pital. Then he rode on to overtake the priest, who was Cura of
the village which he sought.

Not prepossessing at all was that ecclesiastic. None of the bandits had a
more stupid expression or one less amiable. But Roezl found presently that
he had some reason for ill-humour. Six cocks had he taken to a grand match
at Tetonicapan the day before--three his own, three belonging to
parishioners; and every one was killed! The boy had been sent in advance
to break the news.

Cock-fighting is the single amusement of that population, besides drink,
of course, and the single interest of its ministers--most of them, at
least. This padre could talk of nothing else. It was not a subject that
amused Roezl, but he knew something of that as of all else that pertains
to life in those countries. The dullest of mortals could not help
gathering information about cocks and their ways in a lifetime of travel
up and down Spanish America; the most observant, such as this, must needs
collect a vast deal of experience. But Roezl was not interested in his
companion.

Not, that is, until he reached the village. The Cura had invited him to
his house--so to call an adobe building of two rooms, without upper floor.
It stood beside the church, hardly less primitive. Roezl glanced at the
roof of this structure in passing. It has been mentioned that the Indians
have a pleasant custom of removing any orchid they find, notable for size
or beauty, to set on the church roof or on trees around it. In the course
of his long wanderings Roezl had bought or begged several fine plants from
a padre, but only when the man was specially reckless or specially
influential with his parishioners. The practice dates from heathen times,
and the Indians object to any desecration of their offerings.

It was with curiosity rather than hope, therefore, that Roezl scrutinised
the airy garden. There were handsome specimens of Cattleya--Skinneri most
frequent, of course--Lycaste, Oncidium, and Masdevallia. They had done
blooming mostly, but a belated flower showed here and there. In one big
clump he saw something white--looked more closely--paused. The plant was
Cattleya Skinneri certainly. How should a white flower be there?

All other collectors, perhaps, at that time, would have passed on, taking
it for granted that some weed had rooted itself amid the clump. But for
many years Roezl had been preaching that all Cattleyas of red or violent
tint, so to class them roughly,