted and considered spurious. However, one old man, whose wife I had cured, told me that Protestants are also Christians, and in his opinion I was even better than a Protestant. Fortunately, the Indians were less impressionable, and as their brethren in the sierra had not reported to them anything bad about me, they could see no harm in a man who did not cheat anyone and took an interest in their ancient customs and beliefs, while the padres had always made short work of their sacred ceremonial things, breaking and burning them.

When at last my messengers returned, after an absence of twelve days, I was surprised to note that they were accompanied by two gendarmes. The Commandant-General of the Territory of Tepic had not only been kind enough to cash my check for about $200, but had deemed it wise to send me the money under the protection of an escort, a precaution which I duly appreciated. As the return of the men was the only thing I had been waiting for, I now prepared to move up the river to the near-by pueblo of San Francisco, where the population is freer from Mexican influence.

When my hut was broken up, I found among my effects ten scorpions. The canon is noted for its multitude of scorpions, and I was told that a piece of land above San Juan Peyotan had to be abandoned on account of these creatures. The scorpion's sting is the most common complaint hereabout, and children frequently die from it, though not all kinds of scorpions are dangerous. The consensus of opinion is that the small whitish-yellow variety is the one most to be dreaded. The Cura of Santa Magdalena, State of Jalisco, assured me that he had known the sting of such scorpions to cause the death of full-grown people within two hours.

The scorpions of Mexico seem to have an unaccountable preference for certain localities, where they may be found in great numbers. In the city of Durango the hotels advertise, as an attraction, that there are no scorpions ill them. For a number of years, according to the municipal records, something like 60,000 scorpions have been annually killed, the city paying one centavo for each. Some persons earn a dollar a night by this means. Yet some forty victims, mostly children, die every year there from scorpion-stings.

The cura quoted above thinks that there is a zone of scorpions extending from the mining-place of Bramador, near Talpa, Territory of Tepic, as far north as the city of Durango, though he could not outline its lateral extent. At Santa Magdalena the scorpions are not very dangerous.



Chapter XXIX

A Cordial Reception at San Francisco—Mexicans in the Employ of Indians —The Morning Star, the Great God of the Coras—The Beginning of the World—How the Rain-clouds were First Secured—The Rabbit and the Deer—Aphorisms of a Cora Shaman—An Eventful Night—Hunting for Skulls—My Progress Impeded by Padre's Ban—Final Start for the Huichol Country—A Threatened Desertion.

At the pueblo of San Francisco, prettily situated at the bend of a river, I was made very welcome. The Casa Real, another name for the building generally designated as La Comunidad, had been swept and looked clean and cool, and I accepted the invitation to lodge there. It was furnished with the unheard-of luxury of a bedstead, or rather the framework of one, made of a network of strong strips of hide. As the room was dark, I moved this contrivance out on the veranda, where I also stored my baggage, while my aparejos and saddles were put into the prison next door. Two Indians were appointed to sleep near by to guard me. When I objected to this I was informed that two fellows from Jesus Maria had been talking of killing me as the easiest way of carrying out the padre's orders. I felt quite at home among these friendly, well-meaning people, and paid off my men, who returned to their homes. I thought that whenever I decided to start out again, I could get men here to help me to reach the country of the Huichols. A shaman who knew more than all others was deputed to give me the information I wanted about the ancient beliefs and traditions of the Coras.

The people also agreed to let me see their mitote, which at this time of the year is given every Wednesday for five consecutive weeks in order to bring about the rainy season. The fourth of this year's series was to be on May 22d. As to burial-caves, they at first denied that there were any skulls in the neighbourhood, but finally consented to show me some. Later on, how-ever, an important shaman objected to this, strongly advising the people not to do so, because the dead helped to make the rain they were praying for, at least they could be induced not to interfere with the clouds.

A few Coras here were married to "neighbours," and some Cora women had taken "neighbours" for husbands. For the first time, and also the last, in all my travels, I had here the gratification of seeing impecunious Mexicans from other parts of the country at work in the fields for the Coras, who paid them the customary Mexican wages of twenty-five centavos a day. The real owners of the land for once maintained their proper position.