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, acc